the back passage
June 8 I often get lost.
It's not that I can't read map books. I can.
I am not one of those Venusian women supposedly lacking direction,
unable to tell her left from her right, her up from her down.
If I look at a map it is clear to me where I must travel in order to reach my destination.
I simply choose not to read the map book.
I'm a smart arse like that.
I don't like people telling me what to do.
I don't like map books telling me where to go.
I like to follow my nose, see where the road takes me.
Today it took me right up my own bottom.
But please don't panic, dear reader.
I've been there before. Unfortunately. Often.
I had reason to do a pick up and drop off this morning.
Essentially, the mission was a simple one.
Although it wasn't familiar territory I knew the direction in which I was headed.
Northeast of the river, a quick slip off a wellworn freeway exit, a bit of zig, a bit of zag and I would be there. Pick up. Drop off. Simple.
But there was little ease in the exercise that followed.
With the ill-timed disorder of roadworks and the subsequent chaos of drivers discombobulated, I was thrown off course by a poorly timed exit, immediately and irrevocably plunged into suburban hell.
With no map book in the car I was at the mercy of my wits. Mornings find me not the sharpest tool in the shed, my wits unhoned, dull and dim, but the tart realization that I was incalculably lost soon became clear.
Inevitably, my nose led me in the right direction, but not after a jaunt through two industrial areas, a new subdivision, the inexorable torment of suburbia and a predictably humiliating excursion through my lower intestines.
Lately, both metaphorically and physically, I have found myself spiralling with increasing frequency into my own nether regions.
And it is as unpleasant as it sounds.
What is worse is that I have usually engineered the expedition.
As you will appreciate, dear reader, journeys fuelled by arrogance and tweaked with provocative portions of poor planning and disregard for The Rules usually end up following this very path.
While this is often nothing more than frustrating and occasionally debilitating for the minx, it has often been a catalyst for Deep Trouble.
Even in Paradise.
Santorini is, undeniably, God's own garden.
Being mauled to death in it's pretty backstreets by a pack of rabid dogs seems horribly inappropriate and yet, guided by my own hand, it seemed a simple and certain fate.
Following another night of drinking and dancing, I kissed goodnight to my friend A and her new Greek beau.
In stoic fashion he made forceful Greek protestations of walking me home.
There was a staunch and overwhelming objection to me walking back to my hotel alone.
"But it's just over there," I retorted, gesticulating to my left, "I can see it."
There was arrogance and bravado in the air as I stumbled into the dark, amidst cries of "Claire, Claire, come back. Wait!"
I even laughed! It was a doddle. "Why were they yelling. It was just over there!
Ha Ha! Hang on, just over, oops. Oh..let's see. Just over, mmm, there. If I keep walking to the end of this street, I can double back, in parallel fashion, take a turn to the right and be out at the main street."
Dear reader, I challenge you to stumble drunkenly the concentric circles of Fira's inner sanctum in order to know that there is no escape. The narrow lanes, one long walled labyrith of deep and undisturbed denial at 3 am in the morning, lead only inward. There is no exit.
And there are Dogs.
They are Unseen, but they are there, growling, snarling. Stalking.
It was ten minutes into my lonely drunken stagger when I realized I had an entourage. And not my usual smiling one, bearing promises of ouzo and dodgy liasons.
These babies were heavy duty. At least six of them had caught the scent of the minx and were bearing down. Hard. With Intent.
I could almost hear the imminent feasting on my entrails.
I couldn't stop to chasten them.
I couldn't run either with the prospect of fear smells reaching their rabid nostrils. So I walked, briskly, in entirely the wrong direction. For an eternity. In bad shoes.
And I kept on walking, making growling, snarling, don't go there noises,
for two hours.
It was 5am, with pink morning sunlight peeping over the tiled rooftops, when I eventually found my way to the town square and down the street to my hotel.
I could afford the luxury of whimpering by now and did so unashamedly as I struggled to pull myself out of the maelstrom that had become my darling derriere.
I had skirted the shadowy and potent world of rape, murder and canine disembowellment and lived to tell the tale.
My walk on the wild side, my jaunt down dodgy lanes and up my own bottom, foolish and deluded, had not ended in a shower of shit.
But how would I tell the tale?
Could it be a warning against walking the Santorini streets alone at night without a map, or would it be A Cautionary Tale against The Evils of Arrogance, Bloated Ego, Lack of Game Plan and the Inevitable Spiralling Up One's Own Arse and into Certain Danger?
Judging by this mornings activities, it is a lesson unlearned.
Yet not the road less travelled...
Following my nose reveals only an arrogant and well worn path, leading sadly and directly to my back passage, onwards and upwards, in spiral fashion.
If only I can pull out now, in time to cook dinner.
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Reader Comments (18)
well minx, it sounds like you may suffer from the male-dom malady... using your mental map and corporal compass to navigate in nidgery. arrogance is the gift allowing me to make a fool of myself with celerity.
Minx! Send me a picture of you! You have an award with your name on it!
Yes, raffi, I berate my husband for the same flatulent foolishness.
Yet I am a better navigator than he is, despite the damning story above.
Arrogant little thing, aren't I?
x
Oh Christina!!
Now this really is something for the mantlepiece, darling!!
No. It is a Badge of Pride. I will wear it as such!!!
Thank you, thank you!
::much blushing::
::impossibly swollen BadAss head::
xxxxxxxx
Oh Minx,
that was a dance with death dogs there.
I can only imagine they were feral - and hungry - or lured by your delicious minxiness.
Can't blame them really on that score...
Don't like the idea of you getting Lost :(
oh yeah... that was some fine writing...i know exactly what it was like... you took me there... thank you
June 9, 2007 | paisley
Thank you Paisley,
It is my pleasure to transport you - hopefully not in spirals though, into the nether regions...!!!
(In my utter arrogance, I have moved your comment Paisley, from where it landed in the previous post. I believe it is the location of my comment link at the top of the post that is confusing..
And I love your comments, so I have put it where I think you meant it to go.)
xox
Oh Eddie,
Horrifically frightening. It really was an exercise in stupidity, in so many ways.
It is testament to the island itself that I did not fall victim to some vile atrocity. I felt it could have happened at any time, in any number of ways, once I got lost in the labyrinth of those streets!!!
I have acquired a new car today. It is gorgeous!
And it has sat nav!!
ha ha - no more losing it for me!!
x
A Karmann Ghia with sat nav?
Hi Eddie,
No Karmann Ghia, sadly...
This darling is a Rover. Terribly British and utterly gorgeous in a glamorous, old world delicious way.
I fell in love with her immediately.
Unless I choose to disregard the gps thingie it will be hard for me to drive myself round in circles now.
I'm sure I will make up for it other ways, though...
xx
Hey Doll,
I am right with you- half the fun in the trip is trying to find your way.. its all in the journey-- these days people put way too much emphasis on the destination. Give me a full tank of gas, a few choice cds... some older stuff like Elvis Costello for just smiling and driving, or some nice jazz on the country roads or even my very fav on those quiet contemplative little streets--- Coldplay and for racing around the turns some Red Hot Chili Peppers... and a few hours to burn on a beautiful day. I love to explore and find my way!
And... I have never owned a map in my life! Thanks for reminding us all that half the fun in getting lost is finding your way back! Even in a shadowy little town with the possibility of some danger! (my middle name as well as yours!) Brilliant!!! xxoo
kk
Dear Minx I so understand the reading of the map! I hardly read it either...why? I know where I am going :)
Oh Kimmykat,
Deadlines be damned. I secretly love the meander. I often contrive it. Because I have faith in my intuition and my innate homing device, it never really bothers me when I get "lost" because it gives me a chance to see things I've never seen before. I will count as an exception being stalked by feral hounds down the dark and lonely lanes of Santorini...that was danger bordeing on madness...
I love to drive too, with my music up loud and my foot to the floor usually. Freeway driving.
However, there is nothing I love more than a little jazz on a country lane and we're going to do that very thing today!! The sun's out, there's nothing that can't be dealt with later, and if we disappear up our own bottoms along the way, let the spiralling begin. We will find our way home, eventually.
How delicious it is to be lost, sometimes...
xox
Oh Lady Terri,
My sentiments exactly.
We know exactly where we're going darling, don't we!
Map books are entirely superfluous when your instincts are as honed as ours...
xox
I will dream of Santorini...
So often we toss the map aside - and it always leads us to adventure.
Sometimes good, sometimes bad...but always adventure.
I love the road less travelled, Kitty...
However, those Santorini labyrinths at three in the morning I would not recommend...even a map can't help you there - and the hounds from hell can't help but make you feel that you may be en route to Dante's Inferno...
xx
For one minute there, I was certain that you were describing a recent colonoscopy. But then I have a tendency to take things a little too literally.
Hello Mary!!
I'm afraid to admit that the entire colonoscopy business is thriving here.
Sadly, I am spiralling and excavating the back passage with increasing regularity...
It is a miserable passage when it is self induced...
So glad you've wandered into my boudoir...
obviously not through the back door..
xx