On Saturday, Neil opened a humorous yet important can of worms on social media which, today, I am going to spread on toast and pass around for general amusement. I’d like to thank Neil for giving me the idea for this post, and Ola, who put up an image that inspired me to do the same thing, as you will see. The subject of today’s nonsense?
Google Maps. Don’t bother.
As Neil said in his original post, “To anybody who comes to Symi on holiday. Please stop using Google maps.” He then goes on to recount a couple of episodes where, for example, this kind of scene plays out:
A tourist appears outside the bar, head down over his phone, giving the occasional glance upwards but not looking at the views, and by he passes. A few minutes later, the same creature returns, only with more of an expression of bewilderment than before. He stands looking at the door to the upstairs apartments and compares it to his phone. We watch awhile, knowing full well what is taking place. The tourist completes a 360° turn and continues to stare at the door. Neil offers assistance, and the tourist swears blind there should be a path where the building stands. Obviously, there is not. ‘There is,’ he insists because his phone has told him so. Well, clearly there is no path here, nor has there ever been – at least not in the 20+ years we have worked at the bar. Perhaps it is the lane beside the next bar? That exists. No. he is adamant. Google clearly shows a lane directing him to reach Pedi via either the Rainbow Bar or Noufris’ front room above. Oh, fair enough then. Good luck.
Similar incidents occur in other places. For example, a young couple on a hired moped arrive outside the Kali Strata restaurant having reached the end of the lane, and realise they are faced with 300 + steps, not, as their Google maps promises, a road. ‘Can we drive down there?’ Well, over the years, I’ve seen Lefteris when younger go down on his trials bike, but it did it no good, and I’ve seen a digger coming up the steps (which did the steps no good), so yeah, go for it. Alternatively, you could use an accurate paper map which you can buy online before you leave home, or perhaps from some local shops (I’m not sure, tbh).
Here’s what Ola inspired me to do for you. I asked Google Maps the best way to drive from the Kali Strata restaurant where one godson works, to Pavone café, where the other one is the chef, and here’s the route:
So, drive down 300 + steps (completely misnamed on Google Maps) until you squeeze your vehicle past the Old Markets and the accountant, and drive along the harbour front, past the town square, up the slope towards Nimborio, then around the bend, across the hillside, and down 89 steps to the back of the police station, and there you will be able to take advantage of the ample parking facilities. Not. You will, though, be able to take advantage of one of the island’s car mechanics and get your vehicle put back together. As they say in social media speak, wtf?
Perfectly passable in a Peugeot
To be fair, the fault lies within the map, but to be even fairer, people should know better, and not rely on their phones for guidance. Can you imagine saying that a few years ago? ‘Dad, how do I get to Romford?’ ‘Ask your phone.’
Not long after I passed my driving test, I wanted to drive to Clapham, London, to visit my uncle. I’d done this journey several times as a passenger, but never before on my own. Nor had I driven on a motorway before, and I was to attempt the journey in a beaten-up Renault 4; ambition enough for any man. I asked my dad (who’d been a rally driver in the TAP/RAC rallies among others) for directions, and he did that dad thing: ‘Across the marsh to Ashford, A20, M20, keep the sun on your right and turn left at Lewisham.’ And off I went with a visual map in my head. Simple. (The Renault 4 managed a bone-shaking 55 miles per hour on the motorway. I was well impressed.)
Breathe in, Mrs Armstrong…
I just typed New Romney into Google Maps, having Pavone café already selected, so I unwittingly got the route from my home town to Sam’s work place. Some details: I drive to Dover and from there, apparently, I drive across the channel to Calais, thence to Bruges where I stop to admire the architecture, and continue on to Brussels, which I skirt. Thence, to Bonn, Frankfurt, Nurenberg, and 20 hours later I reach Graz. Maribor, Zagreb, Slavonski Brod, Belgrade, and somewhere unpronounceable follow, then Nis, Sofia, Tekirdag, and once again, FAB 1 takes me across the water, this time the Sea of Marmara to Bandirma. From there, through Turkey to Izmir, Bodrum, water wings out to skim over to Kos, thence to Nisiros and Tilos (Say hello to Maria), round the back of Nimos and into the harbour. The last leg is simple: past the town square, up the hill, turn left and… oops! After 2,231 miles and 41 hours, those darn 89 steps foil me at the last moment.
As they will you if you rely on your phone to guide you around a village/town which hasn’t been very accurately mapped by the Geographical Society or anyone with real intelligence, let alone artificial.
