Satellite-Navigation, Blondes, an Unerring Sense of Direction, and a less than Perfect Sense of Distance

It is a commonly held assumption that the arrival of satellite-navigation systems have made maps redundant in much the same way that buggy whips were made redundant with the arrival of the motor car. Dear reader, let me assure you that nothing could be further from the truth. The corollary of this is that not all sat-nav systems are created equal. Nor, interestingly, do two different systems when used from the same starting point follow the same course to a designated destination. The tone of voice can also be remarkably different. The Smart, while on the whole more accurate, speaks with a very perfunctory German accent. The WLW’s voice is more charming (and she speaks in English – amongst other languages – she is accomplished in this respect) but often gives instructions much too late (an even greater crime when one considers the size of the WLW and the need to prepare for exits from the motor way in a more timely manner than most ordinary vehicles). The WLW ‘s voice also underestimates her size and comprehends neither that the WLW cannot go under low bridges, down narrow streets nor over bridges that have a modest weight limit (for her size the WLW is trim – a mere 7.5t, but sadly too big for less robust bridges – one soon discovers how many have a weight limit of 3.5t).

It is true that both vehicles have map displays and often these are helpful when the Voice can’t count exits at a roundabout (a frequent cause of tension between the navigator, your trampess, and the driver, the tramp: “but she said the second exit!” “Yes but she wants you to go over the river, I said take the third!”). This is a modest mistake, no doubt caused by the local road regulation bureau (or whatever it may be called – it is hard to imagine an appropriate name, the ones I would use would probably be considered abusive and certainly not suitable for the eyes or ears of children) failing to add road improvements to the information it provides the sat-nav operators for upgrading their software.

Some mis-directions are more serious and can result in severe frustration and rather more heated exchange between driver and navigator – of the kind that one can only imagine existed in pre-sat-nav days when it was frequently said that women could not read maps (while statistically this is true, let us put on record right now that I was a Girl Scout until I was 18 – I know, I know, decidedly uncool – and map reading was one of the skills we had to master). One small example serves to illustrate just how tiresome this can be. Outside Padua, in full sail, the WLW came upon an enormous roundabout leading, inter alia, to and from the motorway, to various industrial sites, the centre of town, and Ikea. The wonderful voice had us going around in large circles, exiting but then always returning to the roundabout, each time giving us the same absolutely clear instruction which was inevitably leading us back yet again to the same roundabout. She was very determined to keep us in this permanent loop – one could only feel like “the man who never returned - he must live forever ‘neath the streets of Boston”. The only solution was to look at a real map (which of course your trampess was madly doing the minute she realise the Voice was not being helpful) and determine that we wanted to exit on the road 180 degrees opposite to the exit she wished us to take. Miraculously, when we took that road she was totally content and allowed us to stay on it until the next, correct instruction. What was she thinking??!!

I will not even mention that the Smart asked us if we wanted to choose “destination and return” and then not only refused to take us back, but had not even the decency to record our starting point! Luckily, knowing the whimsical nature of the Voice, your trampess had written it down at the outset. Strangely though, perhaps having felt slighted, while she accepted the new (old) destination, she told us we had reached it when we were not even on the right street. Now this may be all right in Italy where the trampess can speak the local language (though the looks one received from the locals as one descends three steps from the living room have to be seen to be believed) but what happens when we are in Jordan?? I faint with horror at the thought. Nor will I mention that she also took us to a different motorway entrance from the one where we left the WLW in the rest station. (Was this a fit of jealousy? did she think we could survive without the WLW, was she tired of her trailer?) Again, happily (after a short prayer to St Anthony – the adored and very reliable, local saint), I remembered where we had got off the motorway; we drove back to that exit and found the mother ship. I admit that this was a bit scary – had I not remembered our exit we might still be circling Padua, the food in the back of the Smart starting to smell, and hob and bed far away.