I feel discombobulated in a way I’ve never felt before.
Oh sure, I’ve been lost plenty of times before – walking around towns or driving through the countryside (particularly in the pre-satnav age).
But I’ve always had a pretty good idea which country I’m in (currently, I’m still not 100% sure we’re even in Greece). And I’d usually have a fairly good idea which part of that country I was in.
Now, however, I have no idea where we are. I can’t even say, with confidence, we’re in Europe (it was a long flight and I was asleep for most of it).
It’s embarrassing.
I mustn’t let Lizzie’s sister and her husband know we don’t know where we are. They already think Lizzie and I are a pair of space cadets – useless arty types to the core.
If they get wind of the fact we’ve been thinking we’re in Kefalonia, since we got here, they’ll dine off it for weeks. I can hear the rest of Lizzie’s family haw-hawing about it already.
Oh God, did I try and show off my knowledge of Kefalonia to H. and her husband C. yesterday, after we arrived? I think I did! They must have been wondering what the hell I was on about. He’s being weird, as usual, they were probably thinking.
It’s the next day – and I still don’t know where we are. It MUST be Greece. Unless there are other countries which have similar looking alphabets? Let’s be honest, I’m not even sure what the Greek alphabet actually looks like. What if all these signs are in, say, Croatian… and we’re actually in Croatia?
I can’t bear it! How can I find out?
Google Maps on my phone still isn’t working… and my laptop’s no better.
I think about asking the receptionist, but her English isn’t great. And how would I broach the subject?
‘Excuse me… may I check… are we in Greece? We are – GREAT! And… er… whereabouts in Greece are we exactly?’
No, that’s not going to work. She could barely explain where our rooms were.
It’s now the afternoon and Lizzie and I are sunbathing next to Lizzie’s sister, by the hotel’s family pool.
H. is looking relaxed and happy. Like a person who knows exactly where they are in the world and is damned well going to enjoy it.
Finally, I can’t bear it any longer.
‘H….’ I say, tentatively. ‘I have to admit, I have absolutely no idea which bit of… er… Greece we’re in…’
As soon as I say the word ‘Greece’ I glance over at H. to see how she reacts. Will she twitch incredulously? Will her expression suggest she’s thinking: did my sister’s space cadet partner just say we’re in GREECE? Doesn’t he know which country we’re actually in?!?!
Fortunately, H.’s expression doesn’t change at all. She continues to sunbathe inertly, not moving a muscle.
‘So… do you know where we are… in Greece?’ I ask her, finally.
‘No idea,’ murmurs H., then turns over lazily on her lounger.
I suddenly feel a surge of relief. H. doesn’t know where we are either!
She doesn’t know where we are… and apparently doesn’t care.
Ah, the carefree lives of the rich! H. obviously doesn’t give a toss where she is, as long as it’s hot and the sea is glistening.
So… I’m not going to give a toss either.
I lie back and enjoy the sun.
P. D. Clifton 
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