By The New Yorker September 11, 2008 I consult my map, and my Google Street View printouts.
I sit down to consult my map and see Matthew Slotover, Frieze's co-founder.
Once I returned to my home office and consulted my map, I realised that Yangshuo was perfectly situated to be featured in the Axis Tour.
I can board any train with my slightly ungainly sack and after disembarking, assemble it, consult my map, and pedal off, in just five minutes.
I've grown to like waking early, sussing out the weather, consulting my various maps, ritually loading up my bike and rolling out the door of a motel.
And then, in the brief intervals, when I've remembered my characters' crises, and the sheer cliff face before me feels attackable, I consult my weird hand-drawn maps and timetables and, secure in the certainty that I won't be interrupted, I can, occasionally, briefly, float into the novel and, Hosanna, write.
The slightest effort on my part -- exploring, studying alternate routes, consulting a map, even daring to follow that guy that seems to know his way around the congestion -- could easily remedy this enslaving behavior.
They bunch up at corners, looking less like fearsome military units than tourists consulting a map.
Then we wandered through heather, stony outcrops and bracken, looking for threadlike sheep paths and consulting the map.
When a hotel in Ipoh popped up, I thought, "Surely that's close enough". Why bother consulting a map?
