Rediscovering The Sense of Disorientation
“Suppose it is three thousand years ago and you have transported yourself into a fisherman’s boat…” as John Huth writes in his book The Lost Art of Finding Our Way actually happened to me this January. Maps in my phone did not exist for me anymore – there was no cellular service across most of the island where I spent a week, and there were no street numbers, bus placards, or route signs. We, a bunch of students, were fully dependent on our local tour guides. As Kevin Lynch notes in The Image of The City, the unsettling experience of disorientation unfolded before us. He remarks on ‘the sense of anxiety and even terror’ that it brings, highlighting its profound connection to our sense of balance and well-being. But it was more than just anxiety. Let me share with you my rediscovery of this sense of disorientation, and how liberating it was, particularly after leaving a meticulously curated place like Abu Dhabi.
We landed in Socotra, an archipelago in the Indian Ocean that is part of Yemen and holds a UNESCO natural heritage status, well-known for its beautiful endemic species (Pic 1). We were accompanied by the local tour agency throughout our 7-day camping adventure. Without them it would have been impossible for us to navigate on the island effectively since camping sites are scattered around the island with no signage along the way, and oftentime lacking even the name of the campsite on the display (Pic 2). Another problem we faced was a language barrier because all labels were written primarily in Arabic. We could only distinguish who sponsored buildings, often indicated by UAE, Saudi Arabia, or South Yemen flags.
Despite the absence of habitual online navigation tools, we had a strong desire to place ourselves on the mental map. Based on our itinerary and a basic island map from Islands of Heritage by Nathalie Peutz (Pic 3), we could trace which coast we were currently located on. Every day, waking up I used the sun’s rising position to orient myself, so I could distinguish east from other cardinal directions. I also could tell if there is a village nearby if I saw goats since they are free to go anywhere on the island, and owners gather them once every few days. We would also pay close attention to weather as we were traveling every day, gauging whether the clouds would dissipate by the time we reached our next destination. These crucial details are often overlooked in city life where we can’t spend a day without looking at our phones, but they became integral components of our navigation toolkit in Socotra.
On our third day, the highlight of our itinerary was a visit to Hoq Cave – a three-kilometer-long cavern filled with ancient stalagmites and stalactites (Pic 4) . This natural wonder serves as a major tourist attraction, bringing a thousand of visitors this year, as confirmed by local guides who keep record of visitors’ numbers and nationalities to secure additional funding. Despite its popularity, there was no signage apart from a small plaque near the cave entrance, located atop of the mountain that required a long climb. As a result, visitors can only rely on guides. During the trip, I was often concerned about preserving both natural and cultural heritage on the island since the lack of signage led to unintentional damage. Another instance – petroglyphs, that were stepped on by us with no fences around them, located near the road with no signage around it (Pic 5).
The difference in the curation of visitor experiences through wayfinding and signage became even more apparent during my visit to another UNESCO natural heritage site, but this time in Al Ain, Abu Dhabi. The Al Ain Oasis is a great example where many wayfinding techniques have been utilized, albeit with various degrees of success. From QR codes and 3d-maps to signs providing an approximate number of minutes before reaching the destination and boards with information (Pic 6) – all these efforts have been made to enhance visitor experience. In turn, the Al Ain Oasis has become a popular tourist attraction. Reflecting on this, I couldn’t stop wondering: What would Socotra look like if it received the same level of curation? Will it compromise the island’s unique and untouched allure, or would it bring even more tourists?
The absence of online maps and many other familiar tools to understand where you are not only gave us an opportunity to go back to the old ways of finding our ways but also placed local people at the forefront of our journey. Socotrans knew best about their land, and we could talk to them to learn about locations, species, and routes. They are the best navigators for Socotra, and as Huth argues, “There is no one “proper” way to navigate”. Navigation methods vary across cultures and generations, tailored to local environments and passed down through time. When talking to local people like Ismail, who is involved in many environmental and cultural projects on the island, he often highlighted that he wants to pass down the knowledge above everything else – the knowledge about unique environments, the knowledge about how to make a medicine from plants, the knowledge how to not get lost in the mountains. Many of us have lost our ability to find our way, but Socotrans desperately want to preserve and pass it on, especially amidst the threats such as the war in Yemen, technological advancements that are rapidly coming to the island, and the environmental impact of tourism.
It was refreshing to feel disoriented as a break from a world filled with visual information. World, where we often don’t have the chance to pause and realize that the sun sets in the West, and that instead of searching online where we are or what we are looking at, we can ask from people around us. We forget that we ourselves are navigators.
References:
Huth, John Edward. The Lost Art of Finding Our Way. The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2013.
Lynch, Kevin. The Image of the City. The MIT Press, 1960.
