Isn’t it strange, how, after you’ve been living in a city for more than thirty years, you find yourself driving one of the more-than-familiar routes through the suburbs to somewhere or other when you suddenly realise you’re passing a street that you’ve never been down in all the time you’ve been here? I mean, thirty years is 10951 days plus a few extra for leap years. And yet, there is a fair number of streets I’ve never travelled along, streets that I have not the faintest clue where they lead to, streets whose houses and tenants I have only a vague notion about.
I have this thing about labyrinths. I’ve done plenty of research on them, published some articles, and walked a number of them. (If I hear about a labyrinth, and I’m in the vicinity, I make the effort to walk it, if it’s feasible.) It was ages ago that I learnt about the labyrinth near the Pasteur Hospital. Nevertheless, I kept promising myself that I’d find it and walk it one day. (It’s strange how the words “one day” sound like an excuse for all the things you’re avoiding putting on your list of 1000 things to do before you die. You don’t have time to list 1000 things? Then you should make a shorter list of 10 things maybe?)
Anyway, a week or so ago, my wife suggested we should walk that labyrinth. We even went down a very short street I had never been down before!
It’s a most interesting labyrinth for several reasons: first, it’s based on the so-called Cretan model but has only six circuits instead of the traditional seven. Secondly, once you’ve reached the centre, you don’t have to walk all the way back to the entrance; there’s an ingenious shortcut. Thirdly, it has some thorn trees along the pathway. At present, they are just tall enough to rip out an eyeball or two if you don’t watch your step.
So it’s a good job the eye clinic’s just next door. That’s assuming you can see well enough to get there!
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