The thing is that nobody there seemed to realize that my sense of direction is unquestionably damaged. When I was little my parents spent more time looking for me than doing anything else, except for losing me. Once my mother let me go to the toilet by myself, just to see if I smartened up once and for all, but I disappeared and nobody heard from me until three months later, when a couple of farmers from a village thirty kilometers away from our house found me sleeping peacefully at their barn. Whatever had happened in the intervening time remains a mystery. Then, over the years, I learned to get along with this little handicap, and one might say I even got to overcome it with small tricks and routine measures. I also learned that knowing how to go to a place is not always a requirement for getting to it.
Of course, none of this was going to help much inside a labyrinth, a place where someone has tried especially hard to design a trap for the human sense of direction.