I have often seen a man so proud of his own map that he cannot bear to admit another nation draws the lines differently, yet when lost in the mud of reality, he will take any hand offered. My captain, a soldier of habit and German cartography, believed the world must conform to his atlas until a countryman passed by like a ghost in the night and showed us the road to Pesth without asking for permission. We are all Phætons who think we know the destination, only to be pulled from our carriage by some honest stranger with directions that defy our careful plans.

Do not let your vanity build walls around your ignorance when the world is wet and dark. If you must name a place, give it both its old tongue and new so no traveler is turned back by a single word. Let us learn to carry two maps in one pocket, for the road often runs between them where we least expect it.