6 DECEMBER 1997, Page 67

Not motoring

Map culture

Gavin Stamp

Pedestrians and motorists see things dif- ferently — and not just about who ought to have right of way. Those who walk around cities tend to have a clear grasp of dis- tances and spatial relationships, for by such things do they find their way around. Motorists, in contrast, isolated from reality in their little metal boxes, often have no sense of immediate distance; they will think in terms of the trunk road or the motorway — the big line on the map — even if it goes three times the distance that the crow might fly. And this can lead to an attitude that fails to comprehend or even notice urban form — the attitude of the road engineer rather than the citizen.

Of course, Londoners who only use the Underground can also have a very peculiar notion of the shape of the city, as they visit the immediate vicinity of stations often without knowing how these areas connect above ground. And this, perhaps, is reflect- ed in the shape of Harry Beck's famous map of the Underground system: a geo- metrical diagram which indicates the posi- tion of stations on lines but which is utterly misleading in terms of distances. On the map, for instance, Uxbridge and Amer- sham look close to each other, and the gap between stops in the outer suburbs are drawn as close together as in central Lon- don. Hence, perhaps, the disquieting rumour that this map — which has inspired similar exercises all over the world should be changed.

Beck's map is, of course, but a diagram, but all maps are abstract pictures which aspire to represent some idea of topo- graphical reality. And what is interesting is how much these cartographic concepts can differ. The pedestrian wants an accurate diagram, with the shape of public spaces and intersections clearly drawn, for by such things does he (or she — yes, of course, women can read maps) navigate. Crude or badly drawn maps, often composed for the driver, can be worse than useless. In the United States, a country dominated by the car, it is significant that decent maps in the British sense are difficult to find. Many urban areas are depicted only in linear pat- terns which give no clear idea of their nature, and even good downtown maps are often unobtainable.

There is, in fact, a culture of maps which differs from country to country. In Britain, we take it for granted that we can buy small- or large-scale detailed maps of any part of the country — thanks to the Ord- nance Survey. And the inveterate traveller will soon form an impression of a foreign city by the availability of maps — by whether it is possible to obtain an accurate, precisely drawn, large-scale plan or whether the only aid available is one of those detestable things with three-dimen- sional views of tourist sites plonked on the two-dimensional image and obscuring the pattern of streets.

Certain cultures still do not think in terms of maps — in terms of accurate rep- resentations of physical form — at all (no more than mediaeval Europe did). For myself, I can never bear to ask the way in a strange city, not least because the instruc- tions are usually wrong. Instead, give me a

map and I am happy. One of my triumphs was to arrive in Calcutta for the first time and direct an incompetent taxi driver all the way from Howrah Station to Sudder Street using the map in my Murray's Guide. It should, however, be said that magnifi- cent maps do exist issued by the Survey of India — inspired by our own Ordnance Survey.

As I say, Britain has a deep and reliable culture of maps, but we are certainly not the only such nation. France is similar, with the coverage both by Michelin and by the Institut Geographique National. And Ger- many is deeply mapped, as one might expect. Andrew Gimson recently intro- duced me to the Atlas of Berlin and Pots- dam, a superb document which puts our own A to Z of London to shame. Issued by BVG, the Berlin transport authority, it is available at stations for a mere DM7, and contains a gazetteer, first and last times of every bus, tram, S- and U-Bahn route and beautiful, precisely drawn 1:20,000 coloured maps with every public transport route indicated. And the latest edition also has large-scale plans of major traffic inter- sections, with every station platform (above and below ground) and bus stop carefully indicated: altogether a triumph which deserves emulation.

But the serious visitor will also want the 1910 Baedeker of Berlin as it contains beau- tiful intricate maps. Baedekers, indeed, always had the best town plans, and have been highly sought after for certain coun- tries. Old editions were valuable and (pos- sibly) illegal documents to possess behind the Iron Curtain as, for instance, until recently no modern map available of either St Petersburg or Moscow ever approached the pre-1914 Baedeker ones for detail. Indeed, accurate maps of Soviet cities (and countryside) were never available, In Moscow, even the Metro stations were not named: it was assumed that citizens knew their own stop, but they were not encour- aged to go elsewhere. And without a map, inquisitive travel is difficult.

So maps are never neutral: they have political implications. When in Moscow two years ago, I visited the Exhibition of Economic Achievements where 1950s Clas- sical pavilions celebrating the triumphs of Soviet agriculture and science are turned over to stalls selling computers and videos. But most touching was the brisk sale of maps of Moscow — large-scale, detailed town plans of a sort which were simply unobtainable before. And Muscovites were queuing to buy them, to find out about the true shape of their own city, to know about themselves.

For good maps are precious; they repre- sent freedom. But they can also be an instrument of power — by the state or its agents: the town planner (Haussmann or Speer), or the road engineer.