I was in a strange city I didn't know at all, and what's more, I could not speak a word of the language. On my second day I got on the first bus that passed, rode on it for several stops, then got off and walked on. The first two hours passed pleasantly enough, then I decided to turn back to my hotel for lunch. After walking about for some time, I decided I had better ask the way. The trouble was that the only word I knew of the language was the name of the street in which I lived, and even that I pronounced badly. I stopped to ask a newspaper-seller. He handed me a paper. I shook my head and repeated the name of the street and he put the paper into my hands. I had to give him some money and went on my way. The next person I asked was a policeman. He listened to me carefully, nodded and gently took me by the arm. There was a strange look in his eyes as he pointed left and right and left again. I nodded politely and began walking in the direction he pointed.About an hour passed and I noticed that the houses were getting fewer and fewer and green fields were appearing on either side of me. I had come all the way into the countryside. The only thing left for me to do was find the nearest railway station. In your opinion, what was the writer's real trouble?
He didn't know the city at all. He couldn't speak the language. He went too far in the wrong bus. He followed the policeman's direction.