I realized that I was getting cold, and felt it was probably time to go back to the apartment, so I put my collar up against the wind and began to walk back up the cold street. I managed to get some food from a vendor , and walked on. About twenty-five minutes later I knew that something was wrong. It was getting very, very cold, there were no streetlights, and the hill I was hoping to see on my right was nowhere in sight.  There was almost no light except for mysterious red crosses shining from the tops of churches, and I was beginning to get worried.  To cut a long story short, I had walked the wrong way from a crossroads, and had wandered miles in the wrong direction. My head was aching from the cold, and I couldn't think straight. Turing around, I started back, and a long time later was outside the house I had set off from. It was at about that time I realized that I had a gate key but no house key.  How happy I was when I found that the front door was open--my only piece of good luck that day.  My apartment was of course locked, my head felt like it was about to explode, and my hands and feet were freezing. I tried turning the handle.  No luck.  I tried another key from England.  I wanted to avoid waking the family downstairs, so despite the fear of an early death from cold, I couldn't break the door down.  What would my hosts think? I pulled an ATM card from my pocket and forced it alongside the inside of the lock. I didn't think it would work, but after fifteen minutes of trying, I heard a click.  Another couple of minutes later the door was open.  Relieved, I took off my clothes in the dark and got into bed. What made the author find he had walked the wrong way?
He didn't see the house. A vendor reminded him. The street name reminded him. He didn't see the hill.