Imagine a line on a map that showed all the roads you’ve travelled in your life, from business trips to holidays and all the everyday journeys in between. This trail would spread across the globe, expanding at a slower rate the older you got, because as we age we develop routines and repeat the same physical loops­­.

If you’re like me, you might occasionally fantasize about changing it all. Could you pack everything into boxes and start again in some place new? More to the point, do you really want to?

A friend once told me that change needn’t involve uprooting your life and starting over. Why not try a series of incremental modifications such as taking a different route to work? With that in mind, I left my flat on Sunday to walk a few roads in České Budějovice that I had never been to before.

I started off in the direction of Matice Školské, where last autumn I saw two Americans, arm in arm, turning into a street I had never previously noticed. They laughed and kicked through the yellow leaves like characters from a romantic movie, the tranquillity of the street providing the perfect suburban backdrop.

Walking along the river towards that road, I felt an odd sense of excitement. I was about to visit an area of České Budějovice I had never seen before, ever in my life. I often go down streets for the first time, but I am never usually aware of it, let alone deliberately seeking out places I don’t know.

The ‘American’ road was called Pabláskova. A wide street lined with detached pastel houses and trees pink in bloom. Even the street itself felt American, maybe because I’d pigeon-holed it before I arrived. As I walked the sun-drenched pavement, I noticed a garden decorated with what I thought were seven dwarves, until I counted ten. You don’t often see gnomes in the Czech Republic; unlike in the British town I grew up in, where there were gnomes everywhere. In the evenings we’d swap them between gardens, hoping the owners would question their sanity. That’s what ‘teenage kicks’ look like in a small town.

At the end of Pabláskova, I realized it’s quite difficult to get deliberately lost in České Budějovice. This is ironic, because when I’m not trying it happens constantly. I couldn’t turn left because I’d be on the main road again, so I backtracked onto Jánská, another street I had never been to, before emerging once more onto the familiar territory of Němcové.

I decided to head across town to behind the train station, an area of České Budějovice I don’t know and rarely visit. The sun disappeared behind grey clouds and a cold wind replaced it. I found myself rushing and irritated. ‘I’ve seen all this before, this isn’t part of it, it’s a waste of time’. I guess the goal colours all the roads that lead us there, we can turn anything into a means to an end, even when that goal is to get lost.

I stopped off at the Mercury centre to get something to eat. My senses heightened with the determination to observe the new, I remembered the first time I visited this shopping mall. Back then I went downstairs instead of upstairs, finishing up in the car park and scratching my head at where I had gone wrong. Now I have been here so many times it seems absurd that I could have made that mistake.

Walking along the main road away from the station, I contemplated how diverse cities are, even small ones like České Budějovice. I felt as though I had passed through about five different towns today, from quiet pristine avenues to dirty rundown streets. And when it began to snow the bright skies of Pabláskova seemed even further away.

I stopped at the top of the big grey bridge over the train tracks to shelter from the blizzard. The wagons below were full of trees and the air smelt of sulphur. The old railway and the bitter cold reminded of the time I backpacked through Russia, surprising considering I was only thirty minutes from home.

At the other side of the bridge, I discovered another new area of České Budějovice with an incongruous number of bazaars. Their windows boasted all kinds of junk, from fake watches to painted eggs. Dogs barked from behind garden gates, an angry chorus shunting me through. The buildings here seemed like country houses, some half-finished, all of them prioritising garden space.

Returning under a brick tunnel, I realized I once came here to buy a second-hand bike. The seller had climbed up the side of the house to retrieve the bike from the balcony. I half-jokingly questioned whether the house or the bike were his. To prove he owned both he invited me inside. Three young Romani children played in a tiny one-bedroom flat. There was barely any furniture, aside from the bed and a rickety table, upon which lay a solitary bag of half-finished sugar. The smiling mother rattled the balcony door to demonstrate it no longer opened. I felt bad taking the bike because it was pretty much the only thing left in the place, but the family wanted the cash. As I cycled away I resolved never to complain again. Ten minutes later I realized both tires were punctured, so my resolution didn’t even last until I got home.

Walking along the tracks where the old trainline used to go, I stopped to inspect the backend of České Budějovice station – which mainly consisted of cement piled into heaps, dilapidated sheds, and crows. It felt sad that people had once worked hard to build these tracks and buildings, and now it was just wasteland.

The snow continued to beat down and it was freezing cold. I had started off looking for new streets and now all I wanted was the warmth of the ones I knew. Even so, I decided that I would definitely do this again; partly because it is interesting to discover new places, but mainly because you enter a more observant state, triggering forgotten associations and memories from long ago.

*First published in Milk & Honey Magazine, České Budějovice