An old proverb says: "Pride goeth before a fall." However, I never really knew what it meant until my trip to the museum.

It was on an overcast day in November, a few weeks after my arrival in China, and I wanted to see the Andy Warhol exhibit before it closed at the Central Academy of Fine Arts. But even after my colleagues told me it was hard to find, I was stubbornly set on getting there on my own - no cabs or address written out in Chinese characters for me. No, I would travel like the typical Beijinger I hoped to become, using only public transportation.

I felt confident in my ability to do so, despite my non-existent language skills, since I'd had success getting to the Forbidden City, Sanlitun and even the 798 art zone. Plus, the museum website offered transit instructions. So I boldly set off without even a phrasebook, boarding a train at the Huixinxijie Nankou station and emerging a few miles east at Taiyanggong. From there, however, things - literally - began to go south.

According to the CAFA's website, I was to take Bus No 132 north to Huajiadi Nanjie. Easier said than done! I had to scurry to each side of the intersection before finding the right bus stop. Even then, I wasn't sure what direction I was facing. But as the bus doors flipped open, I tried to stay positive: Soon I'd be viewing Warhol's famous soup cans.

Instead, I was in the soup.

My happy glow turned to icy fear when I began noticing that not only did the bus seem to be circling an enormous park - funny, I didn't recall any giant parks on the museum website's map - but it was heading south toward the Third Ring Road!

Jumping off at the next stop, I planned to cross the street and simply retrace my route to Taiyanggong. Facing me, however, was no bus stop: just a big brick wall around the park. An old New England expression suddenly popped into my head: "You can't get there from here."

And I couldn't even say, "I'm lost". My panicked expression, however, must have spoken volumes, because a flock of angels - disguised as a trio of kindly bus riders - suddenly converged on me. Though their English matched my Mandarin abilities, I tried to convey my odyssey: "China Daily to Taiyanggong to art museum ..." I then shrugged helplessly.

My message must have gotten across because the Good Samaritans - a young lady in office attire and two older women carrying shopping bags - quickly turned to the impenetrable (at least to me) route schedule and began debating which bus I should take.

Finally, it was decided. Through gestures, they advised me to ride the No 130 bus back to Taiyanggong and then pick up the 515. Though the younger woman didn't seem quite convinced, when the No 130 pulled up, they all helped me onto it, calling out encouragement.

Sure enough, it delivered me to Taiyanggong. Once again, I dodged cabs and motorbikes across six lanes of traffic to get to the 515 bus stop. And for the second time that day, I realized I was totally disoriented (the sun was masked by clouds, and there were no familiar landmarks to guide me).

But my chariot arrived, and I hopped on, keeping my fingers crossed. After all, how many mistakes could I make in one day? In short order, the answer appeared as an oddly familiar sign floated by. I could have sworn it said, "University of International Business and Economics" - the name of the school directly across from the China Daily building.

No. Couldn't be. But it wasn't until the bus halted in front of South West Minority Dishes, the bright-orange restaurant just around the corner from the newspaper, that I came to terms with where I was: Right back where I'd started.

It was time to admit defeat. I stepped off the bus, turned and raised my arm. "Taxi!"

margaret@chinadaily.com.cn

(China Daily 03/06/2014 page20)