Imagine you're from Argentina, right off the plane, standing on the second floor of a downtown Minneapolis office building, staring at a map of skyways. It looks like angular snakes playing Twister.
You are here.
You have to get there.
Somehow.
Because this is Minnesota and people are good, a local person notes your confusion and offers to help. He hears where you're headed. He points out two routes. One involves three blocks of outside walking, but it's cold. The other goes all the way, but there's a tunnel.
A tunnel? A skyway tunnel?
Right, well, you have to go down two floors, then under the street, then across the street kittywhompus, or caddywhompus (I don't know which term you use in Argentina), but that'll take you right there. Oh, to heck with it. Follow me. …
It ought to be easier for strangers. The simplest approach: someone sitting in a chair by the map, like an old elevator operator, offering to lead you to your destination, handing you off to another guide when you cross the street.