Baggage: Cultural and Otherwise

I used to pride myself on travelling light.  In college, when I was backpacking overseas during the summer, I’d begin making packing lists months in advance.  Beginning in February, you’d find me tuning out French literature lectures while debating the merits of my blue tank versus the pink short-sleeved shirt.  Both go with the Capri pants, but the blue works better with the striped skirt…

Half the fun of travel is planning, right?  Yes, I know, I’m a nerd.  It’s been said before.  By me.

My wardrobe for a summer of backpacking travel was a garanimalized (Google it if you’re too young or old to catch the reference) series of quick-dry, wrinkle-free-ish items that all interchanged, layered well and looked terrific until halfway through the vacation.  By the end of the trip, after weeks of hand washes and abuse from trains, subways, buses, crowded walking tours and picnics in parks, the clothes would literally disintegrate in the final week.  I’d discard them on a carefully synchronized schedule, so as to hop on the plane home with only the clothes on my back and my backpack full of souvenirs and exposed film.  Remember film?  Me too.

Even after I got married, my husband and I prided ourselves on being “carryon only” travelers even when going overseas.  Two summers ago, we got ourselves, the two kids and the friend “L” who helped with the kids to France with  just carryons.

Those days are gone, my friends, gone.  Now, the new version of travelling light involved a rollaboard, over-the-shoulder bag, ugly purse, laptop case, two Target backpacks for the kids and a Marks & Spencer carrier bag full of sticker books, candy, a well-ignored Yahtzee set and a torn up Rick Steves guidebook.

I’m okay with the evolution of my packing strategy—or lack thereof.  I still keep to certain tiers of items—money, credit cards, passports, Swiss army knife and mints stay close to my heart in my purse.  Heaviest shoes, pants, shirt and jacket are worn on significant travel days.  Toiletries are, as usual, carefully planned, thoughtfully organized and then throw higgledy-piggledy into a bag as the last item to be packed before running off to the train station each morning.  Some things don’t change.

New wrinkles include Helena’s inhaler attachment—this hard plastic tube that takes up a lot of space, but is essential in delivering her asthma prevention meds twice a day.  Happily, I discovered a great podcast of kids’ stories so I could store the CD player and bulky, heavy books on CD that were dragging me down like an electronic albatross.  Before we left, I bought the kids these adorable pink backpack/messenger bags.  Any toys they want go in there.  If they can carry them, they can bring them.  I lug the home schooling books and reading books, but otherwise, they’re hauling their diversions.

As expected, our clothes are looking awful.  Back in Paris, I washed several items with Helena’s brand new maroon scarf.  Even now, after several washes, the items I “pinked” that day retain their distorted color patterns.  No biggie—they were all destined for the trash can anyway.  The girls are outgrowing their leggings with superhuman speed.  Their shirts, once beaded and sparkly, are now threadbare and dicey.  But nothing’s going to make it home in any case.  Normally I don’t mind looking like a hayseed by the end of a trip.

However, we’re now taking the Queen Mary II home.  Uh.  So now I’m rather horrified by the state of our clothes.  I think each of us has two outfits that aren’t cringingly horrible for a cruise ship.  One of my to-do list items is to buy an extra roller bag and some new clothes before we leave.

So much for travelling light.