My Traveling Companion

Three years ago I backpacked through South America. As I was laying out my wardrobe for the trip, I considered the fact that I would be in both cities as well as the wild outdoors. I had never done a combination like that before, but if I was going to be traveling through cities, that meant that I would be going out at night, and if I was going out that meant that I had to bring heels. You can imagine the downward spiral that followed. Seven pairs of shoes later, my bag was so heavy that if my center of gravity shifted even half a step too soon, I quickly toppled to the ground. I was convinced I needed everything in that pack so I decided I would just step carefully and it would be okay.

A week and a half into the trip, I was circling the town of Puerto Iguazu on foot, as all the hostels were full. Usually after thirty seconds the weight of the bag clutched my shoulders sending spasms of pain up my neck. After a few hours I found the last inn with one shared room. Finally.

Then the monsoons came. Did I mention there was no roof in the middle of the building? The water started flooding into all of the rooms. I crammed those purple espadrilles that I needed so desperately in my bag and raced out of the inn. There was no way I was going to tromp through the rivers that had replaced the sidewalks so I hailed a cab. As I swung the bag off of my tender shoulder, the top, fed up with the constant prodding and stuffing, spewed the contents into the cobbled street; the heels floating down the muddy road like little tug boats.

I flashed to this image every time I thought about packing for my European trip. I knew that I was going to be gone for several months but I vowed not to repeat that horrific experience.

Well, this trip I ended up with one pair of heels (only one!), one pair of flats (so I don’t look like a tourist), one pair of running shoes (for any long hiking), one pair of street shoes (long city walks), one pair of flip flops (beaches and icky showers), a pair of slippers (it can be cold at night) and, what the hell, a pair of ballet slippers (I like to dance). Yes. That is, sigh, officially seven shoes.

I so wish I never found that XXXL rolling duffle bag at the back of my closest. I was set on taking a medium piece of luggage until that fateful moment. “But it rolls,” I reasoned with myself. Yes, it rolls, usually over on the side when I am racing up the steps to catch my train. It doesn’t even matter if it does roll, when I have to lift it on and off of the metro at each stop. It certainly isn’t the main concern when I can only take 44 pounds of luggage total when I use the European airlines.

This is what I have learned. When I am packing, everything seems ultra important, and if the bag is big enough, I will take it all. However, if I had brought a smaller bag, I would have started making hard choices about what was absolutely essential. It is like when you make a mixed tape (or CD) for a friend. So much good music to share, but there is only so much space, so you begin to weed out the less important tracks.

Please think of me, and of my “rolling duffle” that weighs approximately the size of a baby rhino next time you find yourself packing for an extended trip.