Packing to Gallivant

I used to know how to spell.  By “used to,” I mean in third and fourth grade, when I got perfect scores on all my spelling tests.  Lately I’ve been depending less on my faulty memory and more on Google.  I want to “galavant” across Europe, and Google asks me, “do you mean gallivant?”  Why, yes, Google, I do want to galavant/gallivant!  Of course, learning foreign languages has not helped my spelling at all.  I have lived in apartments and appartements, both of which had an address or adresse.

But I digress. This entry was supposed to be about packing. 

Part 1.  The preliminaries

A few days ago I mentioned to my doctor the challenges of packing for my trip, and he responded, “I’m not sure I would know how to pack for seven weeks.”  To which I replied, “well, you really only pack for two weeks, and do laundry.”  But, the question is, how the hell do you pack for two weeks of questionable weather and fit it all into two carry-on bags?  Having been through several hellish bag-retrieval experiences while traveling abroad, I have sworn off checking a bag if I can help it.  It cuts down on headaches of one sort, while creating a packing challenge.  Of course, no one will care if I wear the same thing several days in a row, as long as I don’t smell bad (and the standards for that vary from country to country as well), so I try to go with basic pieces that mix and match and don’t wrinkle.  Also, I go for dark colors, so if a drop of wine or sauce gets spilled, I’m not left with trying to get stains out.  Thin layers work well to keep you warm, or peel off when the sun finally emerges, and they also air-dry more quickly (my in-laws don’t have a dryer).  Leggings do double-duty under dresses, for exercise, or as pajama bottoms.

I begin with a list, of course.  All the things I’d like to take if I had room.  Then I pare it down, eliminating the things I’m not sure flatter me, or are the least bit uncomfortable (no matter how cute I think they look).  I do all my laundry and put it away, then I pile the things on my pared-down list on the guest bed, then wait a few days (today’s task). 

Packing Phase One

After sleeping on it a couple of times, I weed out the pile again of things I don’t think I’ll wear more than once or twice (the exception to this is when there’s a very special occasion, such as a wedding or other celebration), or things I have even a tiny doubt about.  It seems that no matter how lightly I pack, I always come home with things I didn’t wear even once. Really.  

In the meantime, I gather all the things I would freak out if I didn’t have for seven weeks, or would be nearly impossible to replace:  prescription medications, non-prescription favorites, passport, credit cards, phone, charger, adapters, camera.  Electronics are available in Europe, of course, but much pricier than in the U.S., so I’m taking my Kindle and laptop, and all the chargers and cords for them.  I stick to the quart Ziploc 3-1-1 rule for shampoo, etc., since although I love my chosen brands, I won’t die if I don’t have my conditioner or hairspray for a few weeks.  My meds, electronics, and documents go into my backpack first thing.

Prescription meds are a must.  For longer trips, I found out you can usually get a “vacation prescription” from your pharmacy.  Even though they’re bulky, I carry them in the prescription bottle, so I have that ready to present to customs, or if I have to refill abroad.  Favorite vitamin brands are good to take, too.  I take OTC allergy meds and Aleve, so I take a generous supply.  I’m sure these are available in Europe, but the challenge of finding the same brand name or a similar brand is sometimes overwhelming.  I have taken something in France called Doliprane, which is like Tylenol, but made to fizz with water like Alka-Seltzer.  I do know one brand name that is the same in France, and it’s a lifesaver:  Imodium.

Scarves and inexpensive jewelry help provide variety in an otherwise monochromatic wardrobe.  I’m not extremely girly, but it’s the little things that make a difference.  Of course, Europe is an awesome place to buy either, so if I forget some jewelry or scarves, it’s OK.  On the other hand, I am not built like French women, so if I have to go clothes shopping there, it becomes an issue.  Black pants, black skirt, several nice Ts, a couple of thin cardigans, and some colorful scarves will be sufficient.  But the real challenge is at the bottom of my list:  shoes.  I want to be able to exercise while I’m there, but running shoes are HUGE, and take up so much room.  I try to fill them with socks, etc., but I don’t really want my clean things to smell like the inside of my running shoes, so this is always a problem.  I also have terrible feet, which means I can’t wear the same pair of shoes for several days in a row, especially if I’m walking a lot.  Birkenstock sandals serve double-duty as slippers (necessary in a lot of European households; everyone takes off their outside shoes at the door, and stone or tile floors are often too cold to go barefoot, even in summer) and sandals, as long as I remember to wipe them off when they go back to being slippers.  I need some close-toed walking shoes for cities with cobblestones, and maybe another pair to go out in.   Four pairs of shoes.  One will be on my feet, three in my bags.  Ugh.

Part 2.  The method

The conundrum: to roll up or lay clothes flat?

My mother lived mostly out of a suitcase from 1953-1962 when she worked as a civilian for the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers.  She lived in Japan, Mississippi, Panama, and finally Washington, D.C., and traveled extensively between assignments.  She had some experience packing, one might say.  When I was a child, she packed my suitcases for camps and vacations, and soon I learned to copy her method.  When I was planning my year of study abroad in college, I tried to experiment with other methods, but both my mother and I were horrified after my first attempt--so little actually fit in my suitcase, whose outside proportions were enormous.  I hurriedly dumped the notion of rolling up my clothes, and went back to laying them flat.

Rolling clothes works well if you have that whole system where you put the things in plastic bags, and then suck the air out of them.  Trouble is, you have to also bring that contraption with you that sucks the air out, and the clothes are wrinkled beyond recognition.  Laying items flat allows you to spread things out to fit the dimensions of the suitcase, and then smash them down with the strap.  You still have little nooks and crannies to put shoes (and underwear and socks and scarves and belts, if you want; however, I even lay my underwear and socks out flat); there's even room for little zipper bags and coin purses and an extra fold-up tote and plastic bags.  People have been amazed at how much I can fit into a carry-on rolling suitcase, and I know for a fact it’s because I lay them flat.  It’s physics, people; rolling things up creates irretrievable spaces and bulk no matter how tightly you think you can roll it.  Believe it.

Recently I read a packing tip that made sense, and I’m willing to try it.  When you’re having trouble getting that suitcase zipped, try throwing it on the floor; the clothes will settle, leaving room to close the thing.  I don’t advise trying this in a European hotel, however; people on the floor below you might think the roof is caving in.

Part 3.  Packing for a 10-year-old

Dear god, help us. I know it’s coming:  the argument about bringing the computer.  My son is a Minecraft junkie, and cannot imagine a seven-week period of life without access to his drug of choice. I am convinced that he should learn how to be bored and invent stuff to do outside during the summer.  His grandparents have a couple of acres of garden and fruit trees and running space, and a bicycle.  I am not taking his gargantuan laptop.  I refuse.

Otherwise, packing for a ten-year-old is a piece of cake.  He is responsible for gathering 10 t-shirts, 5 shorts, 15 underwear, 10 pairs of socks, a pair of jeans, a pair of long pants, a dress shirt, a couple of sweatshirts or pullovers which can be layered with each other, pajamas, two pairs of shoes, a comb, children’s Tylenol, shampoo, conditioner, nail clippers, Band-aids, triple-antibiotic ointment, and hydrocortisone cream (poor kid has my skin, prone to weird rashes).  We usually buy him a cheap or disposable camera, or let him take photos with ours.  Kindle, stuffed animal.  Done.  When he was little, we packed a TON of activities for the plane, but now he just watches the movies, listens to music, plays or reads on his Kindle, or sleeps.  I can even “borrow” some of his suitcase real estate for extra things like presents or chocolate when we return.  Or my shoes….