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).
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| 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.
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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….
