I have had many troubles in my life, and the majority of them never happened.
and I thought that was apropos for me, especially in the process of getting ready for this trip. I have imagined all kinds of worst-case-scenarios and hypothetical hangups. Some people would call that "being responsible," but it turns out that it's just a method of making your pack way too heavy, especially when you're not going to some third-world country without stores anyway. And I've learned that other people, upon hearing about your exciting plans, just love to offer all kinds of warnings too--everything from things that they've imagined, to that odd news story from 7 years ago, to a recent horror movie, to what happened to aunt So-and-So thirty years ago with her ex-husband in a different country altogether. Rick Steves says I should take a money belt, Mom's worried about me being in Italy all by myself (it'll be just me and a couple million scary men, apparently), I turn on the tv and there's a commercial for the new show, "Locked Up Overseas."
One piece of advice I've received over and over again, however, that I've taken to heart: Pack Light. Even though I've spent several months obsessing over clothes and going to Goodwill every other minute in hopes that a pair of Chaco's or a pack would magically appear (both of which have magically appeared since then, in other ways), I ended up cutting out about half of my "Europe clothes" when I tried to lift my pack. And since then, I've cut out even more, shipping two boxes home to my parents' house from Orcas Island, where I'm currently staying. Okay, let me back up.
Memorial Day weekend, I packed all my stuff into a storage unit. When you open the door, a bed and several boxes threaten to collapse on you, just like the notorious cartoon closet. I kept things I was still hoping to bring with me on my crazy summer in my car and stayed at a friend's house for the remainder of the quarter. That was an adventure in itself, since we're both grad students and TAs, but I think it went well. I have been watching her cat most weekends for half of the year, so it was a balanced exchange. Last week, I trimmed my pack down to about 35 pounds and hopped the Greyhound to Orcas Island. Now I know, from backpacking in the mountains, that 35 pounds is doable. I can (or could) walk ten miles uphill (both ways?) with a big ol' pack. But lifting it repeatedly and carrying it around in a scary bus station (the Seattle one, to be exact) turned out to be a lot more difficult. So yesterday, from Orcas Island's only post office, I sent more stuff home. They told me I needed a "from" address and I told them I was homeless. A happy wanderer with several hangups.
So the final list:
blazer, hoodie, long-sleeved linen shirt
two nice tee shirts, two tank tops
swimsuit
summer dress that can also be worn w/swimsuit
jeans, gauchos, long skirt
Chacos, little ballet slippers
4 pairs of underwear, 4 pairs socks
red tights (these are extra, but I have to finish Alisoun of Bath's trip to Canterbury in her crimson stockings--I'm a nerd)
two bras
packable rain jacket
fleece sleeping bag, lightweight round pillow
Frida Kahlo sari (for beach blanket)
small towel, washrag
camera, memory card reader, thumb drive
cell phone, charger, adaptor
medicine
first aid kit: bandaids, neosporin w/ duct tape wrapped around it, chai tea, ibuprofin, remnants of a sewing kit
a little chunk of Fels Naptha, 10 dryer sheets
extra baggies, big plastic bag (for rain)
lock, caribiners
water bottle
notebook, map, drawing pad, etc.
passport, dl, appropriate cards including STA travel card w/insurance
copies of the above
doggie shampoo bar (not kidding!) and other toiletries
Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert Heinlein, The Salmon of Doubt by Douglas Adams
a cold
I'm not kidding. Now I'm sick. My ears feel weird, it hurts to swallow, and my sinuses are pushing down on my teeth. Figures. Something I didn't plan for.
No comments:
Post a Comment