Aug 8, 2008
Packing for a journey
Once upon a time, I’d pack days ahead of any journey. I’d start thinking about what to take a week before setting off, and be mentally piling things and considering outfits and options.
Those days have gone.
These days, I’m more likely to have a vague idea what I’ll be taking, and then throw it all together the night before I go, because there is such a thing as leaving it too late.
Once, in Bolivia, I was living in La Paz and had planned to spend a week in a city in the south of the country. The trouble was, the plane was due to leave at 7am, it was an hour to the airport from my house (though only a mile if you could somehow go directly up the cliff at the edge of the canyon, and over the lip across El Alto) and I had to be at check-in at six.
The other small issue was that it was a friend’s birthday the day before, and as a result, we went out to celebrate.
Alcohol consumed at 4,000m above sea level does funny things to the body. It creeps up on you and smashes you in the back of the head when you’re not looking, and then lingers for ages. It conspires with the thin air to leave you feeling simultaneously wrecked and euphoric, and as usual, it messes up your sense of judgement.
And so it was that at 3am before the flight, my friend and I reeled back to the apartment in Sopocachi, solemnly promising to wake each other up ninety minutes later so we could pack and get on the plane.
Naturally, when the eight alarm clocks went off at 4:30, and again at 4:45, 5:00 and 5:15, we didn’t manage to rise. The thumping of the irate neighbour on the wall at 5:30 got our attention though, and so, half drunk and half hungover and horrified by the lateness of the hour, we set about packing in a panic for the days ahead.
Things shoved in bags, water splashed on faces, feet shoved in shoes and a quick sprint out to the street to cajole a sleeping cab driver into wakefulness and speedy delivery with the promise of a waved 20Bs note.
Cut to: several hours later, a city in the south of Bolivia, on the edge of the jungle. Two girls, cradling bottles of water and squinting into the hot sun, feeling like they’ve licked the road. They are waiting to check into the hotel.
When we got into our room, we discovered that L had managed to pack:
– three pairs of shoes
– a jumper
– six pairs of trousers and
– three books
While I’d somehow ended up with:
– eighteen pairs of knickers (straight from the dirty laundry basket)
– a copy of Jagged Little Pill
– two coca teabags
– a shortwave radio and
– a miniature screwdriver set.
With the memory of that long, strange week in mind, and still slightly unsure about what I’d been intending to do with the contents of my suitcase, I think it’s wiser if these days I make an attempt to pack a little in advance. So since I’m off for a week on a small island in an hour or so, I’d better get packing.
Now, where did I leave that alum key?
Sorry, off topic I know but I can’t help myself - alum key or allen key?
In an attempt to get back on topic, my
vaguelyOCD tendencies mean that I am a big fan of pre-prepared packing lists. If I suddenly need to go and work in Texas for a week during the summer, I simply get out my Air_Conditioned_Office_In_A_Hot_Country list and save myself a lot of last minute agonizing over whether to take warm or cool clothes.I can’t stop laughing at this post. Yes, I think planning in advance is the way to go….!
Argh! Yes. Allen key! Why did I say Alum? Thinking of sand formations on the Isle of Wight, perhaps….
Eh, “Pétoche” (http://www.koztoujours.fr), c’est drôlement chouette de sympa de garder le MESSAGE que je dois faire passer à cette GROSSE TACHE qui vit, là-haut, sous les combles, LE MANIAQUE DE L’ÉLECTRICITÉ, qui aboie quand on lui parle et se tient toujours au garde à vous prêt à obéir, le MESSAGE étant : ” ELLE… A DIT : “CALTEZ, VOLAILLES !” .
Merci pour ce fabuleux espace démocratique du chien (premier couplet)
Thanks, laughed out loud at this in the office and will now need to sit looking very studious for a while to ensure no one thinks I’m slacking.. I’m off for a few weeks too very soon and am now rather worried about my own packing. I was very organised - I started a list at the weekend. Unfortunately I think it went something like:
-toiletries
-clothes
-spare socks & tights (I always seem to run out no matter how many pairs I take!)
I’ve got a day, I’m sure it’ll all be fine.. Good luck Meg & have a lovely trip!
Dear dear Meg, I have read your blog for ages now, a lurker rather than a commenter, but this one made me laugh out loud and snort tea through my nose [which I was drinking at the time] and I just had to say so, loved the post, love your blog … :)
Thanks! You’ll be happy to hear I made it to my final destination without packing any tools or dirty laundry, but it does seem I was somewhat overoptimistic about the weather: have swimsuit, sunglasses and sandals - actually need socks, jumper and scarf.
That’s one of the funniest posts I’ve read in a long time! Keep it up.
Yeah, Gawd, I’ve always had this feeling that everybody is better at getting ready to travel than me. And that includes you, Meg.
I had foolishly (well, okay, it was cheap) bought a ticket to take a VERY EARLY MORNING flight from Charles de Gaulle International Airport (known personally to airlines as CDG). I found myself in an Ibis hotel at 10 o’clock at night staring at a map but not comprehending. It looked a lot like the one at this URL:
http://www.paris-cdg.com/maps.html
I was trying to figure out how long it would take me to turn in my rental car and check at Air France. I couldn’t quite work out the scale of the map.
I called Air France in Paris but they had handed off customer service to Air France in New York for the night. Nobody at Air France in New York knew anything about Charles de Gaulle Airport. (That’s my ONLY complaint about Air France, by the way. I love everything else about them, INCLUDING the in-air meals, which I find remarkable.)
So, I drove down to the terminal to look around. I found my flight number on an electronic sign. Between that and wandering around the empty terminal in the middle of the night (no security at all), I figured out what awaited me the next morning. (No big deal, basically.)
But while I was there, I happened upon another obviously-worried Air France Traveler. She was a young lady in her 20’s. She had piled her luggage on the luggage conveyor belt at the closed check-in desk.
And then she PILED HERSELF ON THE LUGGAGE CONVEYOR BELT. She was sound asleep on the luggage conveyor belt.
Dangerous? Maybe not.
She had this enormous handbag. The handles were looped around her neck. Even in sleep, her arms were wrapped around the great sack that was this handbag.
But something was sticking out of the handbag. And it seemed to be moving.
She had a small dog in the handbag, which was partially snapped closed, leaving just enough room for a little dog’s head. The little dog watched me like a hawk as I drew closer to take a look.
Sigh.
I stood in awe and admiration. There was NO POSSIBILITY of her missing her flight. And she saved the cost of an airport hotel in the bargain.
You remember the James Bond theme from quite a few years ago, “Nobody Does it Better.” Hell, everybody does it better.
REG CROWDER
Freelance Financial and Investment Writer
London, England and Brittany, France
http://knol.google.com/k/reg-crowder/international-investing/6dyptd3yjxyq/2