Sherpa Wanted

Leopard capri pants. I packed the leopard capri pants. I'm not sure just how often I'll need (yes, need) to wear them, but by god, when I do, I'll have them. For that trendy party at a Bangkok disco or for an evening on an Australian beach, I will frolic in my leopard capri pants and other travelers, women the world over, will envy me. Of course, other things had to be sacrificed to accommodate this whim. The hot pink sarong and hot matching top was left behind, as was that cute little black shawl.

In fact, several things did not make the last cut -- the harmonica I don't know how to play, but which fit in so well to my lonely train ride fantasies; the hammock on which I would rock on far off beaches (assuming of course the presence of trees!); the extra paperbacks to use as currency with fellow English-speaking travelers; the Tevas, which I determined were redundant to the surf shoes; the metal plate; the favorite baby feather pillow; and the mosquito netting.

Ordinarily I can make good packing decisions. I was, after all, the Family Packer (along with being the Family Present-Wrapper). Every time anyone was travelling, I packed their suitcase. When my father left to go fetch my sister from college, I was put into the car to perform the packing miracle on the other end. And I know how to resolve packing choices -- when I went on a sea-kayaking adventure in the Virgin Islands and was told that everything had to fit into a small dry bag, I had no hesitation in throwing out the extra shorts and shirt to make room for the hammock, paperback book, and bottle of rum.

Yet this packing task was impossible for me and delayed with great cleverness and rationalizing. I packed all that I thought might be needed into a couple of large bags and dragged it to my sister's where I lived briefly after moving out of my apartment. Despite grand proclamations, I didn't even look at it there. I stuffed it into the car and drove it from Massachusetts to Maryland where I stayed with my mother for two weeks and, with the help of Packing Counselor Sheila, assessed the clothing, jettisoned the unneccessary (notice the leopard capri pants were not among those items!), and bought a couple of useful, multi-purpose clothes. But weeding through the gear was overwhelming to me, and hours before I was due to be driven to the airport, I panicked and stuffed the gear into an extra suitcase. Even Sheila, who is one of the most unjudgmental people I know, could not stifle alarm when she saw the total baggage accummulated in my mother's front hall.

My friend Sarah was to meet me at the San Francisco airport for a few days layover. Embarassed at my luggage entourage, I called her from the airport to warn her of what she would be meeting. The irony is that I had wanted Sarah to help me with my packing -- we had worked together for several years and our minds (that was when I had one) operate similarly. Little did I know that I would get Sarah's help, but would drag tons of extra goods more than 3,000 miles to get it.

So, headquartered in Sarah's living room, I laid out everything for her review. I was pleased when she pronounced that the clothing choices were fine, well thought out, and sufficient (she didn't even blink at the leopard capri pants).Then she turned to the gear section and said, "What you've got here is a contingency problem." She was right. I may not have read the guidebooks about where I was going yet, but I was up on all the potential problems that a solo woman traveler might have and I was prepared. Malaria? Got it covered. Stolen passport? Got it covered. Loss of power in a foreign hotel room? Got it covered. And my friends had joined into the contingency hysteria and gave me appropriate gifts. Unwanted man trying to shove his way into my room? DJ has it covered with a doorstop alarm. Need to pee on a long bus ride or in an unclean bathroom? Carole has it covered with a feminine urinary director (use your imagination). Lose your way in the woods? Steve has it covered with a Survival Kit in a Can. Hannah gave me a stay-out-of-trouble bracelet. And no less than four of you -- David, Elisa, Sarah, and Betsy C. -- either gave me or wanted to give me the book "Worst Case Scenarios." Packing too much for a long journey? Packing Dominatrix Sarah had it covered -- and we began to pitch so that I could fit into two bags. In hindsight I realize that the things that got left behind were more comfort items than safety items. Except the decaf tea bags. Despite Sarah's best efforts, I packed my supply of decaf tea bags.

And the leopard capri pants. I packed the leopard capri pants.

Here's a tour of Deborah, ready to go. The two red bags are what I intended to be the main sources of support. What is a miracle is that I arrived at Sarah's with a rolling bag bigger than that red one and completely full, but it is left behind at Sarah's and I didn't pitch that much!

Somehow the black backpack had to be filled with things I just didn't want to entrust to checked luggage (prescriptions, extra contacts, cameras, etc.), plus all the paperwork I hadn't gotten done yet (this is why god made long plane rides). Sarah was not happy about the backpack sneaking into the mix. The blue bag is a quasi purse that will probably not be used in Asia, where it would just be snatched or cut off me, but by then I will have mailed back my jeans and long johns, and gloves, etc. and should have lots more space in the other bags! The plastic bag is food, who's surprised?

The outfit is important to review. The black jersey pants are the official plane riding and going out nice pants. The raggedy, yet jaunty scarf that doesn't really match is my official "travel scarf," first inaugurated about 30 years ago, and which must begin all trips.

Return to
Travelogues Main Page

Return to Deborahworld Home Page