Jauntly

I was never a scout.  I prefer to experience the outdoors through a coffee shop window.  These things make this recommendation seem a little unlikely.

One of the essential contents of my bag when I’m travelling is a compass.

I’m a bit of a map geek.  Soon after I arrive anywhere foreign, I like to lay out a big map, get my bearings and plot my attack.  But inevitably, the best laid plans of, well, me, don’t survive the first contact with, well, the exit of some underground station.  Out I pop, direction clearly set, yet absolutely mystified about exactly what direction that may be in.  Hence: compass.

I have one like this one.  It hooks onto the keyring loop in my bag (which, seriously, is one of the best inventions over.  Knowing my keys are always there and haven’t floated off into the ether during two weeks of travelling is the greatest stress-management trick since lavender bath gel.) 

Getting lost is one of the premier pleasures of travelling.  That twisty backstreet lets you experience a city far more deeply than that tourist-riddled drag.  But at some point, you’re going to want to reach your intended, and a compass can help.

Wise Bread posted yesterday about Packing Light: http://www.wisebread.com/frugal-travel-tips-for-packing-light

Some of these tips are things you see in every list about packing light, and I always feel they need to be updated.  I started to write a comment, but it got a little long and out of hand, so I figured I’d just roll it over into a post.

• “For women, a nice scarf is a simple way to embellish an outfit.” - Accessorizing with a scarf is fine…if you’re 50+.  I’ve never worn a scarf (excluding those that stop my neck freezing solid) in my life, and I’m not sure I know anyone who has.  That includes my mother.  My grandmother may have, but it was before I was born.
• “Don’t waste your money on travel-size containers. Instead, use plastic film canisters to carry shampoo and lotion.” - It might be time to go out and buy travel containers.  They cost less than a buck each.  I’m pretty sure that film canisters are so rare these days that they would cost more.  Also, considering the nasty types of chemicals used in film processing, I’m not sure I’d want to put my toiletries in there.
• “A compact travel alarm can save the day,” - No-one needs a travel alarm clock these days.  We have cell phones.
• “I use several stuff sacks [...] to sort clothing: one for socks, one for shirts.” - Stuff sacks are good for organisation, but they suck for compact packing.  Being able to shove my socks into shoes and other convenient voids reduces the size (and therefore weight) of the bag that I need to take.
• “For longer trips, pack some powdered detergent” - Bringing laundry detergent on a longer trip is a great idea, but that powdered muck is a nightmare.  You’ll likely just be doing a handwash in a convenient sink, and trying to get that stuff to dissolve is a trial.  Those little packets of Woolite don’t add much weight and keep everything contained, or you could just use one of your new travel containers to decant a small amount of liquid detergent from your big home bottle.
• “Plastic bags can shield books from the rain, carry dirty laundry, keep small items in one place, and much more.” - Good tip, but beware in some circumstances.  If you’re sharing your sleeping area with anyone (room-mate, hostel dorm etc), the quickest way to annoy everyone is to be madly rustling bags when they’re trying to sleep.

Finding a decent pair of shoes for travelling in is never easy.  They need to stand up to a day of walking but they also have to be not incredibly ugly.  It’s surprising how rare that can be.

Once we think we’re found this Holy Grail, most of us know enough to make sure we wear them in before setting of on our jaunt.  But here’s something else to keep in mind.

Carrying a back-pack can put severe strain on your feet.  Carry around a 10 or 15 kilo pack for a few kilometres and you’ll begin to understand why fat people always have feet problems.  Importantly, your shoes rub in different places.

I’m used to my shoes rubbing on my little toe or on my heel.  (If they don’t, usually they’re not pretty enough.) When I’m carrying a pack, I find that the downward pressure is increased (duh!), and the balls of my feet rub.  An otherwise wonderfully comfy pair of boots that I have are too smooth in the innersole and are terrible for hauling a pack.

I’m not sure what the solution is: More contours on the innersole?  More padding in the sole?  All starts to sound a bit like venturing into the ugly territory.  Anyway, something to keep in mind.

I love t-shirt bras.  Swear by them. It would make me incredibly happy if the only reason most people were able to figure out that I have nipples is through scientific principles and deduction.  However, t-shirt bras are a bitch for travel.

Firstly, they’re a nightmare to pack.  Shoving and squashing and zipping up inch by inch is not conducive to retaining a good t-shirt bra shape.  Twisting the cups together, stacking them on top of each other, filling the void with some socks and tucking them into a bag corner seems to be the only solution.

Secondly, they’re a nightmare to wash.  I mean, always they’re a nightmare to wash - travel conditions makes that even worse.  The additional fabric means that they absorb more perspiration in hot climates, and then they just can’t be washed in a hotel sink.  The usual squashing and squeezing involved in your average handwash and dry is a truly bad idea for a t-shirt bra.  Underwire is bad enough.  A carefully shaped cup just became your hand washing nemesis.

I try to cure my t-shirt bra addiction when I travel.  It’s an on-going process.  I feel so naked.

Your new visitor arrives.  You’ve put clean sheets on the spare bed and set out the guest towels.  You’re thinking mostly of how to show off the cool place you live: What to look at?  Where to eat?  You’re hoping they have fun.  You’re hoping they won’t get bored. 

I love a good host.  I love it when people want to show off their town.  I love try all the places that they love.

But firstly, I want them to ask me three questions:

1. Would you like to use the toilet?
   Airport and plane toilets aren’t fun and are generally avoided as much as possible.  Train and bus toilets are even worse.  Chances are, I need to go. 
2. Would you like to use the shower?
   Long-distance travel is tiring and smelly and grimy.  I just want to clean up.  I promise I’ll be fresh and human after.
3. Would you like to use the washing machine?
   If I haven’t come directly from home, I’d love a chance to spruce up the wardrobe.  Thanks!

I used to think that my leather jacket was the perfect jacket to travel with.  It went with everything, it was fine during the day but was still shaped enough to be pretty funky at night.  It was even water resistant enough for the odd shower.  I took that thing with me wherever I travelled.

Unfortunately, you can now tell that I took that thing with me wherever I travelled.  It’s been stuffed into corners of tightly packed bags, it’s been slung over the straps of day packs, it’s even spent considerable time tied around my waist.  And it looks it.

You know how the signature apparel of the rugged nomadic photojournalist is the ‘battered leather jacket”?  Leather does not take kindly to rough treatment.

So I traded down.  These days, I carry about a lined polyester jacket with a similar look as my beloved leather jacket - good fit through the shoulders, narrow through the body, bit of waist definition.  It doesn’t quite have the same cool, but still does fine for both day and night.  It doesn’t mind bad treatment, packs smaller, is better in warmer climates and is still water resistant.  In fact, I have two versions: I  also have a three-quarter length one with a smidge of insulation that I swear by for winter travel. 

Narrow little one way street with parked cars scattered along them like chicanes are just one of the many challenges when driving in Europe.  Eyeballing other cars can give you an idea of whether or not you will fit, but how do you ensure that you do?

It’s human nature to concentrate on the object we’re trying to avoid.  A defensive driving course, a skid pan and an infestation of orange witches hats taught me that this is absolutely the worst idea.  If I watched the encroaching hat, I almost always hit it.

The trick is to watch where you’re going.  Concentrate on the path you need to take.  Look to the clear track, closing out the obstacles.  I don’t know why it works, I really don’t.  I could hyphothesise about instinct and automatic response, I could even veer into new-age crap about visualising success.  But I won’t.  I’ll simply say: it works.

 Once upon a time, I would get sick every single time that I took a long trip.  Planes are freaking germ tubes with all that same air getting circulated all around and gunked up for hours on end.   It’s amazing we survive at all.

A few years ago, I needed to travel for a really important event.  My prediliction meant that I actually carefully budgeted enough time so that I could get sick and then better again before the big event.  But I also decided to go on the offensive.  I loaded up with Airborne and also with Zicam.

I now swear by Zicam.

I haven’t tried all the various products that they have now - I’m an adherent of the straightforward Cold Remedy Nasal Gel.  You’re supposed to squirt it on up your nose at the first sign of a cold, and apparently it does something like stopping the cold germies from procreating and thereby reduces the length and severity of a cold.

I figured that the first sign of a cold was me stepping onto a plane, so I used it and I didn’t get sick.  I’ve used it pretty much every time that I’ve flown since, and haven’t gotten sick.  I also use it as directed, for non-travel-based illness, and it definitely works.  I feel a bit crappy for a few days, but no sniffles, no cough, no fever.  The only time in the past two years that I’ve had a full-blown cold was when I ran out of Zicam and wasn’t able to get any for a while.  That was miserable.

There’s a class action suit alleging that Zicam usage can cause loss of sense of smell.  Frankly, I think the risk is worth it.

 I’ve always thought that even numbers were good, and odd evil.  I like 2 and 6.  8 is friendly.  12 is good people.  7, not so much.  5 is mean.  3, well, 3 is the worst of the bunch.

I’ve travelled with a number of different group sizes, and I hate to admit that I think that bastard 3 delivers the best results.

Travelling alone is fine, and in fact is one of my preferred modes.  I like that I’m totally on my own schedule.  I can sleep in, but still not be annoyed with someone who is taking too long to get ready.  I can get lost without any witnesses.  I can blast through a museum without feeling I have to put on a show of appreciating the pretty pictures.  That said, it can get a bit lonely, there’s no-one to sit with the bags while I pee or buy a magazine, I don’t get to try the great restaurants (well, without feeling a bit weird) and my blog gets loaded up with all the stuff that I just had to tell someone.

Two is fine too.  But travelling can be stressful, and you have only one person to dump it all on.  Travelling can be a real test of a friendship.

Three is good.  Three means that you can still all share a room, so it’s cheaper.  Three means that if one of you wants to kick back and read a book, the other two can go off and do that thing.  And a good group of three means that you might still be bickering but the factions change around to keep things interesting.

Four.  Four is okay, but that’s when you start getting into multiple rooms and really, multiple groups.  Which brings us to five and above which is just not a good idea.  The time that you don’t spend trying to arrive at a concensus will be spent waiting for everyone to turn up.  Stay away from mean old 5 and his big brothers.

Some things get added to my permanent packing list because I’m a giant geek who actually enjoys reading travel gear catalogues and sites.  Some get added through recommendations.  Some, unfortunately, get added because of personal misfortune.

I’ve always thought umbrellas are kinda dumb.  I was brought up appreciating a good raincoat, and then I went many years without giving rain protection much thought.  That’s what car roofs are for, after all.

I learned my lesson.  Nothing kills a nice walk around a foreign city like rain.  Even the light moisturizing type can get a tad annoying after a few hours out in it.  These days, a small travel umbrella is a daypack staple, and it doesn’t even take up too much room.

I’ve never paid more than about $10 for a brolly.  I lose them, or they break, too often.  They’re worth it, but not that worth it.

The alternative is, of course, the ever-stylish plastic rain poncho.  It packs smaller, is even cheaper, rarely turns inside-out in a brisk wind.  Never my choice, however, as I do often try to avoid looking like a knob.