My first solo trip to Paris was a revelation. Until that point, most of my travel experience had been with large groups of students. Such trips required exacting attention to detail and many months of advanced planning. My Paris trip was scheduled with only a few days’ notice. I needed to get out of the house, and Paris seemed like as good a place as any to do it. I packed my credit card and passport and a creatively-stuffed overnight bag, and off I went.
Travel can be a huge production. But it doesn’t have to be.
At this point I’ve got my packing routine down pat. I know exactly which items of clothing will hide stains, resist wrinkles, and coordinate sufficiently, along with a few well-chosen accessories, to give the illusion of a complete wardrobe. I know exactly how many times I can hand wash a pair of socks in the hostel bathroom before they start to get gross. (Twice, if you’re curious.) I know how to organize my gadgets and their respective electrical accoutrements, and I know exactly where to pack my quart-sized bag of 3-oz liquid products for easy access in the security line. I’ve learned to layer my heaviest items of clothing on the day of the flight so as to reduce the weight of my carry-on bag (because if I have any say in the matter, I never, ever check my bags.) So I don’t give packing much thought these days.
Likewise, I’ve become increasingly laissez-faire about travel planning. I’ve lost interest in travel guides and restaurant reviews. I’ve had enough plans fall through – and enjoyed enough unexpected adventures – to put much stock in preparation. My one area of holdout is my inability to resist booking my accommodations in advance. I envy the carefree travelers who wake up in the morning and say “what country should we go to today?” I hope to some day work up the nerve to do the same.
As packing and planning have become a no-brainers, I have also learned that travel requires other types of preparation. I got up at 5:45 this morning in an effort to get a head start on beating jet lag. I’ve done my yoga and consumed extra water in preparation for the discomfort of economy fare travel. These preparations take on increasing significance as I – ahem – get older. I also took the time to change my bed linens, wash a load of dishes, and empty the trash. Because nothing kills a good vacation buzz quicker than coming home to a messy house.
Naturally, all of this packing and cleaning and disruption to our weekend routine has aroused the suspicion of my dog. I have not yet told him that I am going on vacation, or that he is not invited. For his entire life I have endeavored to make my departure – whether for a day or a month – as uneventful as possible. I have been rewarded with a dog who, for the most part, is unconcerned to be left alone. He will spend the week under the care of my neighbor. I sincerely hope all goes well.
So à bientôt, readers. The next time you hear from me, I’ll be in Paris. And I will likely be dehydrated, stiff, and jet lagged. But I will be well-accessorized.
