Packing brain dump

Y’all. My trip is coming up so quickly. I’m going to Peru in less than two weeks! I’ll hike the Inca Trail, see Machu Picchu, sleep in the Galapagos Islands (Darwin slept there; just saying), and (I hope) get some photos of equatorial penguins. PENGUINS!! I can’t even try to explain how excited I am. BUT. I’m going to Montana for my cousin’s wedding the weekend before I fly to Peru, so I’m feeling a little crazy about packing, shuffling pets around, and tracking flights. My stupid mind has decided to muddle up Montana and Peru/Ecuador into one giant suitcase of stress. Therefore, I decided a post on packing "strategy" would be both timely and therapeutic. So here we go….

The trouble with this trip (Can I even say there’s trouble with this trip? It’s so beyond amazing and “what the privileged kids do” that I don’t think I can say anything troubling about it. But I’m going to anyway.) is the different climates I’ll be experiencing in two weeks. And fitting what I need for said climates into one big backpack, one small backpack, and one purse. Hiking boots and a sleeping bag are huge, by the way.

Lima should be lovely: highs in the 70s, lows in the I-don’t-cares because I’ll have a fleece and a hotel room. The Inca Trail is highs in the high 60s, lows in the 30s, but mix in strenuous activity everyday and sleeping in a tent, and I’m all sorts of befuddled. I think hiking boots, good socks, pants, long-sleeved shirts, a sports bra, daily undies, and a fleece should do it, but then there’s also rain (rain jacket), sun (big-ass hat, sunscreen), and cold nights in tents to consider.

Quito will be mostly like Lima but with extra rain, all the time. So an umbrella is needed. And then the Galapagos are supposed to be highs in the mid-70s, lows exactly 70, so that’s awesome. But also unexpected. When I thought about spending five days in the Galapagos, I thought about high 80s during the day and low 60s at night, which meant a range of cute dresses and cardis for nighttime. It is good for packing to know that I can omit the warm-weather clothes like shorts and tank tops, but those are also the things that take up no space in a backpack. So pile on the bulky stuff.

After lots of thought and revision, I have come up with the following packing list for this trip, which I will amend after the fact for anyone who wants to take a similar trip and learn from my packing mistakes. Of which there will be many. Because I can admit that I’m a shitty packer. But here’s what I have:

1 pair of jeans (wear on the plane)

1 pair of hiking leggings

1 skirt

4 long-sleeved shirts

4 short-sleeved shirts (wear 1 on the plane)

1 dress

1 cardigan

1 fleece (carry on the plane)

1 rain jacket

14 undies

2 bras

1 sports bra

1 swimsuit

5 pairs of hiking socks

1 pair of sleeping socks

PJ dress and pants

Hiking boots

Toms (wear on plane)

Big hat

Sleeping bag

Water bottle

Water purifying tablets

Flashlight

Umbrella

Sunscreen

Bug spray

Toilet paper (buy in Cusco)

Camera with batteries

Phone and charger

Sunglasses

Snacks for the trail (buy in Cusco)

Kindle and charger

Hand sanitizer

Dry shampoo

Wet wipes

Deodorant

Toothbrush and paste

Contact solution, case, glasses

Face wash

Face creams

Minimal makeup

I don’t know if you can tell from this list, but I’m probably going to smell bad for two weeks. I’m okay with that. I’ll have clean underwear. I will also look like poop in all photos because I won’t be wearing makeup and it will most likely have been days since I showered. I’m also okay with that. Because I’ll be on the Inca Trail and in the Galapagos Islands!!! Who cares about smelling good and looking decent when you have knock-you-to-your-knees, humbling, magical, historical, amazing ruins to look at and a cornucopia of nature’s wonder to explore and gaze upon in awe and revelry? Not me. Bring on the ugly selfies with the cute sea lions.

Port Aransas = The Awakening?

I love how traveling can reawaken, or be inspired by, or be in response to something I’ve read or seen or heard before, often without me even knowing. There’s a way my past experiences have of creeping up on me without warning to validate or invigorate a current experience. I had one of these surprise moments on my recent trip to Port Aransas.

I was wading out into the gulf while my friends stayed on the beach. The sun was setting. The coast was desolate. I was alone with the waves and the sky, and it was a peaceful, lovely moment. And as I laid back on the waves and felt the pull of the ocean upon my body, my mind recalled The Awakening, a beautiful and heartbreaking story by Kate Chopin of a woman trapped by society’s expectations of what her life as a woman must be. I floated in the water thinking as if I were Edna in the final scenes of the story. I don’t want to spoil the book for those who haven’t read it, so you should stop reading this now, go read the book, and come back. It’s a beautiful book. Go read it. It’s really short, if that helps.

I floated on the water, completely alone, and imagined myself as Edna more than a century ago. What pressures she endured everyday as a wife and mother, a life partially of her choosing and partially not. What hopes and dreams she harbored, however nascent and unfulfilled, that she strove toward. And then I thought of the life I am leading and how unlike hers it is, even though we both found ourselves floating in the Gulf of Mexico and contemplating our lives.

I’m a strong swimmer. That was on my mind as I had these thoughts. I imagined what it would take to swim so far out that I was exhausted, far enough to know I could never make it back. I thought about what it would take to make myself keep swimming farther as my limbs became heavier. I thought about what my life would need to be to keep swimming away and away and away from it, knowing I was using all of my strength to push myself beyond that life and beyond any life at all, because I saw no better life.

And then I thought about how I have absolutely no motivation to do that and how the hell did I become so much freer than Edna? I thought about all the women who had to suffer and struggle for me to be able to feel such a disconnect from that choice being my best, my only, option. I thought about all the human beings who had to endure lives worse than Edna’s to progress humanity to the bare minimum of recognizing each other’s rights to live freely (and how we’re not even at that bare minimum yet). Because a struggle for gender equality must always recognize that as bad as white women have historically had it, it’s been a cakewalk comparatively. (As long as you’re not comparing it to white men. No offense, dudes, but you know it’s true.)

To be an independent woman living a life of my own choosing sounds so obvious and not even worth mentioning today. But floating in the gulf, thinking Edna’s thoughts, brought home how many people have had to suffer, not for women, but for all people (race, sex, gender, religion, the full gamut) to maybe, possibly, one day be able to live lives of their choosing­—and it was truly humbling. Because I know mine is not a universal experience, even within the United States, let alone the world. There are still Ednas of all races and genders swimming out as far as their strength can take them away from every shore in the world, to escape persecution and a life not worth coming home to.

Travel isn’t always fun and games. Sometimes it’s learning and remembering the privilege I have in life and the debt I need to repay for those still suffering. But whatever way I look at it, I see the deep value of traveling.