There are many things that we take for granted though they are the backbone of a traveler’s repertoire. Water, toilet paper, a flashlight, something to read and something that could convert into a pillow (sweater, blow-up neck brace whatever). Still, once we’re done with all these we neatly pack, haphazardly cram or otherwise return them to their cramped home: the backpack.
The backpack can be one’s best friend and arch enemy along the same mammoth journey, or even within the same few minutes. For instance, a poorly packed mochila can produce hours of discomfort or even long-lasting pain. Likewise, that same pack can hold that life-saving chocolate bar—trust me I’ve used chocolate for everything from energy boosts to curing broken leg—those DRY pair of socks and shoes or that extra hidden 300 Bolivares-bribe… err tip… when you most need it.
Mi mochila and I have been traveling five continents and though it was never branded, it has been my one faithful companion, helper, pillow, prop, table, storage bin and much more. In such a disposable Fashion Nation, where the summer computers, listening device and cell models replace the spring ones as the Joneses rush to keep up with the Johnsons, I am proud of my recycling, reusing, renewing efforts using the same cell since June 2005 and the same backpack since it was custom made for me by Edgardo. He lived a few doors down from me, on Baron de Carondelet below Guagua Pichincha’s dormant volcano in the new area of Quito, Ecuador. I was planning my very first Stateside return in more than 25 months, ad I was escaping overland as my year Visa (this after the slight alterations to my first one and three successive renewals-the absolute max allowed for a “tourist”) had run 13 months before. Others told me it was easier to bribe officials overland getting that much needed salida or exit stamp, than trying at the airport. Others warned a huge fine and possible jail time, though most denied these as legitimate fears as bribe for a stamp was less paperwork for the officers. Anything for efficiency.
Anyway, that harrowing first departure to Colombia is another story, but I learned Edgardo’s workmanship was faulty, and cursed the maker as well as the shoddy materials used to make his zippers.
“Oye, man, could you give me one of those heavy duty zippers, like those backpacks have,” I asked upon returning in early September.
Seeing how flimsy the smaller zipper was, he replaced the main opening free of charge.
As I was traveling through Tulum and Valladolid, leaning up against mi mochila during one trip or unpacking slightly damp clothing to dry on the roof of one place or in my room, I realized that this bag and I had had some wild adventures in that first crazy trip in 1995.
There’s Europe during the 1998 El Niño trying to ski in Switzerland and France, visiting friends in Holland, Belgium, England and partially hiking Snowdon, the highest peak in Wales to living Down Under for several months to Vietnam, Hawaii and now Central/North America. Of course, the smaller day pack was used for the smaller “day” treks, but where was this baby-pack? Safely snuggled within Mama-pack’s pouch.
While others have come with back braces and water bottle holders, Carabina clips and other accessory helpers, this beast is a simple model with a waist strap that displaces some of the weight from the lower back to the shoulders. These are thickly padded and comfortable. What I like most about this rather large pack is that for ultra-light packers like me, I can fit all the most valuable things in a day pack which can be easily removed should the stewardess say, “Umm, sir, that WON’T fit in the overhead.” I simply remove the one, scrunch the larger into a much smaller ball. “Will this?”
Having heard horror stories of others’ packs being stolen or pilfered on long bus rides, I’ve learned, as brother Eddie always did, to reduce, reuse and “always keep my camera with me”. Sure the overheads in many buses have gotten pretty small on certain newer models, but that’s when it goes between my legs.
Just to get a visual, for those three weeks in Cuba and Mexico, I brought five t-shirts, nine pair of underwear, four pair of socks, a pair of dress pants, a sweater/pillow, winter skull cap, a camera, iTouch, a Kindle, pens, pencils, t.p., and six books (Moby Dick, When I Was Puerto Rican, When Rain Clouds Gather, by Bessie Head, the hilarious 1931 play Mule Bone: A Comedy of Negro Life, by Zora Neale Hurston and Langston Hughes and of course the travel guides for the two countries. Even with all these, heavy books, a liter of water, and some very damp tees, my bag was just over 10 kilos or about 23lbs.
“Buy whatever you need when you get there,” has always been sound advice from my brother Magic. Advise many can NOT deal with. My motto is I must use everything I bought, at least once. And just when I thought I’d lugged that sixth book for nothing, I got about 100 pages into it my last two days and the many many many hours waiting for the bus from Newark to Penn Station. Yes, the slacks came in handy warding off mosquitoes at nights, on the chillier bus rides, they, the sweater and my oversized skully cap, which also served to block out the light, were used surprisingly four or five times.
Well, as many of you already read, money was an issue and buying was something I nearly did twice but stuck to a regiment of hand-washing my clothing and often wearing wet tees as it was ungodly hot.
So when you go, remember, that 17th pair of shorts may never see the light of day. That 10th set of socks will definitely not, when you consider the barefoot beach trips. I am amazed how millions wear Tevas or worse loose-fitting flip-flops or slippers for major city trekking. While comfortable, they slow me down too much. And when cars or horses, whose eyes are shielded, the last thing I want to worry about is slip-sliding in my flops.
ENDIT
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