An Ode to Packing Light

I'd always been good about packing light - until I went on a 10 month trip to Europe. Understandably, I felt the need to take more than usual and borrowed a huge suitcase from my former mother-in-law to put it in. *sigh* What fools we mortals be!

10-05-2005

I left Madrid on Monday evening and took the night train to Barcelona. First, I must mention that I always have prided myself on traveling light. I spent 5 weeks in Europe and 6 weeks in Japan with only my small carryon bag. But this trip I brought a lot more stuff (and a much bigger bag) because I’m going to be gone for such a long time. I would like to state that I will NEVER travel heavy again – I don’t care HOW long I’m gone for!

When I left for the train station, I realized I just didn’t have it in me to haul the bag (plus my purse and backpack) down the stairs to the metro. I finally hailed a taxi and spent 12 Euros to get to the station. I had a great time talking to the taxi driver (in a combination of broken English and even-more-damaged Spanish) and considered the money was well-spent. Once I got to the train station (VERY early), I realized that I had no idea where to go to get my train. Let me tell you, the people who work in Spanish train stations have NOT had customer service training! I finally found some lady who had pity on me…I was getting pretty frustrated at vague waves and blank stares. (Yeah, I know my Spanish sucks – but I was showing them my ticket so there’s no excuse!)

Once I made it on the train (no mean feat hauling my bag up 4 steep steps!), I realized that it would be impossible to get into the compartment where I was supposed to sit. There were 8 people and room only for a small bag each in an overhead shelf. There was NO WAY I was going to be hefting that big-ass thing over my head (even if I HAD been able to get it through the compartment door).

Feeling pretty cowed, I headed for the part of the car where you could buy refreshments. It was empty and there were booth-type seats with tables. I sat down at the first one and, with difficulty managed to slide the big bag underneath. Then I hunkered down for the night. One of the Spaniards at the English school had given us all sweatshirts. I pulled mine out and used it as a pillow on the table. And that’s how I spent the night: sitting on a lumpy bench, slumped forward onto the table with my head buried in a sweatshirt. I used the drawstring of my jacket to loop through the zippers of the bag so that no one would be able to easily steal anything and curled my body over my purse. Actually, although there were plenty of people in the car during the night, no one even came near me – I think I might have looked a little scary. I just hope I didn’t snore…

Not exactly an elegant way to arrive in Barcelona! This definitely falls under the category of a story that’s more fun to read about than experience first-hand…