I've Already Packed Wrong

This is really no great surprise. I knew I was packing for a wide range of temperatures, having no idea what havoc climate change might wreak upon Germany during my visit. I packed based on the knowledge that it had already dropped to freezing temperatures this fall in the town we’re staying in. But I also packed based on the shocking, record-setting highs we experienced in Berlin in June earlier this year. Yet another factor in my planning was the knowledge that there would be no surprise washing machine in our apartment the way there was in Berlin (we’ve stayed in this place before and I could pretty much guarantee that there haven’t been any “improvements” since then). So I was sure I’d have to get through at least a week between washings. I packed knowing that I’d be exercising 6 days a week, as is strictly regimented for the sake of my mental health. And I packed knowing it had rained in this little town every day for the two weeks prior to our departure. This all resulted in a 50 pound suitcase plus backpack, and an unhappy time for all.

I first realized I had packed wrong during our journey to Germany. Wheeling my unwieldy suitcase through the Dublin airport on our stopover, outside in the rain for what seemed like a half-mile to the hotel shuttle bus stop, hauling it on and off said shuttle bus on the way to the hotel, hauling it on and off the shuttle bus yet again on our return to the airport, then up and down various stairs and escalators just to check the bag in again, I decided I had made some bad packing decisions. Upon arriving in Frankfurt, I realized again how wrongly I had packed, hauling my suitcase off the baggage claim, sweating and cursing my way to the adjacent train station, waiting with the bags by a garbage can while Matt sprinted to the grocery store to buy us some snacks for the train. We hauled our bags onto the train, praying that we had followed the map of the train cars correctly so we’d board near our seats and not have to make the walk of shame through car after car with our massive luggage. Upon our surprising success, we found room in the designated space for larger luggage and crammed ourselves and our backpacks into our seats. We enjoyed a sweaty yogurt and a Larabar before arriving at our destination where we dragged our bags down and then up the stairs of the train station and pushed them through more rain to the taxi stand. Once we reached the apartment, Matt carried the suitcases, one at a time, up the five flights of stairs to our apartment while I dealt with the backpacks and duffel bag.

Throughout this whole debacle, we kept questioning where we had gone wrong. Why was no one around us suffering the way we were? Why was nobody else sweating or struggling or even running for the train? Beyond that, why were my favorite bloggers recommending using a facial mist on the plane when I couldn’t even reach down to get a pen from my backpack without injuring several other passengers? Why are other bloggers harping on about the importance of drinking lots of water on planes in order to “stay hydrated”? I was trying not to drink anything because I avoid the airplane bathrooms like the plague, especially considering I might actually catch one from using them.

What is it that we’re not getting here? Do we pack too much? Do we stay away for too long? I kept thinking of those old movies where a woman goes on vacation to the Bahamas for 6 weeks and has porters loading trunks and hat boxes onto carts and wheeling them around while she is impeccably dressed in a skirt and heels, not a hair out of place. Is that the problem? Does traveling with more than a carry-on require servants? We couldn’t possibly be the only people with heavy bags, but we were certainly the only people schlepping them up and down escalators in search of food with the caloric content printed on it.

And now, having endured all that, the mild weather here has been an absolute affront. It’s alternately sunny and cool, then muggy and raining, leaving you somehow both sweating through your clothes yet always a little too chilly. I cannot figure out what to wear. Sweaters seem like too much, but my parka sounds like a good idea. I don’t want to drench the hems of my trousers in the rain, so I keep throwing on skinny jeans to run down to the shops. I’m spending most of my time in gym clothes or pajamas, but since I’m managing to wear them multiple times without washing them, the quantities seem wholly excessive. I keep reaching for the same lightweight socks, so as one would expect, my 18 pairs seem completely over the top.

It just goes to show that with climate change, you really can’t predict the weather these days. It also goes to show that despite my meticulous tracking and analysis of my wardrobe during my last trip, I still have no sense of what I wear and how much I wear it. In this case, I put it down to season. What I wore in June doesn’t really help me in October. And what was plenty of stuff when we had a washer may be too little without one. Matt did our laundry for the first time on Sunday, and between our dirtying of all the towels and going through so many workout T-shirts, it was no small feat. (It just dawned on me that if I’d really packed “correctly,” I’d be hauling my entire suitcase to the laundromat every week. Phew.)

Maybe it’s OK to just recognize how wrong I’ve been, and hope that I learn from this trip. Then again, we still have 7 weeks left, so who knows what I’ll need during that time? I know I’m more than prepared, but I do wish I didn’t have to carry all this luggage here and back. Since I don’t see a butler entering my life anytime in the near future, I guess I just have to put up with it this time.