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My
parents are intrepid travelers who’ve spanned the globe
on a limited budget for over forty years. As chief
packing technician for their trips, my mother developed
increasingly streamlined packing methods that now enable
them to go on month-long jaunts with only two carry-on
rolling bags and a small backpack between the two of
them. I sum up her method with the phrase, “Pack
light, pack tight.” It’s easy. Envision
the number of items that you think you’ll need to take
on your trip. Reduce this by half and wedge it
all into a small rolling bag or backpack, making sure
to roll all items into a cloth cigar before jamming
them in.
The
Method enables a family of five to fit into a Volvo
sedan for a sixty day camping trip through Scandinavia
or Italy and Greece. With the Method, the same
family can circumnavigate the globe in a summer with
only a backpack apiece and two communal suitcases.
The Lewis family guarantees this.
Of
course, the Method is not entirely original; many elements
have been borrowed from others, such as nerd-travel-guru
Rick Steves and Mohandas Gandhi, a famously light packer.
Nonetheless, the Donna Lewis Packing Method is unique
and worthy of analysis. Therefore, I present to
you the primary rules, which are gems that will benefit
you on upcoming trips.
Rule
#1: It’s About Rolling
Rolling
is the key to a tightly packed bag. At home, it’s okay
to fold your clothes and stack them in a closet, but
in order to fit the contents of three suitcases into
one carry-on, you will need to jam your clothes into
the bag with much force. Under pressure, folded clothes
develop deep parallel creases that tell the world, “My
mother did a poor job,” “I don’t have a girlfriend,”
or “I don’t listen to my wife.” On the other hand, rolled
clothes subjected to the same pressure leave more subtle,
wavy creases that look like they were the result of
a business meeting or a nature hike, depending on the
type of attire. These creases show action.
Handy
Tip: Don’t forget that you will need to assess
your philosophy on dirty laundry, because unrolled laundry
can ruin packing equilibrium. If you don’t plan to roll
the dirty clothes, buy a stuff sack that will keep the
dank, crushed ball of laundry away for your other clothes.
Rule
#2: Before Packing, Make a Mental Usage Flow Diagram
Avoid
repacking during your trip by visualizing the order
in which you will wear your clothes. For instance,
let’s say that you are passing through several Asian
destinations en route to an archaeology conference in
Vienna. If you plan to go to the Gobi desert before
Nepal, don’t pack your anorak on top of your sundress.
Similarly, don’t place all of your sports bras in the
bottom under the carefully-rolled Tyrolean dress that
you won’t be wearing until the rave on the last night
of the conference. You’ll need to take out the
dress each time you grab a bra and that could frazzle
the doilied sleeves.
Rule
#3: Fill Your Spare Shoes, If You Need Spare Shoes
Shoes
contain pockets of air that should be exploited. Spare
shoes, to be honest, are a luxury that you should consider
foregoing, but if you must take them, fill them with
socks at the beginning of your trip. If you buy any
figurines or marionettes to give away as fun stocking
stuffers, make sure to choose ones that will fit in
your shoes, where they will be snug and safe.
Rule
#4: Leave Room for Touristy Gifts
The
best way to ensure that you have enough room for all
the trinkets that you will buy is to bring gifts with
you. Once, on a trip to Denmark, my mother stocked up
on Chicago Cubs pencils to hand out to the toe-headed
boys and girls. Our family is full of Giants fans, but
this was back when Sammy Sosa was more bubbly and less
bitter, so a Cubs pencil could serve as a memento from
both the U.S. and Dominican Republic.
Pencils
don’t take up much space, so you can also bring along
some refrigerator magnets, although you should buy several
varieties so that customs thinks you are a collector
rather than a smuggler. If you still have room, consider
bringing “These Colors Don’t Run!” tank-tops. Foreigners
can’t get enough of those.
Rule
#5: Emphasize Matchability
When
my mother travels, her color palette revolves around
navy blue. Clothing that clashes with navy blue does
not enter her rolling bag. This allows a few clothes
to become many outfits, Geranimals-style. As an added
bonus, my mother can pack thin dress socks, which are
so small that they can all fit in one shoe, allowing
space for a rolled-up Cubs banner to go with the pencils
and refrigerator magnets.
Rule
#6: Think, “What Would A Hobo Do?”
It’s
a shame that the lesson that most Americans take form
the Great Depression is the fallacy, “The best way to
end a depression is to start a war.” Rather, the real
nugget of wisdom to be gleaned from the 1930s is, “Pack
light!”
The
itinerant Americans who rode the rails revolutionized
packing efficiency. The stick bundle—the direct ancestor
of today’s rolling bag—didn’t hold much, but it was
invaluable for the hobo on the go. The hobos’ secret:
Choose fabrics that are easy to hand wash. I can attest
to this wisdom. On our trip around the world when I
was sixteen, I either wore paper-thin, powder-blue pinstriped
pants or a pleated madras short. These could be hand
washed easily so I could feel fresh and clean without
having to carry many clothes. The fact that I looked
like a jackass was unfortunate, but that had more to
do with my poor sense of style than my packing technique.
Similarly,
my younger brothers usually wore matching nylon shorts
and shirts that could be washed and line dried in about
five minutes. The tops were white with satiny shamrock-green
panels. The shorts were very short and all green. Normally,
I’d advise against synthetics because they don’t breathe
well, but the white part of the tops were mesh, so breathability
wasn’t an issue.
Rule
#7: Make Plans to Avoid Food Poisoning
Food
poisoning can spoil your holiday, necessitate unscheduled
hand washing of clothes and leave you too weak to carry
even one bag. When confronted with a dodgy glop of mayo
or a gamey piece of meat, repeat the mantra, “If in
doubt, toss it out.” Also, don’t trust food kiosks on
ferries between Greece and Italy. Misplaced confidence
in the cheese and salmonella sandwiches on the Corinth-Brindisi
line resulted in bulk intestinal disorders for the Lewis
family back in ’85.
Handy
Tip: Choose your camping spot carefully if
your family has acquired bulk intestinal disorders.
A long walk to the public facilities is inconvenient.
The
following summer, my parents—having learned a valuable
lesson—went all out to ensure that we didn’t get sick
in India, the first leg of our around-the-world journey.
I mentioned earlier that we traveled with a backpack
apiece and two communal suitcases. My parents were told
that Dehli’s drinking water was unkind to the uninitiated
and that food vendors often recycled the straws in the
soft drinks. Consequently, they filled one of the two
suitcases with bottled water and straws, so we could
drink soda and brush our teeth without internal ramifications.
Hauling around a seventy pound suitcase of water so
that your family stays in the pink is a true act of
love.
Handy
Tip: A few years back for my birthday, my mother
gave me the indispensable, It Was Probably Something
You Ate, by Nicols Fox. This book, which I’ll discuss
in an upcoming piece, covers the myriad of ways that
you can die from food poisoning. A thorough read of
this book will save you hundreds of dollars because
it will keep you from eating at restaurants for several
months. However, if you enjoy food, this may not be
the book for you.
Rule
#8: Stuff Your Passport Into Your Pants
Apart
from a bout of botulism, nothing ruins a trip like losing
your passport and airline ticket. This needn’t happen
if you buy a money belt to hold your important documents.
The belt—which you can buy through Rick
Steve’s website—fits neatly below (and inside) the
waistband of your hand-washable pants. After about half
an hour, you get used to the packet; you just need to
wear a long top or you’ll look a little pudgy. As an
added bonus, the money belt keeps not only your trip
secure, but your front warm.
My
wife and I recently drove about 4,500 miles on a month-long
road trip through British Columbia and the American
Northwest. This gave me a lot of time to reflect on
life and—because I began each day by loading a bunch
of unnecessary items into our car—assess my adherence
to the Donna Lewis Packing Method. I realized that I’d
strayed from the rules, although certainly not #7. I
also suspected that the original Method could be expanded.
Here are my additions, which I call the Revised Lewis
Method.
Rule
#9: Don’t Overemphasize Decorative Stitching
In
an urban environment, there are few limits to the benefits
of decorative stitching, but in the rugged American
West, I advise moderation. I got good use out of a smart
brown jacket with decorative white stitching across
the shoulders and down the front. The jacket has a vague
western feel, but is both masculine and urbane. Unfortunately,
I went to the well once too often and brought my Polynesian-sunset-colored
jacket, also with decorative stitching and—I’m a little
embarrassed to say—subtle decorative zippers. There’s
no denying that it’s a cute jacket, one that turns heads
in our favorite creperie, but it is out of place in
rural Montana or Wyoming. It announces, “I am not armed.
There will be no repercussions if you hit me with a
pool cue.”
Rule
#10: Communication Is Vital—Don’t Pack Two Light Jackets
for Your Wife When She’s Already Packed Five
This
rule is self-explanatory.
Rule
#11: If You Are Paranoid About Auto Break-Ins, Don’t
Pack More Than What Fits in the Trunk
If
you are like me, you constantly worry that either bears
or hobos will break into your car because they see the
pack of Snapple on the floor or the dress clothes draped
across the back seat. You can alleviate nearly all of
these fears by fitting everything into your trunk.
Corollary:
Never Pack Yoga Mats
Rule
#12: Use Restraint When Purchasing Refrigerator Magnets
Limit
your wife to one refrigerator magnet per national park,
not four.
Rule
#13: Analyze Your Dark to White Sock Ratio Before Leaving
for Your Trip
I
packed sneakers and a pair of fairly dressy brown leather
shoes. I also brought along leather sandals—man-mules
to be precise. To accompany these, I packed seven pairs
of brown socks and three white. That’s a 7:3 dark to
white sock ratio for a trip to the fecund Pacific forests
and arid western planes. A quick analysis should have
told me that a 7:3 ratio might be appropriate for a
trip to New York City, but for our trip, 3:7 was more
appropriate.
Rule
#14: Avoid T-Shirts With Deep Vees
Vee-neck
t-shirts are handy because you can wear them on their
own, for a salt-of-the-earth look, and then pop on a
collared shirt for a dressed-up turn. You can hook your
sunglasses into the vee for a little Euro flavor.
Be
aware, though, when you buy vee-neck t-shirts. If you
purchase ones with deep vees, you’ll show off too much
chest hair, which doesn’t please anybody. At that point,
you might as well put on a speedo and pool shoes because
you’ve taken the look too far.
Rule
#15: Buy a Snappy Orange Shirt, but Don’t Wear It With
Your Stylish Orange Jacket of Different Hue
A
well-cut orange button-up shirt is indispensable if
you plan to take travel photos. If you wear it over
a vee-neck, you hardly ever have to wash it! Judging
by our pictures, I wore mine 95% of the time.
Corollary:
Don’t Rely on Your Wife’s Stockpile of Sunglasses–You
Will End Up Fielding a Great Many Questions About Them
When Showing the Travel Photos, Particularly Ones That
Say “Liz Claiborne” on the Frame
Rule
#16: Don’t Rely on Gift Shops to Address Packing Deficiencies
Early
in our trip, it became clear that I needed to address
the preponderance of brown socks and deep vees, but
I stubbornly refuse to shop at Wal-Mart, which greatly
limits the shopping options in the American West. Because
we spent much of our trip in and around national parks,
I hoped to save time and avoid Wal-Mart by purchasing
white socks and t-shirts at park gift shops. Unfortunately,
it is tough for a nattily clad man to find suitable
apparel at a gift shop.
In
my younger days, a “Hang Loose Hawaii” t-shirt from
Waikiki with a cartoonish hand giving the “Hang Loose”
sign, or a phony Fila track suit from a stall in Hong
Kong, was an acceptable purchase if I needed additional
supplies. Now, however, socks with moose are out, along
with shirts adorned with embroidered Native American
symbols. I did find a brick-colored shirt with a 1920s-style
drawing of Yellowstone Lodge. Sadly, it was a girl’s
size large and when I tried it on, it gave the wrong
message about my sexual orientation.
Eventually,
I broke down and bought two t-shirts at The Gap in Jackson,
Wyoming. This temporarily broke the Wild West magic
of our trip, but I hadn’t followed Donna Lewis’s hand
washing rule, so I really needed a clean shirt. Incidentally,
the tees both have decorative stitching across the shoulders.
.
. .
There
you have it, the Revised Lewis Method. I hope my insights
have been helpful and that you will use the Method on
your next vacation. If you have specific questions about
the Method, I will gladly answer them if you contact
me at jlewis@prancyhorse.com or jeff@babblog.com.
Mr.
Lewis can be reached at jeff@babblog.com.
Copyright
Jeff Lewis, 2004 |
