You Can't Take it With You

As our trip to London quickly approaches, J.J. and I are faced with a dilemma that any world traveler encounters - what to take when we go. What will I need? What if I forget something? Will they have it there? What if they don't? Will I die without it? Do Europeans have dysentery? 

Contrary to popular belief, Europe boasts many of the same luxuries of America: indoor plumbing, electricity, even Internet. It's not as though I'd be in major trouble if I forgot to pack a pair of socks or a tooth brush. England has plenty of socks. No tooth brushes, obviously, but plenty of socks. I suppose I could rub tooth paste on a sock and rub my teeth with it. Is that ridiculous? Dental hygiene is important; it's what makes us American.

I've gotten off track. Let me explain what makes us easy to travel with, as opposed to traveling

with, say, girls. J.J. and I have alloted ourselves 65 liters per person for clothes, toiletries, camera equipment, and various other items to keep us entertained as we fly to the other side of the world. 65 liters, all of which fits on our backs in a nice backpack purchased from REI. I'm not sure how they came up with liters for these things, quite frankly...I guess they fill them up with gas and when the pump stops they determine how many liters it will hold. 

Now as we've told girls of our plan, many have been shocked at the small amount of packing we'll actually be doing. Even more shocking to them is the idea of shoes. Shoes, shoes, shoes. Women in L.A. are all obsessed with shoes, and are amazed we aren't each bringing nine different sets of heels, all of which are the same color but all of which are used for different occasions, i.e. Monday, Tuesday, etc. 

My main hatred of carting a lot of stuff around is the process of checking bags and the horrible wait that comes on the other side as you stare at the baggage carousel, watching as more and more bags come down the chute, all of which look slightly like yours, none of which actually are yours. They should install a blood pressure machine next to that thing in the airport because every time I stand there, I am more and more convinced that my bag has somehow ended up in Beijing while I'm in West Virginia. 

As someone with a degree in journalism, I do feel the need to report the whole truth here, which is that in the process of flying to London last August, I ran into one of my idols, Bruce McGill. Yeah. He played Jack Dalton throughout seven incredible seasons of MacGyver. As we chatted on the plane, I realized I needed a picture with him. Having checked my bag, I decided it would be wise to ask him at baggage claim - his wife lovingly obliged and took the photo for us. This, however, is the only good thing to have ever come from checking bags. The airlines now opt to charge you $375 per bag you're checking, which is why it's so lovely to carry on and

save yourself the same amount of money it would have cost to just buy the seat next to you and belt your suitcase into it.

It's also about logic. Ten hours on an airplane, a 3-mile walk to the subway, 40 minutes on the Underground, 4 hours in a London train station, 25 minutes at Starbucks, 3 hours on a train headed north, 30 minutes in a car to the house, 17 stairs to the bedroom - the less crud I have to cart around with me, the better. 

And that's why I'm only taking one pair of shoes to Europe.