I had barely travelled when I came to pack my bags to solo Interrail Europe for 2 months in my gap year. I wasn’t really sure what one took on a trip like that. So like anyone of my age, I turned to YouTube for some healthy guidance. Everyone I found said, “lay out everything you want to take and then half it and half it again”. So I did. I laid out everything I felt was essential for a trip like this. And I halved it and halved it again. What I didn’t realise was that what I started with was what most people finish with…
With space in my rucksack, I left home at 4am on the 1st of September 2022 and arrived some eventful 36 hours later in Barcelona, having covered the entire distance overground. Out of the Metro, I headed into the Mediterranean summer heat of 32 degrees in the same clothes I had left England in: tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie. Smart. It took me very few minutes to realise that I had made some clothing errors that day and that I really needed to find a way to strip some of these layers. Following my trusty Google Maps to my hostel, I stumbled my way into Parc de la Ciutadella. A lovely Spanish park with some truly stunning architecture. I decided this was the perfect place to strip. Luckily, I had somewhat thought through my situation and had a pair of shorts on under my tracksuit bottoms and was able to find a bench to peel them off my sticky skin. I was then off on my merry way.
My next clothing mistake came to light over the next few days. I’m not a massively sweaty person, but even I had to admit that 2 t-shirts were not going to suffice for 2 months. That’s right, I left my home with 1 singular t-shirt in my bag. The other being the one on my back. 2 t-shirts and 5 weeks of Mediterranean weather at the tail end of summer. This was going to be interesting. I would like to make it clear that I am not totally stupid. I had a total of 6 tops with me: 1 pyjama top (that I did have to wear out a few times), 1 sports vest, 1 running top, 1 thermal top (as I would be in the Alps in mid-October) and the 2 aforementioned t-shirts (1 black and 1 white).
I made it one week in sweaty, smelly Barcelona before I really had to wash my clothes. I was in Anncey and made friends with an Australian in my room. She was off to do some washing, and I thought that if she could, then I could find the confidence to go and pay for a wash too. So in the machine went everything I had with me, minus the bare minimum I could wear and still be decent. Travelling with only the bare essentials, I had only one jumper: my favourite burgundy hoodie. It has a pair of skis in front of an image of a mountain and says “Switzerland” on the front. I thought it made me look well-travelled, even though I did not buy it in Switzerland but rather at home in the UK, and I’ve never been able to ski. The lovely Frenchman from reception set off my wash as I had no idea how to do it in French. I went off about my afternoon and returned to my washing to find that the colour had bled out of my jeans and hoodie, and my white bras, underwear and t-shirt were now pink with a grubby grey tinge. Brilliant, so I basically had no clothing with me, and what I did have would spend the remainder of the trip looking like I never wash my clothes, even when I did. I can definitely say I was living, and I was learning.
My parents discovered the stupidity of their youngest child on a video call during week two, where I had to admit the fact that I absolutely stank and had no clean clothes yet again. Luckily, they would be joining me in Rome and Naples and were more than happy to bring out some more clothes to help me on my way. They wanted to bring me another 2 or 3 tops, but I somehow convinced them that one more would be more than enough. They regretted listening to me when I did a full wash in the washing machine in our little apartment in Naples, wearing nothing but a pair of my own pants, my mother’s jumper and my father’s far too big trousers. They were not best pleased, having spent days not wanting to get too close to me because my clothes really didn’t smell good.
For the rest of my travels, I found that I could make do with the little I had. My washes were few and far between, but the drop in temperatures as I went North and headed deeper into autumn meant that the thermal top wasn’t out of place anymore, and I was back to climates I was more adjusted to.
Nearly three years on, I am still accused of packing too lightly. In a recent conversation surrounding baggage allowance on a flight to Portugal, my boyfriend told his parents that it wouldn’t be a problem for me; all I would require was a pencil case. I fear I’m developing a reputation. And perhaps not without good reason…