Excess Baggage

How my 20 year old self would probably be furious with me right now.

Every year my husband and I take a long summer vacation. Well, long by his standards which is to say 9-14 days or however long he feels his patients can survive without him. Or vice versa. Also, if we’re being honest after being together for 14 years it’s also how long we can reasonably entertain each other without starting to lose our respective minds. I told a friend recently after X amount of days of togetherness I’m Miranda from the SATC honeymoon episode, standing in the woods, calling Carrie, desperate for the call not to drop because I need outside human contact with one of my girlfriends again.

Hi, it’s me.

You guys get it. I know you do.

So this year it’s 14 days in Greece. As someone who is Greek on my mother’s side, I’ve been dying to visit the country of my ancestry but for reasons I can’t explain, it’s taken 45 years. Also that’s completely untrue. My obsession with the food, history and fashions of France and Italy over the years is the real reason why I haven’t made this trek coupled with the fact that it’s a boat heavy vacation and my ability to do well on boats…remains in question. One day we’ll talk about Cabo 2021.

Having gone to visit a friend in Bol, Croatia a few years ago I became familiar with the whole experience of the ferry trip to the island vacation and how much your excess baggage matters. Literally it will weigh you down and I’d argue that figuratively it’ll keep you from relaxing properly. I was arriving in Croatia from Italy where I had spent 10+ days eating and drinking, shopping and playing and with that came my enormous suitcase. And backpack. And purse. Lugging it onto a ferry, off it, and up a hill to my friends apartment in Bol instantly taught me one thing: when you’re island bouncing and there’s hills and cobblestone streets involved, pack light.

View from my friends place

Here’s my problem: I like vacation specific wardrobes. I really like them. I crave them. I have shopping carts all over the internet filled with items just begging to be purchased and filed away in a location specific part of my closet. Scotland for one week in November? There’s a tweed for that. I have a whole section in my closet that’s dedicated to cold weather in New York City. You can guess what it looks like. Nili Lotan blazers and tailored pieces, leather pants, loads of cashmere from the Doffer Boys, black tanks, Khaite boots, camel hair and cashmere coats, crossbody bags…androgyny and monochromatic themes reign supreme here. All in various shades of black, camel, ivory. That section translates well for my Paris vacation wardrobe albeit it gets slightly more feminine - last time I remember packing this nude Khaite ruffled tank being so excited that it would finally get worn because it was so chic but was deemed far too sweet for Manhattan and perhaps not Southern enough for New Orleans. There’s another section that could be labeled “fancy beach” and it has all the accoutrement that one would think would go in that section.

I want a Greece wardrobe. I need a Greece wardrobe. I’ve dreamt for years about piles of white dreamy pieces that flutter in the wind, gauzy dresses, perfectly curated resort wear that somehow transforms me into part of the Greek landscape, the caldera just over my shoulder as the sun goes down. In my head, I’m a vision. I get mistaken for a local obviously. In reality, this requires an enormous overweight checked bag and when I look at our scheduled itinerary, I just don’t know that I have it in me. My suitcase already feels heavy and it’s not even packed yet.

20 year old me is begging me to recreate this shot.

Athens - Sifnos - Paros - Santorini - Athens. Four ferries. Four times unpacking and repacking. I just spent 12 days on a Palm Beach, NYC, Paris, NYC loop and by the end of it all my suitcase had gained 30 pounds and my shoulder gained a new appreciation for how much it hates my decision making skills. Problem is, the 20 year old in me that was dying to make a trip to my mother’s homeland has very specific outfits in mind. She has requests and an unrealistic budget. She’s expecting some sort of killer bikini/coverup situation everyday. A different white dreamy look for every moment. 9 pairs of sandals. A statement dress or four. 45 different lipsticks because you just never know.

Except I do know. I know and I know and I know. I came home from my last trip with a crush of dresses that I packed and never wore. A pair of heels that never left my suitcase. Custom ivory pants in the softest wool silk I’ve ever felt that barely got a whiff of the Parisian air. I’m an overly optimistic packer every time I travel and yet I know better. I know that often times what I wear during the day carries me through dinner, and I’m stuck with a glut of pieces that were purchased for some dream vacation and never worn. The lesson repeats itself until it’s learned I grumbled to myself as I unpacked all of this excess last week.

So I’m doing it. Challenge to me by me is accepted. Well…accepted and about to be enforced by my friend Sanja who is going to help me “minimize” for this trip. “You can do this Mel, I believe in you” are the words I’ve decided she said to me during our brief Q&A on “how to pack like an adult.” My carry on bag is sort of cheating anyway. I own the extra large carryon bag by Roam luggage

This guy right here

(they’re amazing and you can customize your bag) and it breaks every rule of carryon travel from a size point of view but it is in fact classified as a carry on bag.

Wish me luck.

xx