18 months, 7 different countries. From the depths of the Amazon, to 6,000 meter peaks in the Andes, to the beaches of the Caribbean. One might think a trip like this would require 4-5 large suitcases. I know I did when I initially planned it.
Before the trip, I spent months agonizing over the perfect packing list. I spent hours reading travel blogs to see what others had packed for their adventure. I purchased the highest-quality outdoor gear and travel essentials from REI. When it was finally time for departure, I thought I had nailed it.
About one week into my trip, I realized I overpacked.
Three physical books that I finished within a month, four pairs of wool socks that I wouldn’t need for another several months, and three pairs of swim trunks even though I had only been to the beach for a day. Every time I packed up to go to a new location, I had to forcibly squeeze all my items into my bag and apply the pressure of my body weight just to zip it up. I knew I needed to downsize. A couple months into my trip, the downsizing was done for me.
I was volunteering for a couple in the beautiful town of Bariloche, Argentina. They hosted travellers through a platform called Workaway. The deal was free room and board in exchange for a few hours a day helping them build their bioconstruction dream home. The meals were some of the best I had on the entire trip, and I met inspiring people from all over the world. It was a lovely experience.
However, a day before I was planning to leave and move further south, I received a phone call from the owners. I could tell something significant had happened. They urged me and the other volunteers to return home immediately.
When I returned, they informed me that someone had broken into their property and rummaged through the volunteers' belongings. When I checked my tent, I saw that my backpack which contained my laptop, high-end climbing and trekking gear, and $600 worth of Argentine pesos, had been stolen.
I was pretty shaken up for the rest of the day. Part of me even considered calling it quits and heading home. The couple felt terrible and offered to use their limited resources to help buy back my things. I graciously declined.
After the initial shock wore off, I decided to view the situation as a new opportunity. An opportunity to buy back only the most essential items I needed and travel light. It was like some sort of higher power had relieved the burden of travelling with excess, albeit in a pretty twisted way.
Luckily, when most of my stuff got stolen, it was laundry day. I still had most of my street clothes: several pairs of underwear and socks, most of my shirts, hiking pants, and some thermal layers. The laptop and books were taking up too much space anyways. I decided I would only purchase items necessary for the next few months of travel in Patagonia. This meant a re-supply of climbing and trekking gear.
Due to high import taxes and a lack of established brands, Argentina is a very difficult country to purchase outdoor gear in. I was able to find some of the gear I needed second-hand, including a backpack, rock climbing harness, and climbing shoes. After about a week of searching for a new rain jacket, I struggled to find anything within my budget that looked like it wouldn’t fail in the first decent downpour. Since the summers in Patagonia are fairly dry, I decided a trash bag would be sufficient in case of emergency.
My new travel kit was composed of a few pairs of socks and underwear, a few shirts, enough climbing and outdoor gear to continue on, and a whole lot of extra space.
Once I had my gear back in order, I had a renewed sense of confidence that I could make things work. I was no longer as tied to the items I had packed. I viewed every item in my bag as replaceable. New purchases I made on the road may not have been the same quality of what I was used to back home, but the locals made it work, so I could too.
Obviously, if something has sentimental value that's a different story. Of all of the items I had stolen, the one that hurt the most was my journal. Five months of written history and internal thoughts vanished without a backup. I will never get those back, but that was the price I had to pay to learn a lesson.
Two years living out of a backpack taught me what is actually essential. Regardless of the destination, my new standard is to travel with a 55 liter backpack. 55 liters is equivalent to about 2 cubic feet. If what I need for the journey cannot fit within the allotted space, then I will purchase additional supplies upon arrival. Usually, those purchases are minimal.
Whenever I pack for a trip, I try to remember: regardless of the duration, events, climate, or destination, I’m probably packing too much.