The Tao of Travel

There's one thing I'd like to advise anyone thinking of making a transcontinental journey: see that you have a jack, a monkey wrench and a jimmy. You'll probably find that the wrench won't fit the nuts but that doesn't matter; while you're pretending to fiddle around with it someone will stop and lend you a helping hand.

—

The Air-ConditionedNightmare

(1945)

Laurens van der Post: To Nyasaland with Sealing Wax

I have said nothing, though it is traditional on these occasions, about what I had packed in my suitcases ... All I did was to add to my store of khaki clothing, to choose some books for the journey, because they can be difficult to find in Africa, and to lay in a small supply of sealing wax. I was doubtful whether I could get sealing wax at my destination, and I could not risk being without it as I needed it for making secure the samples I hoped to collect on my journey. But all in all I was taking so little that my friends, with their warm and affectionate concern for what is individual and eccentric, quickly created a legend among themselves. Would one believe it, they said, that I had gone off again to Central Africa with a stick of scarlet sealing wax in one hand and a copy of George Meredith's

Modern Love

in the other?

—

Venture to the Interior

(1951)

V. S. Naipaul Among the Believers: Smedley Roll-Neck, Exercise Pants

IN HIS BIOGRAPHY of Naipaul, The World Is What It Is, Patrick French writes, "Before leaving England for Indonesia, Vidia put together a 'traveling list.' In its care and restraint, in its honing, it reflected the man and the writer." And it was also a memo to his wife, Pat, to pack his bags so that he would be presentable when he met his mistress, Margaret, who was flying from Buenos Aires to Djakarta to meet him. A partial list: "Suits & trousers and jackets: Travel out in Simpson's grey; Pack—Simpson's beige lightweight; Trousers: M & S cotton, BHS cotton, Oscar Jacobson charcoal lightweight worsted; Underclothes: Pants 4 prs, Socks 4 prs, Pyjamas 1 pr, T-shirts, 2, Sleeveless vests 2. Shirts: 4 cotton (dress); M&S leisure 2, Smedley shirts 2, Smedley roll-neck 3. Shorts: Bathing trunks, Exercise pants, trainers 1 pr perhaps to be worn on journey..."

Freya Stark in Luristan: "a crumpled gown and a powder-puff"

My saddle-bags disclosed in their depths, a crumpled gown and a powder-puff, of which I made the best use I could, and finally emerged to meet my host more or less like a lady.

—

The Valleys of the Assassins

(1934)

Tapa Snim: A Buddhist Monk's Possessions

When I came back to the compartment, Tapa Snim was rummaging in his bag. I watched him take out an envelope, and then he began knotting the two strands that made this simple square of cotton cloth into a bag.

"Do you have another bag?" I asked, because the smallness of this one seemed an improbable size for a long-distance traveler.

"No. These are all my possessions."

Everything, not just for a year of travel, but everything he owned in the world, in a bag he easily slung under one arm. True, this was a warm climate, but the bag was smaller than a supermarket shopping bag.

"May I ask you what's inside?"

Tapa Snim, tugging the knot loose, gladly showed me the entire contents.

"My bowl, very important," he said, taking out the first item. It was a small black plastic soup bowl with a close-fitting lid. He used it for begging alms, but he also used it for rice.

In a small bag: a piece of soap in a container, sunglasses, a flashlight, a tube of mosquito repellent, a tin of aspirin.

In a small plastic box: a spool of gray thread, a pair of scissors, nail clippers, Q-tips, a thimble, needles, rubber bands, a two-inch mirror, a tube of cream to prevent foot fungus, ChapStick, nasal spray, and razor blades.

"Also very important," he said, showing me the razor blades. "I shave my head every fifteen days."

Neatly folded, one thin wool sweater, a shawl he called a kasaya, a change of clothes. In a document pouch, he had a notebook and some papers, a photograph showing him posed with a dozen other monks ("to introduce myself") and a large certificate in Chinese characters he called his bikkhu certificate, the official proof he was a monk, with signatures and seals and brushwork.

And a Sharp electronic dictionary that allowed him to translate from many languages, and a string of beads—108 beads, the spiritual number.

As I was writing down the list, he said, "And this"—his straw hat—"and this"—his fan.

"Nothing else?"

"Nothing."

"What about money?"

"That's my secret."