I *stomp* will *squish* make *body slam* it *heave* fit!
Getting ready to go -- tell me it only gets better from here!
06.08.2008
98 °F
This week has been the one about which I'd always heard travellers complain, though I never fully realized the anxiety of the position until finding myself here at last. Now it's not just the packing; I've travelled to enough varied places that I feel like I could recite the packing mantras: Only pack what you use/wear at home-- if you don't wear it now, chances are you wont abroad; pack once, unpack, cut out a third of your stuff and then repack... repeat if necessary; roll your clothes; back clothes in zip lock bags and suck out the air; leave room for things you might pick up on your travels; bag your toiletries. I could go on. I've packed for varied climates, for work trips, for fun trips, for weekend trips and upwards of a month-long trip, but never for as long as a year. Suddenly, fitting a years worth of stuff into one backpackers bag has got my knees quaking.
But more annoying than the packing has been the running around town to pick up all the things I think I'll need on the trip... all while knowing that my new purchases will probably be the first to get thrown out. Yesterday was the depressing task of changing a good sum of my savings into euros. There was a time when I derived much positivity from the fact that I would finally be able to spend 14 years worth of savings -- this trip is what I've been saving up for afterall -- but in the numb blink of a bank teller's eye all the pride of a little girl with a fatted piggy bank was crushed by a criminal exchange rate. Sigh. Then came the mandatory dentist appointment. Thank the Lord I'm clear of cavities; that would've had to wait a year or at least until I got my french insurance card and was able to benefit from a socialist medical system. After dishing out more money to fill up my car (why am I buying gas when I'm going to be out of the country for a year in under 2 weeks??), I finally embarked on the last errand of the day: buying my International Student Identification Card.
For any body between 14 and 26 years old going to western europe (and probably most westernized countries in the world) the ISIC really is a must. Discounted prices on trains, flights, some stores and museum entrance fees. More than worth the $25 charge and the 30 minute drive up to the closest ISIC office, right? Well, I'm sure it would be worth it if I could find the elusive office. I spend 20 minutes walking up and down Main St. looking for number 102, since that's where the ISIC website tells me it is. By chance I walk by a map of the college that is situated on the opposite side of Main St. and find that the building I'm looking for is listed about the college's academic buildings, no where near Main St. Ok, so it make plenty of sense that the ISIC building would be on the college campus so I start out looking for it. After another 10 minutes trekking I come to the indicated building but it appears to be a dormitory. I walk around to the adjoining building; it's a laundro-mat. Hmm, but by that time it was getting close to when I needed to run my next errand so I opted to try again the next day, only this time call ahead.
The thought occurred to me that all the wandering I did yesterday was probably just a taste of the wandering I'll do in europe as a student. Only in Europe I might not always be able to read the signs or stop a passerby and ask him/her for directions. But it's somehow unpleasanter having to wander around one's own country in preparation for a year's worth of wandering in europe. There's no sense of adventure in going to the closest CVS and choosing from two shelves full of toiletries that all claim to do the same thing for your hair. There's no adventure in braving the heat and humidity of a code red ozone day on familiarly busy roads to buy last minute supplies.
It would be easy to say that I'm nervous about my year abroad, that I'm anxious that something will go wrong and that I'm sad about leaving the people I love here on the homefront. Those are all true. But I think at the root of those worries is a great restlessness to be there. Travel doesn't start with the first plane ride across the pond, I'm sure it starts weeks ahead of the departure date. I'm sure it started months ago when applying for a visa. It's here now with the hectic errands and packing. I believe this stage in the trip is called purgatory.
Posted by ernielow 5:52 AM Archived in Preparation | USA Comments (0)

