Travel Tips

The worst packing experience I ever had was when I was 18 and returning home from Japan after living there for almost ten months. It involved tears, expensive shipping and sewing together the split seams of my luggage. I'm lucky my bag didn't explode all over the hold of the plane. Even in a country where nothing ever fit me, I still accumulated more stuff than I could reasonably pack back.

I got back into LA today. The US customs guy in Vancouver didn't say anything especially rude or grumpy, which is a three-year first. Course, he also didn't look at me (I could have been a four foot tall bearded man and still made it into the States. Unless I was a *brown* four foot tall bearded man because every time I enter the country with Jeremy and his Cambodia passport stamps land us in the office you go to after they make you pull over and park ever other person in there is always brown) and he only said three words, "Still in school?" before writing a one on my customs card.

Turns out "one" means go get your bags searched. As I'm walking toward the bag-search table that the customs guy is gesturing towards, I'm trying to think if I've got anything in my bags that is going to make this more difficult than it ought to be. It's only when I lay my bags on the table that I remember.

See, I've learned a trick or two about packing. I had a lot of stuff with me. I'm bringing my ski stuff down and Christmas presents of clothes and magazines from my stocking and books. I had to employ my best packing techniques: rolling clothing, cushioning breakables in the centre of the bag, stuffing shoes with socks so they don't get smushed out of shape, and filling the crevices and spaces that get left in between the bulkier items of your bag with smaller pieces of clothing. Like underwear.

The customs guy is youngish and looks like a nice guy. He looks a lot like an RCMP officer, actually. Mustachioed, kind of earnest. He's the kind of person who asks you a question and then tells you how to answer it. "Got anything I need to know about? No, you don't do you." He zips open my bag, "Any alcohol, tobacco? Noooo." There's some balled up underwear. "Uh, I have some chocolates and macadamia nuts," I offer. He looks skyward and palpates my bag like it's a torso. "Macadamia nuts are fine." He opens my other bag. More balled up underwear. He pokes hesitantly. "Great, this looks fine. Have a nice day."

Next time I'm bootlegging I'm packing a dildo.