a new system that I hope will clarify your packing goals. It is a far less technical method than most for measuring the relative size and weight of your backpack. In my opinion, it all comes down to how you handle your backpack when stopping at a restaurant for lunch.
You easily carry it through the doorway in just one hand
Great job! You have packed like a true champion, although inclement weather probably still deals you some adversity and it is possible your clothes occasionally run off on their own when left unattended.
You saunter in with it draped over one shoulder
Very acceptable. This means you have done well at eliminating all the truly superfluous items but are still able to track down a clean shirt now and again and aren’t stuck begging for a swipe of deodorant every morning.
It takes both hands to lift it off the floor and you wobble slightly as you swing it onto your back
You haven’t been quite as discerning as you should have been. You probably have a few items of clothing that you haven’t even worn yet and once that first burst of new energy after lunch starts to fade you routinely find yourself thinking of self-mutilation techniques that would allow you to get out of this mess with your pride intact.
Someone else has to lift it onto your back while you grimace and tense up like a toddler taking a stubborn shit
Nobody can explain what you were thinking when you packed that hardcover copy of the Bill Simmons Book of Basketball. And do you really need to be carrying a full week’s supply of yoghurt? Twenty kilometres per day is your limit and even by the end of that you are about as fun to be around as an angry case of gonorrhea.
Your backpack requires its own chair because if it makes it down as far as the floor nothing short of a forklift will get it moving again
You insist on carrying your laptop, backup bottles of shampoo and Just for Men hair dye, an expedition-calibre winter parka and a bag of rocks you are collecting to take home as souvenirs. You require daily motivational pep talks from your friends while they team up to clean and jerk your backpack into its usual position slowly crushing your vertebrae into something that resembles an old banana.
Madeline’s Take
When I write my memoirs I will note that the biggest mistake I made on this trip was underestimating the importance of a light pack. Lighter is better. Way better. Infinitely better.
In terms of relative weight I am doing ok, I suppose. I fall somewhere in the middle of the pack. Maybe on the heavier side. I keep trying to justify my weight but I really could have done better.
For instance. My sleeping bag. It’s like, 4 lbs. That’s a huge portion of my overall weight. It’s too big. It’s too warm. I didn’t think it would be a big deal when I was preparing for this journey. But it has really taken on a life of its own. My resentment towards any extra weight is growing. I have started to hold grudges against belongings I deem to be too heavy. Secretly wishing them ill will as I pack them up every morning.
I think the Camino ha s started to affect me in ways I never imagined. It’s a bit concerning.
Making Choices
Sure, we’d all love to bring several changes of clothes so we only need to do laundry once a week and can occasionally surprise and delight our friends by showing up for dinner in a hilariously ironic t-shirt they haven’t yet had the pleasure of laughing along with. But if you want the six hours of hiking to be at least somewhat bearable you have to make some sacrifices in the six hours that follow. Just get used to the idea that when it comes to evening wear your only choices are jacket or no jacket. And, yeah, the albergue pillows are flat and smell a bit like raw yeast but you’ll make do. The local shop may be closed outside of 5:00 pm to 5:25 pm each day and only stocks one loaf of stale bread, two kinds of fruit you’ve never heard of and two full shelves of goat hanks but that is still no
Eve Paludan, Stuart Sharp