“Yancy — what kind  of supplies are you carrying with you on this yearlong excursion into strange, exotic and rash-infecting lands,” asked absolutely no one.

Researching, buying and then subsequently playing gear tetris inside my backpack was probably the most time-consuming aspect of my pre-departure planning.  As the deadline loomed, every hour at BoxTone (a software company specializing in BlackBerry smartphone managment) became less “How can we best craft our elevator pitch to appeal to west coast Global 100 law firms?” and more “How can I avoid Dysentery and look marginally stunning while doing so?”

Thanks to technically minded travel enthusiasts with way too much time on their hands (see: http://sweettravelblog.com), I was able to find a glut of research sites started by people that had already been mugged, beaten, incarcerated, drugged, touched in inappropriate places and trampled by exotic animals that apparently eschewed getting “just a quick pet,” all there so that even someone as hapless as myself might avoid similar unpleasant fates.  Rather than leaving the outfitting for this trip to my own experience and street smarts (note: never really left state of Maryland, was “indoor kid”), I could now count on the combined knowledge of men and women with far denser and scruffier beards than my own to guide me.  With their assistance, I might actually end up in one piece six months down the road with precisely the right cream for a bizarre jungle rash, yet not be weighed down with the Nintendo Wii that really seemed like it’d be “cool” to bring, back when I was in the states.

The most awkward issue about trip shopping was the contradiction of going on what amounted to a two thousand dollar shopping spree, despite simultaneously selling or giving away nearly every other worldly possession I owned.  Unfortunately, there was almost no overlap between the “shit I needed” column and the one for “shit I didn’t want,” leading to a backpacked filled with, unfortunately for my savings, almost one hundred percent “new shit.”  The mailbox at my apartment being about the size of a box of generic macaroni and cheese mix, the bulky evidence of my crazed shopping sprees made their way instead to my cubicle at BoxTone, oddly enough raising almost no eyebrows despite a clearly labeled expedition backpack that took up about a third of my desk. (A co-worker did once look down at a stack of travel-themed boxes and toss out “You’re not planning on bailing on us and traveling the world are you?” but it was weighted down in just enough sarcasm that I’m almost positive I wasn’t caught).

The Backpack

It’s not sexy, but everything else is worthless without it.  Laptops die, mosquito spray runs out at lightning speeds down here, and clothes get stained, ripped, fetid and soiled, but without something solid to toss it all in, I’m basically just Steve Martin’s character at the end of The Jerk, carrying all of his worldly possessions clumsily down the street, pants down.  Thanks again to the Internet, I’ve learned the following things tend to matter when selecting a backpack for international travel:

1. The backpack should be big enough to carry everything I will need for a year of my life.
2. The backpack should be small enough that I never have to check it when flying and am not consistently in a state of exhaustion whenever it’s being worn.
3. Detachable day bags are awesome.
4. Ostentatious bags scream “Mug me and then punch me in the face a few times after taking all of my stuff, just for fun.”  This rule continues to apply after purchasing a bag — Remember this when considering adding cool patches of all the neat places you’ve been and/or similar flair.
5. “Top-loading backpacks” have a single point of entry with all the gear tossed inside, similar to clothing being put into a laundry bag.  This means that every time something on the bottom is needed, every item in the bag must be removed.  Is it even necessary for me to type: “This blows.”
6. Some people in South America like soccer (“futbol”).  Others like stealing everything that you own.  Both have about the same passion for their hobby, and as such, getting a backpack with as few pockets and points of entry as possible is key.  Speaking of keys, every pocket should have two zippers that can in turn have locks placed over them.  Just last weekend, a friend had his backpack knifed into and most of his expensive gear stolen, despite said locks, so nothing is foolproof.  As Craig from Travelvice.com has written in the past, if someone wants something of yours, they’ll likely figure a way to get it.  But most theft is based on a quick opportunity, and if added security and locks can lessen those opportunities in any way, it’s worth the added irritation of running through my lock’s combination just to retrieve my Spanish homework.
7. Unless you’re in certain drought-plagued regions of the world, it rains.  “Rain Forest”?  Not just a cute term.  The backpack should have a means of countering this.
8. Don’t break the bank.
9. Lastly, “comfort” has been known  to matter to some people…

Note that 1 and 2 are in almost every way contradictory.  How the hell am I supposed to have emergency gear for bizarre jungle and/or arctic accidents, yet still end up with less total volume than what I dragged with me on a four-day island trip just more than a year ago?  Amazingly enough, I made this happen.

It’s easier after the backpack is actually purchased, since there’s then a very real and physical limitation to what can be crammed into a bag.  The bag I opted to cram far too many things into was the Eagle Creek Explorer LT.

The Explorer, with detached day bag

Like Voltron, the bags form together to epically become one. The backpack is no other way like Voltron.

It holds a deceptively large volume of gear, and is just adjustable enough to make 45 additional pounds on my less-than-muscular back not seem too hernia-inducing.  The day bag is the perfect size for weekend trips or unenthusiastic visits to my Spanish school, which after just a week’s lessons makes me remember why I never much cared for being a student (despite remaining one for so long…).

With the bags separated, I can saunter onto any airline with the backpack functioning as my carry-on and the day bag acting as my personal item, thus avoiding every nightmarish flight cliche having to do with luggage.  The size obviously limits what I can bring, but as nearly every backpacker website is filled with the lamentations of those with 5-10 pounds of goods determined to be dead weight just one week into a yearlong journey, I think I’ll find a way to manage.

What’s Inside

Ennumerated, for your pleasure

1. REI Fleece hoodie.  Warm enough to counter Quito’s chilly nights, surprisingly comfortable and almost even fashionable (it matches the throw pillows on our sofa perfectly), nothing in my collection’s gotten more daily use.  The hood itself is different from the type used with most sweatshirts, hugging in awkwardly close to my face like a monk’s cowl, giving me a semi-pious countenance that I’d like to think makes me less muggable.
   
2. The Sony e-book reader.  I’ve yet to read a single book on this thing, and I might find the experience unpleasant when I finally do, so the jury’s out.  Besides being bulky, books written in English are hard to come by down here, and there’s a lot of dead time.  In a year, I’ll either love it or have traded it long ago to a tienda for two bottles of water and a copy of Latin American Maxim.
3. An inflatable pillow.  Too inflatable to be comfortable, and yet there’s a sponge-like material inside it that keeps it from being fully deflatable and thus, fitting nicely in limited space.  I plan on popping this entertainingly at our next party.
4. The mosquito net.  Haven’t even taken it out of the bag yet.  From what I’ve been told, this thing takes up valuable backpack real estate and might only be used once the entire year.  That one time, however, I will be so incredibly grateful for it that any other concern is immediately wiped away like the swarm of mosquitos that would otherwise be nesting across my body.
5. A travel sheet.  It’s small and functions as a mini-sleeping bag when needed.  More importantly, it’s a barrier between me and the collected filth of six continents of travelers left over at certain unsavory hostels that don’t entirely understand the concept of “washing sheets.”
6. An umbrella.  It rains in Quito from 3 pm to 6 pm.  Daily.
7. More waterproofing gear (see: #6).  The backpack comes with a waterproof cover, complete with storage bag.  As the bag had some extra space, I filled it with my superlight rain jacket, which provides almost no warmth, but does block a bit of the wind and, more importantly, almost all of the rain.
8. Skype headset.  Free conversations with people from the States anywhere there’s an Internet connection.
9. Lots and lots of locks.  Seven, in different shapes, sizes and colors.  Much unwanted weight added to my back, but every day in Quito makes me realize more and more how important these are.
10. Toilet paper, stripped of cardboard innards.  Most public restrooms do not have free toilet paper in South America.  If you’re lucky, a shady character standing outside the entrance will sell you paper for a quarter.  If you’re unlucky, you’ve just divebombed yourself frantically down onto a less-than-savory toilet (see: South American stomach maladies; diarrhea), often with no seat, only to find absolutely no paper, which by now is an absolute necessity.
11. Travel literature.  A map of Ecuador and Peru.  A pocket Spanish dictionary.  The South American Handbook, covered in black duct tape with a white cross on the front to imitate your standard Holy Bible.  Nothing marks a hapless gringo more than publicly reading a travel guide.  This pile also contains a currency change calculator, though I’ve yet to need this as Ecuador’s currency is the US Dollar.
12. Condoms.  Y’know…
13. The red thing is a floating armband for my waterproof camera, should I drop it while, say, getting savaged by a shark (and I’d certainly hate to lose that picture).  Underneath it is an LCD flashlight — bright, white light requiring very little power.  I’ve got a similar LCD headlight as well, but it doesn’t seem to be in any of the shots.  The thing to the right is a travel belt with a hidden pocket that unfortunately didn’t make the final cut.
14. All liquid containers (3 oz. each, or less) in a clear plastic bag — the government’s idea, not mine.  Shampoos, soaps, rash creams, mosquito repellent, toothpaste and more.
15. Three different hideable pockets.  One goes around the neck, one clips anywhere, and one velcros itself around the leg.  I’ve used all three, though the leg one is the slickest by far.
16. The underwear bag: Two Ex-Officio boxer shorts (easy to clean, don’t get matted down with sweat, etc), four pairs of socks, gloves, a hat and a bandanna with built in insect repellent.
17. Asthma inhalers.  I don’t use these much anymore, but when I need them, I need them.  These are actually just two of five.
18. The Blue Bag.  Utility gear.  More below.
19. The main clothing bag: Two Ex-Officio pants with built-in repellent, each containing hidden velcro pockets sewn into the insides that I had a tailor add on.  One pair has detachable legs which turns it into a serviceable pair of shorts.  Two t-shirts.  Two collared shirts.  One long-sleeved jungle shirt, also with built in insect repellent.  One bathing suit (also with added-on hidden pocket.
20. Miniature travel games (see: really long bus rides).  Chess.  Backgammon.  Cards.  And, uh, a hacked Nintendo DS with over fifty games preloaded onto it.
21. A travel towel.  Dries quick.  Takes up very little space.
22. Olympus Stylus 1030 SW.  Waterproof to 100 feet.  Shockproof.  Can withstand a six foot drop onto concrete with style.  Seemed like a good idea based on the trip I’d lined up.
23. A drain stopper.  I think this is so I can do laundry in any random sink.  Everyone on the Internet seemed to agree it was a necessity, though.
24. A Pac-safe locking unit for my backpack.  When opened, this thing forms a chain-link barrier around my backpack, not only locking it to a spot, but also making it almost impossible to slice into as well.  You can never be too safe down here…
25. A travel spork, an emergency blanket, a small mirror and an eye-mask for sleeping in bright areas.  The latter was a useful last minute donation from my mother and smells strongly of make-up to this day, basking all of my naps in an effluvium of rouge and foundation.
26. Reef flip-flops.  They’d come highly recommended, and sure enough, they’re the most comfortable pair I’ve ever worn.  Peculiarly enough, they have bottle openers built in to the bottoms, which I find myself using often, despite never once in my life thinking “I wish these shoes had bottle openers on the bottoms.”
27. Keen cross-trainer sneakers.  They’re waterproof and have extra gortex protection, but they’re not as comfortable as I’d hoped they would be upon being broken in.  They survived the untested jungles of Chone, though, so I shouldn’t complain.
28. A cloth Timberland day bag.  When I was a celebrity at the Bonnaroo music festival a few years back, I won a pair of white jeans backstage that many people consider to be the ugliest pants ever made.  I also was given this bag for free, though as it’s fairly inoffensive, I rarely mention it when telling that story.  It’s a pretty solid drawstring bag for quick trips to the beach or supermarket.
29. The Red Bag.  Medical supplies.  See below.
30. Not pictured:  The camera taking all of these pictures, a Canon XT Digital SLR.  It’s a helluva camera and I was hoping to “get good” with it while down here, but I’m realizing now that I don’t feel comfortable carrying it around most of the time, and it adds an almost obscene amount of weight to my bag for as little as I’ve been using it.  This might be shipped home shortly.

The Laptop

Having spent some of the most resplendent days of the past twenty years inside on a computer, it was unlikely I wouldn’t be bringing a laptop along into the jungle.  However, the same limitations to space and weight enumerated above still hold just as true as with any other equipment on my list, and electronics have the additional issues of fragility and a strong aversion to even the slightest hint of moisture.  For the trip, I would need something small and durable, yet still powerful enough to maintain a marginally sweet blog.

I opted for the Asus eee PC with the 9 inch screen — small enough that women who see it almost inevitably use the word “adorable,” and yet still large enough to feel like I’m not doing major computer work over a mobile phone.  At 1.60 GHz with a gig of RAM, it’s hardly the most powerful computer I’ve ever had, but it’s more than strong enough to handle Office, Photoshop, media playing and any random webwork I might find myself killing a few hours a week toying with (see: http://sweettravelblog.com).

eee!

The built-in hard drive is a mixed blessing; at ten gigs, it’s barely large enough to handle getting all the basic applications I need installed, let alone music, games or movies with, um, adult themes.  The plus is that it uses flash memory, rather than the traditional, jungle-averse hard drive.  In terms that will matter to most people reading this: Much faster, break less!

The little black rectangle in the front the picture with “Cavalry” written upside down is an additional 320 gigs.  Just to be safe.

In the computer bag, I’ve got about six different memory sticks for moving data around and storing pictures, as well as the memory card reader that actually lets me access them.  There’s an ipod buried away in these pictures somewhere, and while it’s been invaluable thus far on my trip, I’ll be amazed if the thing’s still alive a year from now.

The Blue Bag: Utility Gear

Many American boys secretly (or openly) wanted to be Batman upon growing up.  No one really wanted to be MacGuyver, but we still admired his “save the day with two toothpicks, bellybutton lint and a marble” know-how.  It’s with these two folk heroes in mind that I found myself packing up an entire bag filled with things that fall into the “I’ll likely never need any of this, but if I do, I’ll really wish I had it” category.  I’ve used barely anything in the Blue Bag in the past, yet every single thing came highly recommended from various sources.  And Batman.

I have not opened up The Blue Bag since I packed it.

• Duct tape and electrical tape (cardboard centers removed) are fairly invaluable at home, fixing things they were never designed to be associated with, so no doubt if the time for them ever arises, I’ll be more than ready to MacGuyver something up.
• Two military can openers.  They feel incredibly cheap and bizarre to use, but I actually did break one of these out one night for an emergency can of coconut milk (pina coladas were requested…)
• A sewing kit.  I have never sewn anything in my life.
• An induction heater.  Basically, a coiled piece of metal attached to a power cord that, when dropped in water, can get a frothy boiling going in less than a minute.
• A current tap.  Apparently, there are many places with light sockets but limited power outlets.  The tap allows me to surreptitiously remove someone’s lightbulb, plug in the tap and replace the lightbulb, creating two magical new outlets where before there were none.  Magic.
• Zip-ties, zip-lock bags and rubber bands.  Fun for everyone.
• A clothesline with built-in pins.  Many hostels do not have clothes dryers.  Many small, remote villages do not have a term in their language that translates to “clothes dryer.”
• Four types of string/twine/wire.  When things need to be tied up, for whatever reason.

The Red Bag: Medical Supplies

Mostly, things I hope to never need.

med

• Painkillers of various strength: aspirin, tylenol and aleve.  And Hydrocodone, when nothing but an opiate will do.
• Cipro.  Everyone said I needed Cipro.
• A suture kit.  Hell if I know.
• Wet wipes.
• Ear plugs. I trusted the people that told me they’d be a necessity, and I was immediately sold the first time I found myself on a long bus ride where music was played (loudly) instead of the typical terrible movie fare.  Unfortunately, the plugs were back in my apartment.
• Water purification tablets.  Based on the stomach issues that plagued me for the past two weeks, I probably should’ve been using these.
• The water wand.  Apparently this thing can make any water safe and drinkable via ultraviolet light it gives off when swirled around in water.  The caveat is that the process uses up so much energy that each battery can only “fix” about 2 liters of water.  I knew this when buying the wand, and was willing to constantly buy batteries as needed, but it uses a rare, lithium battery that I’ve got about as much chance of finding down here as a keg of Guinness.  (Note: There is no Guinness here.  Anywhere.  There are multiple Irish pubs with “Guinness” painted on the outside, however).
• Anti-nausea pills.  Supposedly you chew these to alleviate nausea.  It’s possible that they work well and I just misunderstood what the “cure” was, but the lone time I used these I threw up within two minutes.
• Malaria pills.  There’s no viable vaccine for Malaria yet, but should you be heading into a region known to carry the disease, you can take preventive medicine to halt its attack.
• Toothbruth and razor.  Standard bathroom fare.
• A wide variety of band-aids, gauze and similar wound-closing fare.
• Tiger balm.  Good for both exhausted muscles and anything that itches.

Of all the varied supplied I might find myself desperately needing down here (Guinness?), medicine looks to be the least of my troubles.  Pharmacies don’t require prescriptions for anything but the heavy-duty opiates, so most ailments can be shown or described directly to the pharmacist for an immediate doling out of drugs that may or may not have anything to do with whatever strange and unusual ailment I’ve stumbled across (I seem to have done a surprising amount of stumbling in a short period of time).  To top it off, the drugs are dirt cheap — a 10-day supply of Amoxicillin was just over two dollars.  So The Little Red Bag has grown a bit since I’ve arrived.

Hopefully it won’t grow too much more.