Notes on my gear list

A friend wanted to know about my crushable skirt and about the pants and shorts I decided to take along. And I wanted to say more about books and toiletries.

The skirt is an old Weston Wear find, fitted, brown with big flowers and made of thin stretchable nylon. If you let the elasticized waist ride your hips, it’s knee-length, respectable enough (I hope) for cathedral-hopping.

The pants (I tried on dozens of pairs) are Columbia Adventure Stretch Capris made of a variety of man-made materials (I’d tell you what they were but I cut out the labels to save weight; that’s how weight-obsessed I am. I also cut off the buttoned tabs hanging from the inside lower legs, meant to keep the rolled-up pants from unrolling.) They’re pretty lightweight, stretchable, and they even look kind of elegant, good enough to wear to the Guggenheim in Bilbao and maybe out to a celebratory dinner or two. I’m on the fence about these miracle manmade fabrics that supposedly wick moisture away from the skin (it doesn’t work in yoga clothing), but I’m giving these pants a try.

My shorts are men’s North Face cargo shorts, nylon, army green, almost to the knee, replete with most excellent pockets. The equivalent women’s shorts had half the pocketage—go figure. Do clothing manufacturers think women have less to carry? If anything we have more—see my treatise on toiletries below.

On ripping books apart
I’m a reader, writer, editor, and lover of books for what they convey and for how they feel in the hands and look on the shelf. Still, I love to rip them apart when the occasion calls for it—like when weight is an issue. There’s nothing quite so satisfying as getting a clean rip—right from the spine. The secret is to rip small sections at a time--don't try the Schwarzeneggar entire-phone book approach.

So I have the León-Santiago de Compostela sections of the Confraternity of St. James’ Pilgrim Guide to the Camino Frances and a cultural guide to the Camino by Gitlitz and Davidson, with hyper-detailed info on all the cathedrals and Roman ruins along the way. For airplane/layover reading I have The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón, the story of an antiquarian book dealer in Barcelona in 1945 (thanks for the recommendation, Susan), and Alexander McCall Smith’s The Kalahari Typing School for Men (part of the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series, set in Botswana). Don’t worry, Derek, I’m not taking the copy you loaned me—I found another in Green Apple Book’s bargain bin. I’ll leave both books behind when I start walking.

Letting go of gel, mousse, and leave-in conditioner
When trying to keep my load light, toiletries were the hardest to cut down on. I’m with the woman who, when asked about her favorite hair products, replied, “Do you want A to M, or N to Z?” I try to resist the lures of this consumerist society, but I’m a sucker for anything that promises to control my wild hair. On guard against snake oil salesmen, I’ll follow the purveyor of anti-frizz serum anywhere. But I got my hair cut short (my nun ‘do, as I call it, although it also looks a little like Liza Minelli in rehab), so it won’t need as much goo. And my Dr. Bronner’s multipurpose peppermint liquid castile soap will be doing triple or quadruple duty: soap, shampoo and laundry. Some people also use it as toothpaste, but I splurged and am bringing a tiny tube of Crest.