Taking the Low Road

Pack ALL the toiletries you’ll need.

This sounds more nitpicky than it actually is. I’m well aware that Rick Steves claims buying toiletries in a foreign country can be “fun.” I’d just like to point out that fun is a relative term, and my idea of fun must differ from Rick’s.

Here’s my main reason for advising you to avoid the toiletry aisle in Tesco; everything in it costs way more, even before the exchange rate. (I guess, without Walmart, there’s not enough competition to drive prices down to what we’re accustomed to paying in this country.) The frustration quotient is my second reason; it’s way higher than I’m comfortable with. Third reason? It’s wasted time.

I learned this the hard way a few years back. I’d run out of my three-in-one (cleaning-storing-wetting) contact lens solution. Replenishing it turned out to be a very expensive and time-consuming proposition – and this was in Scotland, where I could read the packages. If this had happened the year we toured Paris, I’d have been in trouble.

After running low on this and that during our first and second trips, I began to pay close attention to exactly how much of our toiletries we used. From then on, I was able to pack what we needed – and just a little bit extra. No more frantic shopping for contact lens solution. Just be sure you break everything into three-ounce or less containers; you know the drill.

Don’t forget OTC stuff either. With all the excitement of preparing for a four-week trip, not to mention the stress of getting four weeks’ worth of work done ahead of time, my body is usually run-down by the time we lift off and highly susceptible to whatever germs are zipping around the cabin. Not long after our arrival, I usually find myself with a first-class (unlike our cabin seating) head cold.

On our first trip, I made the mistake of packing minimal OTC medicines. After looking high and low for antihistamines, I asked a chemist (pharmacist) if antihistamines were unavailable in the U.K. No. Turns out they’re kept behind the counter, and you must ask for them. You don’t need a prescription. You just need to know to ask. When you’re jet-laggy and coming down with a whopper of a cold, your brain may not think to ask these sorts of questions. In fact, I find when I have any kind of physical problem, I don’t think too clearly.

Solution? Look in your medicine cabinet. Pack a week or two’s worth of every OTC that you normally keep in it. If it’s in there, you’ve obviously needed it. If you needed it in your own country, in your own home, going about your regular routine, there’s a 50-50 chance you just might need it on your holiday abroad. (We would all like to think not, but let’s be real.) Take it. It takes practically no room in your luggage. Then when your body begins to reel with a cold or flu . . . and your brain follows it, just go to your handy-dandy, home-away-from-home medicine kit; dose yourself; make an early night of it; and save yourself some time, frustration, and money. With any luck, you’ll feel way better the next day and won’t miss even one day of touring.

If you take any kind of prescription medication, you already know to pack enough for the entire trip, plus the prescription itself. If your copy is the predictably unreadable kind, ask your doctor’s office to e-mail a printed version for you to take – and tell them what country you’ll be visiting. They may know something you don’t about the pharmaceuticals available in that country and how lenient chemists can be – or not be. I’ve never had to track down a prescription medicine abroad, but I’ll bet it isn’t an easy process, especially if there’s a language barrier. And I’ll bet it isn’t an inexpensive process either.

Ever since 9-11, we’re all conditioned to the one-quart Ziploc bag routine, but I still pack our hanging toiletry bag. Why? Because spacious bathroom counters pretty much don’t exist in the U.K. – at least not in the places we’ve been. A savvy traveler told me this, as she sold me our toiletry bag 12 years ago: she said, “Trust me, honey, you’ll have to hang all your toiletries. There’s seldom anyplace to set them.” She was right. After we’ve made the airport security folks happy, I recombine all our toiletries and medicines into our one hanging toiletry bag, and we’re good for the remainder of our trip, or until we fly again.