Packing up for vacation

Where is my dark blue woollen sweater, that fuzzy warm and cosy one that I have worn for so many year-end winter holidays?

I ruffled through wardrobes, cabinets and old luggage bags that we used to store away much of the bulky winter wear acquired over the years.  I could retrieve all sorts of woolly jackets, overcoats and fluffy apparel, some new and not-so-new ones. But not a trace of my favourite woollen sweater.

If Jenny had applied some kind of schema on how all these stuff are stored up, it remains an unsolved mystery. But for each family vacation, a year-end ritual since our kids were all old enough to travel with us, she had always taken full charge of the luggage and packing.

“Just let me have the clothes you want to wear and don’t touch anything else”, she commanded with no-nonsense authority. Good sense told me not to interfere.  A woman and her half-packed luggage were not to be messed around with. She always pack early, at least a good two weeks ahead of the vacation, sometimes even earlier.  And she has refined the process to an art-form, bringing along every item she could conceive a need for.  All the while keeping within the luggage weight limits.

So where would our travels bring us to this year?

A 9-day vacation to colourful Barcelona. Catalonian country. Spain in the winter and in Christmas. A dream holiday for us. And one that Jenny and I had been putting off for some years in the past, thinking that we could always go the following year. We were stalling on this destination because we could not pin down a date that all five in the family would be available. So we took off for less exciting destinations, since not all could go. Thinking that there will be other years that we could still make it happen. After all Spain will always be there, awaiting our conquest.  

But of course we have no inkling, not a clue that for Jenny the years would run out, so soon.

So I find it hard to approach an otherwise exciting holiday in a far-flung country with the same kind of enthusiasm as I had in the past. Even for Spain.  This colourful country, famed for its flamenco, magnificent tacos, beautiful women in ruffly dresses and angry bullfights. Alright, forget the bullfights. It is a cruel sport and a major turn-off for animal-lovers like us and thankfully most parts of Spain have outlawed this hapless tradition they once called sport. 

Spain would have been the epitome of an exciting country to visit. When Jenny was by my side.  Each time we plan our holiday, booking our hotel apartment or browsing the net, sussing out attractions and interesting places to visit. Our family vacations were mini-projects to be worked on together. But some tasks are better done divided. Like the packing and the booking of flights and accommodation which she duly took care off. Come to think of it, I did very little for these “mini-projects”. Aside from handing over my credit card.

So why did I even bother to go this time? Well I tossed the idea to the kids. Spain got their engines rumbling and once they confirmed their availability I bit the bullet and forced the airline booking. Payment made, there would be no turning back. No wishy-washy indecisiveness that could creep in when the real hassle of preparing for the long haul trip kicks in. Like having to pack.

Common sense tells me I should still travel as long as health permits.  Jenny loved travelling. And she was the source of my infection, the day I got smitten by the travel-bug.  Jenny would feel let-down if I deprived myself and the kids of travelling because she is not with us.  This much I am sure of her.

True, the family is now so incomplete. A vital piece is missing. And it is hard to muster and whip up the same enthusiasm and excitement as felt in the past, whenever the date for our impending vacation approaches. Perhaps we had taken one trip too many. Perhaps the kids have grown also. Robbing them of their childish fervour. Sad but entirely inevitable.

But mostly that dour pre-trip feeling that gnawed away my enthusiasm is plainly because she is missing. And she will be missed more so during our travels. Spain will come with some pain. I will just have to brace myself for it.  

Never mind the woollen sweater. It’s an early morning flight tomorrow and I am done with the packing.

Adios, amigo.