Old Greg

Sometimes I like to think about the first backpackers out there. What possessed them to strap a 50L sack to their back with most of their belongings and walk from city to city? Better yet, how the hell did they pack that sack filled with everything they needed?

My backpack is my life. It carries everything I need to survive in only 38L and a whopping 13kg. Consisting of too many clothes, two pairs of shoes, a first aid kit, and a crap load of underwear (I hate doing laundry) jammed into every nook and cranny you can find in my Gregory pack, or Old Greg as we like to call him.

So I’ve taken this to a whole new level, a science if you will. So Greg has two extra pockets, three pockets on the strap, an inside pouch, and the beer belly. The beer belly is an addition filled to the brim with underwear and bras—I brought too much of each. 

First things first, you need to come to terms with the fact that your back will never be packed as nicely as it was when you left your house to start your adventure. Second of all, take out half of everything you packed and just leave it at home. You do not need it and you will not wear it. Despite popular belief and my impeccable Instagram of “candid” photos in cool outfits, I wish more than anything I had a pair of running shorts and a large t-shirt most of the time.

Guys, this goes for you too, girls, you should probably take out another fourth of your outfit options.

Roll all of the clothes until they are so small and wedge them into every place you can. I have also given up on strategically placing my outfits throughout the pack because when the time comes to get dressed I suddenly decided to not wear the outfit I packed on top for the night but rather to dig aggressively through the pack until I realize the outfit I wanted to wear was at home in the “not taking” pile.

It is important to understand that the phrase “I am not going to unpack very much here,” really means “Be prepared, I have no idea what I am going to wear.”

Sitting in my Athens Airbnb attempting to pack my three new bags of clothes from Zara into the remaining space in my 38L backpack is causing me to question my choice on a backpack. But just when you think Old Greg just can’t take anymore, the beer belly just provides another couple of liters worth of space for me to fit all the extra bathing suits.

Sometimes I hate the first backpackers. Walking up to 3 miles from train stations to hostels, cooking in hostels with questionable sponges, carrying everything you own in a backpack that you carry said miles to the hostel doesn’t sound fun on paper. But in reality, as I pull out the same black t-shirt, jeans, and Eccos that I have been wearing the past few days out of the pile of endless clothing options, it’s a pretty fun time—and thank the Lord for Downy Wrinkle Releaser.