怎么才能成為整行李達(dá)人？

r months a year on the road, in every kind of climate and condition, I should be a packing ninja: the kind of person who can throw together a carry-on case to cover every occasion without a moment’s hesitation.

你們可能覺得我肯定是收拾行李箱的老手了。我當(dāng)了三年時(shí)裝編輯，每年近四個(gè)月風(fēng)塵仆仆奔波于世界各地，應(yīng)是準(zhǔn)備行囊的行家里手：能即刻備好隨身行李，立馬投入工作的“大拿”。

And yet. Still, I fail to pack well. Work or play I can’t quite get it right. On arrival, I find myself with shoes that have become strangely ill-fitting in transit and must be abandoned, throwing every outfit planned around them out of kilter. I bring too many white T-shirts, or too few, or things that need ironing after 10 minutes wear. I pack ribbed knitted tops without remembering to bring the specific undergarment required to make them fall flatteringly. I am cursed to forget fundamentally important items, like sleep wear, or toothpaste, or the hair unguent that daily saves me from looking like a Brian May tribute act.

非也。我至今仍無法收拾妥當(dāng)自己的行囊。不管是工作還是休閑，我總是“丟三落四”。抵達(dá)目的地后，發(fā)現(xiàn)自己帶的鞋在旅途中不知怎么就變得不合腳了，于是只得把所有與之搭配的行頭都忍痛割愛掉;白襯衫這類穿了10分鐘就得熨燙的衣服我不是多帶就是沒帶。我?guī)Я肆_紋針織上衣，卻忘了“相得益彰”的內(nèi)衣。該死的，我總是忘帶必備行頭，如睡衣、牙膏或是每天都要用的焗油膏(抹了它，不至于象布賴恩•梅(Brian May)的樂隊(duì)隊(duì)員的頭發(fā)模樣)。

Rather than packing the things I might need, I find myself weighed down with an excess of options that all seem quite useless on arrival. Travel brings out my worst fantasist tendency to prepare for the life I imagine I lead rather than the one I actually do. The life in which I need to walk further than 20 steps a day, and require some comfortable clothes. Instead, I pack piles of cripplingly high heels and strangely directional daywear that makes me feel weird and self-conscious. Despite my obsessive study of the weather in the run-up to a trip, I seem incapable of bringing clothes that quite correspond to the climate I will arrive in: for Paris couture week, under sweltering skies, I packed a heavy linen trenchcoat and a tweed jacket. I went to Galway, in the rain-sodden west of Ireland, without a waterproof.

我沒有備足所需要的行頭，相反，抵達(dá)目的地后，總是發(fā)現(xiàn)無用的東西帶得太多。一出差，自己就會(huì)不由自主、無可救藥地幻想著憧憬中的而非真實(shí)的生活：每天需要散步(超過20步)，因此需要準(zhǔn)備些舒適衣服。而與之相反的是，我裝了一大堆超高跟鞋以及怪異的時(shí)尚潮裝(讓我頗為另類與不自在)。盡管出行前自己會(huì)再仔細(xì)研究出差地的天氣，但所帶衣服似乎總是牛頭不對(duì)馬嘴：赴巴黎女裝周時(shí)，巴黎的天氣燥熱氣悶，自己卻拿了厚實(shí)風(fēng)衣與粗花呢短上衣;去陰雨綿綿的愛爾蘭西部城市戈?duì)栱f(Galway)出差時(shí)，我卻沒帶防雨外套。

But I am learning. I understand now why every fashion editor wears black; everything goes with everything and no one knows you’ve worn the same thing every day for a month. I always bring sneakers, a navy sweater and a pair of boyfriend jeans. I’ve also finally acknowledged that, having holidayed with the same partner for 20 years, I will never, ever wear that rather ostentatious designer dress — or two — I always pack in case I feel like glamming up of an evening. Extra footsie socks for the trainers maybe? A treaty new pack of Sunspel knickers? But the Saint Laurent Seventies-style silk-crepe folk dress with a balloon sleeve and a piecrust collar? Forget it. It’s just not going to happen.

但我會(huì)吃一塹長一智。我如今理解為何時(shí)裝編輯都愛穿黑色了。黑色是“百搭”，而且沒人知道自己一個(gè)月天天穿的都是同一件衣服。如今出差，我總會(huì)帶上運(yùn)動(dòng)鞋、深藍(lán)色運(yùn)動(dòng)衣以及闊腿牛仔裝(boyfriend jeans)。我最終也承認(rèn)：與老公(20年沒換)度假時(shí)，自己從未穿過所帶的花哨潮裝(以防晚上應(yīng)酬)。也許我會(huì)為運(yùn)動(dòng)鞋另帶一雙踩腳襪(footsie socks)或是帶一包新潮的Sunspel內(nèi)褲。那么我會(huì)帶上圣洛蘭(Saint Laurent)70年代風(fēng)格、寬松燈籠袖與派酥領(lǐng)(piecrust collar)的真絲縐民間款裙子嗎?算了吧，這種情況肯定不會(huì)發(fā)生。

Like The Karate Kid, however, my training is far from complete. Every time I step into an airport terminal I am haunted by the words of my friend and fellow fashion editor, the inestimably chic Sarah Harris. Sarah is my Mr Miyagi. The master packer. She only ever travels with hand luggage; each trip meticulously prepared for, no detail ill-considered. She recalls Grace Kelly, in Rear Window, as the glacially elegant socialite who magics her overnight kit from a miniature Mark Cross handbag measuring only 13 inches wide. But Sarah is generous with her wisdoms. “Well, of course, you must only bring one pair of shoes to the shows,” she will say from our seats on the front row. “Always wear an old T-shirt under a shirt so that you can get another day’s wear out of it,” she once pronounced: an edict I have lived by ever since.

但是，與《小子難纏》(The Karate Kid)里的空手道小孩一樣，我的打包“修煉”依然任重道遠(yuǎn)。每次步入機(jī)場，耳邊老是閨蜜兼同行、時(shí)尚女魔頭莎拉•哈里斯(Sarah Harris)的諍諍良言。薩拉就好比《小子難纏》里的東方武術(shù)大師Mr. Miyagi，她是準(zhǔn)備行裝的“大師”：每次出行只拿件手提行李;每次行程都精心準(zhǔn)備，但事無巨細(xì)。她回憶格蕾絲•凱麗(Grace Kelly)在影片《后窗》(Rear Window)中飾演的那位極度優(yōu)雅的社交名媛，竟然能把全部行頭裝入13英寸寬的Mark Cross迷你手提包內(nèi)。薩拉會(huì)無私地分享打點(diǎn)行裝的心得。“當(dāng)然，參加時(shí)裝發(fā)布會(huì)，你只能帶一雙鞋。”我們在商務(wù)座坐定后她會(huì)這樣說道：“每次穿襯衫時(shí)，里面穿件T恤，這樣第二天的衣服就有了。”她曾這樣聲稱道。我從此以后對(duì)她的“圣旨”言聽計(jì)從。

It was Sarah who, while I was tending an especially nasty new-shoe bite one season, enquired as to why I hadn’t “broken them by wearing them around the house in advance?” The query was more incredulous than imperious; surely everyone must schedule such activities to fill their spare time?

有一次，我在處理因?yàn)榇┝四臣拘滦?，腳上磨出的大水泡時(shí)，薩拉質(zhì)問我為何“沒有預(yù)先穿它在家里轉(zhuǎn)悠，把這個(gè)水泡提前在家里處理好?”如此質(zhì)疑，與其說是咄咄逼人，倒不如說是令人難以置信。很顯然，每個(gè)人都得在業(yè)余時(shí)間預(yù)先籌劃好這些事。

To travel with only hand luggage is to enter the realm of the super human. Show me your packing proficiency and I will offer you my utmost respect. And I’m not talking, by the way, about those men who just throw a load of crap into a bag in 10 seconds and then find themselves shivering on a mountainside in Dunton, Colorado, wearing a pair of disintegrated Birkenstocks and a towelling bathrobe. (You know who you are.)

出差只帶個(gè)手提包，那是“超人”。對(duì)于準(zhǔn)備行李箱有超凡能力的人，我都是佩服得五體投地。順便說一下，我指的并非那些匆忙之中胡亂塞一些行裝的“理工男”：他們會(huì)發(fā)現(xiàn)自己住在科羅拉多鄧頓(Dunton, Colorado)的半山腰凍得瑟瑟發(fā)抖，腳上穿著一雙穿壞的Birkenstocks涼鞋，身上則披著厚實(shí)浴袍。

Meanwhile, my education continues. Marching through the departures lounge en route to France last week (five nights, temperatures variable, high chance of precipitation, nearby beach), I offered myself a smug pat on the back for containing all my clothes, toiletries, chargers and reading requirements in a tiny case that would satisfy the scrutiny of a well-known budget airline that slaps massive surcharges on items that haven’t been sufficiently declared in advance. I had packed ruthlessly, casting out all extraneous items that weren’t deemed essential. And then I had packed again, just to make sure.

與此同時(shí)，我仍在行囊準(zhǔn)備方面不斷栽跟頭。不久前，我經(jīng)由休息室登機(jī)前往巴黎參加時(shí)裝周(在巴黎要住五晚，天氣多變，下雨概率大，而且毗鄰海灘)，我自鳴得意地把所有的衣服、洗漱用具、充電器以及讀物放進(jìn)一個(gè)小皮箱，自以為通過英國某知名廉價(jià)航空公司的安檢肯定不在話下，因?yàn)閷?duì)方對(duì)事先未申報(bào)的超重行李會(huì)征收不菲的費(fèi)用。我打點(diǎn)行裝時(shí)手下沒留情：把自認(rèn)為無關(guān)緊要的東西悉數(shù)剔除。而后我又重新裝了一回，確保萬無一失。

I was feeling confident. I waltzed through the check in. I sailed through the scanners with my mini liquids, all carefully repackaged, decanted and bagged into their polythene prophylactic. I watched my fellow passengers stumble and scrape with their overladen bags with a gracious but patronising smile.

我感覺信心滿滿：順利通過登機(jī)手續(xù)辦理點(diǎn)，所帶洗漱液與化妝品(它們都已認(rèn)真重新包裝，倒入瓶子后再裝入聚乙烯塑料袋中)也順利通過安檢?？粗瑱C(jī)乘客因行囊“超載”不是蹣跚著前行，就是剮剮擦擦，自己得體而又得意地笑了。

But approaching the gate, I was suddenly thwarted. “I’m sorry madam,” intoned a spiffy air steward who stood between myself, the aircraft and my imminent ascent to ninja status. “But the flight is really busy today so I’m going to have to put your bag in the hold.”

但當(dāng)我來到登機(jī)口時(shí)，卻突然被攔住：“對(duì)不起，女士。”站在我與飛機(jī)之間的帥氣空哥以緩慢而又莊重的口吻對(duì)我說，“本次航班人滿為患，所以我只得把您的小手提箱擱到貨艙。”

I blustered, I prevaricated. I begged to keep the bag on board. “You don’t realise how many useless things I didn’t pack in order to keep this suitcase with me,” I pleaded. But it was not to be. The bag went down below. And the worst thing about it? I should have packed that bloody dress after all.

我先是咆哮叫嚷，然后又閃爍其辭，請求對(duì)方允許我隨身攜帶它。“您不知道為了隨身攜帶它，我把多少無關(guān)緊要的東西去除掉了。”我央求道。但一切都無濟(jì)于事。我的手提箱最終放到了貨艙。這是最糟糕的境況了嗎?奶奶的，我真該帶上那件該死的裙子!