Tools For Travelers

There is "Power Through Simplicity” and nowhere is that more visible than in travel. However, even I can’t get away from the fact that we need to have some core tools at our disposal to enable the travel experiences we seek to be richer.  Thus, after many years, countries and cultures, combined with a fair amount of success and some inevitable failures, I have curated a list of tools that I find essential in my travels. I’ve selected products that are compact, light and genuinely useful & reliable. I like stuff that lasts, so I tend to be pretty picky when I’m buying things. If, by chance, you find a product that is truly a game changer, email me, as I am always on the look out for tools that make my experience less complicated and more enriching.  

*To be fully transparent, if you use the links provided I will get a small percentage of the sale that I will use to continue the work of bringing more of our philosophy to others and helping all travelers grow from their experience.  

THE PEN

I had been in the Land Rover for almost 8 hours, traveling through what can be only described as a surreal landscape of colors, textures and mountain peaks. The driver stopped at a lake that was so calm it looked like a mirror reflecting the brown and golden hues of the landscape encapsulated by a deep dark sky that can only be seen from an altitude of 14,000 feet and extremely low humidity. I found myself here, traveling the Alto Plano of Chile and Bolivia by accident, with a long-time adventure partner and friend, Mark. We had just pulled up to the border crossing from Chile to go into Bolivia. The building, if one could call it that, appeared to be two walls joined into the side of a hill. The walls were concrete with old plank wood flooring; the windows had no glass and the ceiling was pretty low. There was a guard and an immigration officer that appeared to be wearing a borrowed uniform jacket and shirt. He sat at an old and warn table with a clipboard, ledger, stamp and inkpad looking like he had enough of his assignment. He asked to see our passports. Looking at them he handed us a clipboard with a sign-in form and motioned for us to fill it out. Mark picked it up and looked at it, then said a few things in Spanish.  The officer (if that’s what he was) replied. Mark looked at him, took a moment to pause, turned to me and said, "He doesn’t have a pen we can use to fill out the form.” 

“Well, I don't have one," I said. 

"I don't either," said Mark. 

Mark turned to the officer and relayed as much. The man then took the clipboard back and handed us our passports saying something in Spanish prompting Mark to face me and translate. “He said go back the way you came." 

I was motionless both in movement and speech. We talked a bit. I suggested we bribe the guy, and after we talked that through, we decided against it. We talked to our driver who tried to plead our case, which got us nowhere fast. So the stress meter is starting to rev up pretty fast; in fact, we were both getting pretty worked up and right then it hit me. I had found this super nice fountain pen when Mark and I were in San Pedro De Atacama, but the ink was dry. "What good is that going to do?” asked Mark. 

I opened up the pen and wet the tip with my tongue; no joy. I then took the pen apart and put a very small amount of water into the ink tube that flows to the nib. Waiting for 5 minutes felt like 5 hours, but still nothing. I then took a safety pin, bent it open and used the pointed end to poke a hole in the nib hole and scrape out the old dried ink. Just like that, some ink started to flow out… I stopped right away and rushed to the desk, filled out my section of the form and handed the pen to Mark for him to fill out his section. 

The officer took our passport, stamped them both and hand them to us. 

We walked out, got in the Land Rover and I said, “Let’s get out of here, there’s no way of knowing how long that ink will last.”  

The take away: Having a pen whenever you need one is vital or you might find yourself going back the way you came. 

Day Pack 

My legs were getting as tired as my back. I was carrying my large, two-compartment travel bag on my back and my new alpine pack on my front while leaving Chamonix after a transformative climbing experience on Mt. Blanc. I’d been walking for a while from the campground to the train station to take the train back to my place in Heidelberg, Germany. Needless to say, I was pretty tired by the time I arrived. I dropped my kit, detached the small day pack off the back of my large travel bag and walked to the market down the street to get some food and water for the long train ride home. In all honesty, I was never a fan of the daypack that came with the travel bag; it was too small, over built for its size, and didn’t do much besides take up space and add weight. Nevertheless, I purchased all my food and drinks for my travel to Heidelberg, but only half of it fit in my daypack. I ended up having to buy a grocery bag to carry the remaining items. When I got back to the rest of my gear I decided to take out my alpine boots, thermal jacket, gloves, and socks from my alpine pack and put the food in instead. I reorganized my stuff and, save for having to wear my jacket around my waist, I was all tidied up. I got on the train and fell asleep shortly after it pulled out from the station. For years I found myself using this alpine pack as my daypack and makeshift camera bag; that is until I ran across an ultra-light travel daypack. My alpine pack is still in service, but for day trips, it’s staying at the guesthouse.  

The take away:  An ultra light daypack that can hold some food and drinks plus folds up easily is vital. 

Reusable Grocery Bags

The cold wasn’t too bad, but bad enough that when I entered the small market I was pleased to be in the heat. My debit card had not worked at the last three ATM’s I had visited and I was chilled to the bone walking all over Kiev, denied any sort of cash to fund my beer and chocolate habit that had formed quite rapidly while sitting in my apartment waiting for my Russian Visa approval. After filling my little basket with a collection of bread, sausage and beer, which would be my dinner at this time of night, I walked up to the register and grabbed a bar of chocolate as my dessert and placed my items to be checked out. The sound of punching buttons and tumbling gears caught my ear as I looked up and saw an analog register tallying up my precious dinner items and requisite chocolate bar. 

The women behind the register looked like she had been cast in a Soviet propaganda film, cliché to say the least. Looking back, the analog register should have been my tip off, but when she showed me the total and I handed her my credit card, she awarded me an expression of disgust and disapproval, then shook her head back and forth to say no.  At this point, after numerous failed attempts to engage in financial transactions, I felt so small that if I sat on a coin, my feet would dangle. 

The store suddenly started to feel very overheated, and I began to sweat as I reached into my pocket to see how much money was there. I was short the equivalent of one dollar; the price of my chocolate bar. I returned the bar to her and she set it aside, ripped off the receipt, scratched the bar off, wrote the new amount on the bill, and handed it to me. Then, she took all the money I had, put it in the till, closed it, and walked away with the chocolate bar to put it back in the aisle. 

Glad the transaction was over and done with, I looked down at my cargo of goods and wondered where the grocery bags were so I could bag my dinner and beer and get out of this not so hospitable store. I looked up at the cashier and she informed me they too cost money. I was so deflated I felt like a limp animal pool floatie. 

So, I began to pack my stuff in my pockets, and after 30 seconds of failed attempts, I realized this was not going to work at all. So I took my coat off and fashioned it into a makeshift over the shoulder carrier and filled up. Smiling at miss congeniality, I walked out to what can only described as air so cold it froze me in my tracks. So much for my short lived arrogance! But as one does, I gritted my teeth and walked as if nothing were wrong. 

After a hypothermic twenty minutes of walking, I was able to hail a taxi. As I got in, one of the beer bottles slid out of the jacket-turned-grocery-bag and shattered on the street. I was crushed, to say the least. 

The driver looked at me as if to say, “are you going to cry or get in my car?” 

I pushed the glass to the curb, got in the warm taxi, and thought that if had had a simple fabric grocery bag instead of that faux fur hat I was wearing, I would be enjoying that beer.  

The take away: Have a few reusable grocery bags or pay more than the price of a one-time paper bag.  

Headlamp

The rattle of trains along with the light chatter of people echoed in the covered train station. It was getting darker by the second and I couldn’t seem to find any place to get my ticket. I was running out of time, even though I had arrived an hour early. I kept looking and looking but couldn’t find the ticket booth anywhere. I finally asked a young boy who looked at me like I was crazy; then an older man dressed impeccably in the local garb told me that the ticket booth I so desperately sought was just around the corner. 

I went to the counter and asked for a First Class ticket to Bagon; he handed me the ticket and I gave him some local currency instead of the silly play money the Military Junta gives you after you give them $150 in cash. That play money went on the black market to exchange the first hour I had it. 

Ticket in hand, he told me track 8 and I turned to what was a pitch-black train station with not a single light, save for a few 20w bulbs shining on out of date signage. Track 8 was my goal. But I couldn’t see a thing. 

The weight of my camera gear and personal clothes was starting to take its toll on my shoulders and back. I had been running around for close to an hour looking for the ticket booth, and now I would have to find my train in the pitch black. 

I took a guess and went left only to walk into a pallet of Buddha statues. Taking that as a hint, I turned to walk right. Going right yielded lots of train cars, but I noticed as I went up to them they were all locked and, like the station, pitch black - not a single light on. 

I looked down at my watch and only had 4 minutes until my train was scheduled to pull away from track 8, which I could not find. I walked along using the glint from the cars’ trim to guide me. It then struck me. In the slight grey of what one can see in extreme low light I noticed that the last 4 trains I had checked all had no engine; they were out of service cars. I was crushed. Looking at my watch again, 2 minutes… I was close to a panic. 

I took a deep breath and turned to walk back to the ticket counter; along the way I noticed a group of people walking in a general direction. I followed them; it is not my normal behavior to follow anyone, but they were walking calmly. Then I realized they were walking toward the exit of the train station. I stopped again and began the mental process of accepting my fate. I would not be on the night train to Bagon. 

In one last desperate attempt to find my chariot, I asked an older man to give me directions. He pointed up to a sign with a language that not only has its own characters, but its own numbers as well; then he pointed directly to my right.

“Thank You!” I said, and ran in the dark praying for no Buddhas, benches or trashcans. 

I made out a person standing next to a car, ran to him, and as I handed my ticket for him to punch it, he pointed to the opening and then left to the first class car. I got in and found a seat that was a padded bench with a wooden table in front of it. One of the passengers lit a small candle on a nearby table, which basked the car with a warm glow. The train began to move, and as it did, two more candles lit up, and the car was alive. The trained lumbered slowly as it pulled out of the station. When I looked out the window, down onto the ground, there, written in chalk, was the Roman Numeral VIII. 

The take away: Having a small headlamp will make life far safer and less stressful in those moments of darkness.  

Key Ring LED Light

Wiping the sweat from my brow with my shirtsleeve I noticed the time: 1:30 AM. If it’s this hot at 1:30 AM what’s it like at 1:00 PM, I thought to myself. Dismayed, I remembered that I knew this would be a very long project. 

The smell that came into the taxi window was a mix of fire, fuel, cigarettes, cow dung and dry grass - a truly memorable potpourri. The jet lag hadn’t hit me yet as I had just landed 2 hours ago. From landing to exit, I always bank on at least two hours, but having landed late in Lahore, Pakistan left few immigration officers to handle 3 full flights at once. There’s nothing like the odor of a thousand people crammed into a small hall with no ventilation to push one to nausea. 

The taxi I was in was a bit on the run down side; the driver’s seat tilted to one side, the back seat had a loose blanket on it, and the floorboards were cut up carpets. The radio was on high, and the AC was off. More than likely, it didn’t work. Given the age of the car I actually preferred the ambient air to any directed through the air ducts of this rolling death trap. 

After about 10 minutes of driving, we hit a small checkpoint, which is not uncommon but still a bit odd in that location and at that time of night. They checked the driver’s credentials and then asked for my passport. I unbuttoned my shirt pocket, pulled out the little book and handed it to him. 

He then gave it a quick glance, smiled and said, "Why come to Lahore in August?” to which I retort, “The evening breeze is wonderful.” 

He laughed, handed me my passport and waved us through. My driver said something I couldn’t understand and I smiled and reminded him of our destination. I reached into my bag for the last sips of my water and as I set it down, the fatigue of 28 hours hit me like a strong wave on an ocean beach. I drifted in and out until we hit a pothole on a side street lit by a single streetlight. The dilapidation of the area is keenly visible. The driver stopped the car, got out, walked up to a door and knocked. A young boy opened the door with sleep in his eyes and the cognitive prowess of a sleeping cat. They spoke quickly. The driver returned and said I have arrived. 

I got out of the car with my empty water bottle and main bag in tow. The driver retrieved my camera gear and laptop cases out of the trunk while I reached into my pocket for cash to pay him. I pulled out a wad of paper and a small key ring with my camera case key and small push LED light attached. I handed him the money. He got back in the taxi and started the engine. 

I felt the key ring light in my hand and hollered, “Wait!” 

Quickly, I opened the back door, shone the light around the back seat, then checked the floor mats and up under the front seat, and what do I find? My passport. 

In my jet-lagged state I had not put it back in my shirt pocket but laid it down on the seat where it had fallen to the floor. The light on the key ring was a reminder to check the car before it pulled away. 

The take away: A little key ring light can save your trip and possibly save weeks of frustration and money.

Credit Card Sleeves

I was standing at the ticket counter in the Dubai airport waiting to board my connecting flight. I had just come from Kabul, Afghanistan where I had been working on a photo project when I was given the bad news of a ticket change fee that needed to be paid. 

This had me surprised to say the least. It was true that I had changed my ticket to depart later than first booked, but I had paid for change insurance when I purchased my ticket two months earlier. I spoke to the gate attendant and explained my situation. 

She typed away as her eyes darted back and forth looking at my booking information. As she did, I glanced over my shoulder and discovered the line had grown quite long. I was then told that the change date insurance only applied to the previous airline and not this one. I looked at my paperwork more intensely and, low and behold, indeed she was right.

This was humiliating to say the least because I am extremely detail oriented when making my travel arrangements; I even read the fine print in depth before I purchase a ticket to avoid a technicality or oversight, just like the one I am experiencing at the moment. 

I reached into my blazer (I prefer to travel in a cheap blazer and collared shirt), pulled out my wallet and handed her the credit card I use for travel. The card failed. 

Swiped again. 

Failed. 

Again… Failed. 

The attendant handed it back to me. I was astonished and deeply embarrassed. I looked into my wallet and did not have enough cash to pay the change fee. 

They stared at me with that look that says, “Step aside, get your shit sorted out, and stop wasting my time; when you’ve got it together, then get back in line.” 

I gracefully excused myself from the counter and looked for an ATM. No joy; the line was diminishing in size and the boarding time was approaching. I was really starting to worry. 

I sat down, opened my laptop, logged onto the internet, turned on my VPN and checked my bank account. Not only was there plenty of credit available, I could also have drawn plenty of money for a cash advance. 

Confused, I approached the ticket counter again after waiting in line and pled my case.  This time I was given a vacuous, "Sorry, there’s nothing I can do," as they began the process of pre-boarding the flight. 

I was resolved that things were going to get ugly. Then a woman came up and asked what the issue was; I told her the story and she reached in her purse and gave me what I was short to pay the change fee. I was humbled to the core.

“Many thanks,” I said. 

I paid the fee, boarded the airplane, and sat in my seat with a feeling of deep gratitude. About midway through the flight, I found the women to thank her again. She said it was nothing, offering, “I bet your card has a damaged magnetic strip.”  

The take away: Keep your debit and credit cards in protective sleeves or walk around with a couple grand in your pocket like a baller.  

Travelers Shower Kit

After years of solo travel, I was in another country with an inexperienced travel companion. This was a big move for me. Not that I don’t like to travel with others, it’s just that it seldom worked out for me because over the years I learned through necessity to develop methods and technics to streamline my travel process, which is seldom the way others travel. 

Nevertheless, I now had a person traveling with me and I told her that if you can’t get all your detritus in a carry on, you’re bringing way too much stuff – harsh, I know. But at the time, I had forgotten that most people don’t travel the same way I do. 

Needless to say, she checked a bag. This was a surprise to me; we were going to the tropics and her trip was only for two weeks while I would be there for two months. 

When we landed in the tropics, I debarked the plane with all of my gear in tow: my camera kit and small bag of clothes and personal items. My companion, however, went to baggage claim while I walked to get a taxi to our connecting airport for a local flight to the coast. She arrived about 20 minutes later with what can be described only as a small coffin; clearly she had not heeded any of my “gently” given advice on preparing for two weeks in the tropics. 

Saying nothing, we load up the taxi and move on to our connecting flight out of a small regional airport.  This time there is no gate; we just pull right up to our little propeller aircraft waiting for us.

We are greeted and asked to stand on a scale. I get on, and they weigh my camera bag and my shoulder bag. All done. My travel partner gets on, and they weigh her shoulder bag and small coffin. 

"You are over,” they say. My travel companion asks, "What does that mean?" 

"Well, you will need to drop some weight out of your luggage." 

I sat and watched the show for a few minutes, then felt compelled to help. First, she had brought a full terry cloth robe and a giant bath sheet. I had to use every bit of self-restraint to not chuck her stuff in the trash right then and there. Sadly, I was even more shocked when she pulled out her shower “duffel.” 

She had packed full size bottles and even special washrags. On top of that, there were the four post-shower creams that absolutely had to come along. It took everything in me to not channel my inner drill sergeant and throw the bag in the dumpster, hand her a bar of soap, and tell her to get on the plane. 

Instead, I looked at her and said, “Look, they have towels where we are going. In fact, they have products to bath in all over the world.” 

“Well not these products,” she said back to me. 

“Perhaps, but to be honest, at this moment you are going to have to either part with some items or not continue your travel.” 

In what can only be described as adolescent obstinacy, she began to set aside items one at a time, until she was left with a toothbrush, bath soap, and a bottle of hair shampoo, leaving the robe and towel and remainders of the shower duffel behind. We boarded the plane, she looking out of the window in anger as we took off.  Truth be told, if she had brought small portions of all her magic bathing potions instead of the entirety of her bathroom, the emotional turmoil and anger could have been fully avoided. 

The take away: You absolutely don’t need 90 percent of the toiletries you are bringing. Get a small bag and fill it only with what it can hold and that’s all.  

Earplugs

It was hot and dusty as I walked around the depot looking for my bus. Finding it, I got on and was grateful for paying extra for an AC enabled one. I found my seat and sat back for what was going to be a long 12-hour night journey to my next location. 

The bus is a little bit over half full, so thankfully I had (or did you pay for 2 seats?) an empty seat next to me; given my size it held more promise than actual value. 

I looked to my right at a woman who, soaking wet, couldn’t have weighed more than 100lbs, curled up with a pillow for a decent night’s sleep. 

The first shift driver took his seat and the other two drivers took theirs next to him. They closed the door and we pulled away. As the bus began to slowly drive out of the village, the smooth swaying of the bus put me into a trance and eventually to sleep. 

Suddenly, I was jarred out of my slumber by the blaring of a movie being played at full volume. I waited for what was about 5 minutes and then got up and asked one of the other drivers to turn down the volume. They said, “it’s broken and only has that setting." 

“Well turn it off so we can sleep!” I responded.

"We can’t do that," he said, "If we do, passengers get a refund because it’s included in the price of the ticket." 

I was beside myself.  Resolved to my situation, I sat back down and dealt with it. 

After an hour of the incessant noise, I was about to admit to crimes I had not committed and searched for something soft to put in my ears. I ended up taking the cotton from a number of Q-tips and shoving them in my ears - a partial solution at best, as I never really slept. 

Hours later, after getting to my small guesthouse with a shared room, I collapsed in exhaustion. I fell asleep only to be woken up by a drunken roommate with a beer bottle in hand, who eventually collapsed in bed and began snoring like an alcohol fueled chain saw. Having been through this just hours before, I dug around for the cotton from the bus trip and put them back in - again it was a mild gain at best. 

I awoke the next day with my right ear hurting badly and one of the homemade cotton balls on the bed. I looked around for the other one since both were now out of my ears and found the second on the floor pretty smashed up. Not thinking that much of it, I got dressed and started my day by looking for breakfast.

After some food and a proper cup of tea, I was on my way for a day of local familiarization. 

Well, that ended sharply as my ear started to throb and I could not hear well out of it. My morning officially derailed, I hailed a taxi and said “Doctor or clinic.” 

Arriving at the clinic, I told them of my issue and was shortly thereafter escorted to a patient bed with a privacy curtain. When the doctor came in, I pointed to my ear and he took a chrome flashlight with the funny looking black top and looked inside.

“Oh, You have thing in ear, I should like to take it out, ok?” 

“Yes please” I said. 

I was laid on my side and the doctor got this weird looking thing and stuck it in my ear. The pain was enough for me to make a small noise and then a grunting sound as they extracted the “thing” out of my ear canal. It was, in short, some of the cotton from the homemade cotton balls I put in my ear during the bus ride. Some of it had broken off and was left in the ear canal, which caused it to swell, thus causing my pain. 

The doctor washed the ear with some special liquid then gave me two drops of ear canal painkiller. I walked out “right as rain”. 

The take away:  From snoring travel companions to crazy loud music on a bus journey, earplugs are a must for good sleep, sanity and possibly health. 

Sleep Mask

I was lying down in my bunk bead after eleven hours of rough travel having found myself in Santiago, Chile during the winter. The day before, I was forced to make a mad dash to the airport along with last minute arrangements for storing my VW Camper van and to hand over my photo assignments to people to take over in my absence. I think I got about one hour of sleep in the last twenty-four. I was hungry, tired, and in need of a light snack, a liter of water, and a long nap. 

The guesthouse I was staying at was really marvelous: I had a small yet surprisingly spacious room due to two of the walls being waist to ceiling glass. It made the room a bit chilly, as they were single pained, but I would deal with the chill for the added light and view of the city. 

Setting my bag down, I took a quick shower to rinse off the travel grime and I laid down only to toss and turn - I was suffering from adrenal activity due the change in time, lack of sleep and travel stress. To combat this, I started to count back from 500 and as I slowly counted I imagined each breath releasing stress and inhaling relaxation. Eventually, I fell asleep.

What I remember next is awaking to the piercing light of the sun through the windows roasting my eyelids. I looked at my wristwatch; I was asleep for 30 min. Ugh… I turned away from the light, but this helped very little. I put a pillow over my head only to wake up shortly after sweating. 

I was, in short, a bit angry about my dilemma. I wanted to take a nap and not feel like a green houseplant. I found an old scarf to put around my eyes, which worked until I awakened yet again from the light coming through scarf under the bridge of my nose. Dammit.

I decided to just forget about the prospect of sleeping. I got up and went to get my shower kit to brush my teeth. I was about to get into my bag but then noticed the little travel kit the airline had given me for the flight stuffed into the bag. I opened it looking for the tooth brush and micro toothpaste they give you and, like that, a sleep mask was the first thing I saw. I had a small little jump of excitement when I saw it. I pulled it out, placed it on and adjusted the tightness of the strap and darn if it didn’t fit great. I walked blindly to the bed, laying down and reveled in this small little item that would allow me to finally sleep.  

The take away: Always have a travel mask; it can totally modify your mood and moral.  

Umbrella

I had been standing in the hot summer sun in eastern Port au Paixe, Haiti for what seemed to be an eternity as I waited for my ride to pick me up. I was beginning to feel like I was being baked alive. I kept looking for some shade. 

Some of the locals were holding pieces of cardboard box as shade as they walked, so I started to look around for the same. In the distance I saw clouds forming for the standard late afternoon rain that was common during this time of year. I was hoping for the clouds to form faster and block the sun, but it was only 2pm, so it would be a while. 

Looking down the road, I saw a woman walk out of a building laughing as she said good-bye to her friends.  In one hand she had a bag of what appeared to be produce and in the other was an umbrella. I thought to myself she was obviously prepared for the coming rain. Then, she put the bag of produce down and opened the umbrella. 

She is a bit premature to open the umbrella for the rain, I thought. It was at least 3 more hours away. 

Then, as she walked toward me, I noticed something that was profound but entirely obvious; the umbrella was giving her shade! I was so delighted by the whole moment and also felt incredibly stupid, for I, in my backpack was carrying a small umbrella for the afternoon rain. I always have my poncho in this type of climate, but I also carry an umbrella to take photographs during rain to keep a torrent of water off of my gear and me. But now, using my newfound epiphany, I would use it to give me some shade. 

I reached into my bag. No umbrella. Shit! I was beyond disappointed and felt like a 5 year old who didn’t get to go on the swings at the park. Discouraged, I was feeling even hotter until I thought to check the side pocket, and there it was! I opened it up, put it over my head and was overcome with comfort and relief, no longer the subject of a heat exhaustion study.  

The take away: Umbrellas not only keep the rain off of you but can give you a true break from the sun and keep future appointments to the dermatologist to a minimum.  

Poncho

Walking down the side of a remote road in El Salvador I was going to meet up with a friend and drive to the coast. The sky was looking a bit ominous and dark. Rain was clearly on the way. I had my camera gear in my backpack along with my rain jacket, so I wasn’t too worried. That was until I heard a sound that made me stop in my tracks. It was the sound of a deluge of rain approaching. 

I quickly pulled out my rain jacket and zipped my backpack closed tight to protect my camera gear. The rain hit hard to say the least. I was totally exposed and my feet and legs were soaking wet, as if I had just walked out of a stream crossing. 

I walked a bit further and realized that I better check my camera gear. Taking off the pack, I saw it was soaking wet; the waterproofing was working well, but in this kind of rain I new it wouldn’t last. The rain was so hard it felt as if I could have showered in it. I had to act fast. 

I found a large tree that might offer a respite from the torrent, and once under it, I took the pack off and my raincoat. I zipped the coat closed and tied off the hood. Then, I slipped the jacket over the pack, unzipped the armpit zippers and pulled the pack straps out and put the pack back on. Even though the straps would wick water to the base of the pack, at least the water wouldn’t get in through the top under the full power of the falling rain.  

I walked back up to the road as I hear the sound of a motorcycle. My friend was close, but I couldn’t see him at all. Then, through the haze of the rain, he appeared. He looked to have gained some weight.  He was wearing a lime green poncho with his helmet over the hood. 

Stopping, he lifted the visor and with a smile and said, “Sort of raining. Where is your poncho or rain jacket?” 

I turned around to show him the pack cover that was my rain jacket. 

He said, “You need a poncho, amigo,” as he pulled up the front of his poncho to show the pack he was carrying on his front. 

I felt pretty silly with my rain jacket and backpack configuration. While novel, it wasn’t as effective as his poncho. I jumped on the back of the motorcycle and we sped off to a house where people were waiting for us. 

Crossing two small rivers and ripping though mud, we finally arrived. I got off soaking wet and aptly wrung my shirt out then put it back on. My friend got off the motorcycle, took of his helmet and poncho and was, for all practical purposes, bone dry, as was his front facing backpack. I, on the other hand, I looked like a cat that had just emerged after falling in a swimming pool. 

I took my jacket off my backpack and looked inside. It was slightly wet. My friend lent me a small hand towel and I dried the gear quickly. All was ok, but at that very moment I wish I had a $20 poncho instead of my $150 designer outdoor jacket.  

The take away: A poncho is more versatile and effective at keeping you and your kit dry at a fraction of the cost of some branded jacket.  

First Aid Kit

Sitting at a small cafe table enjoying a midday coffee and cookie, which is one of the best pleasures while traveling, I was about an hour away from getting on a six hour bus ride to meet a good friend and fellow adventurer. I walked to the station, found my bus and took a seat. I put in my earplugs and grabbed my small little book to settle in for the journey. 

Shortly thereafter, I glanced up and saw two young girls with long blond braided hair and backpacks coming down the aisle. The lead girl was limping a bit. They picked the two seats next to me, stowed their packs and sat down. There was a clear air of distress between them. I glanced at them and took stock that they had probably only been on the road for a short time and just started their travels. I went back to my book, but as I did, I couldn’t help but notice the one girl’s foot was swollen and looked anything but good. 

I took one of my earplugs out, spoke up and said, “What happened to your foot”

“Oh, stepped on a small thorny branch two days ago and now it’s hurting” she said. 

Leaning forward to take a better look, I told her, "It’s not looking good. Mind if I take a look at it?” 

Just to clarify, I don’t normally jump into people’s lives pretending to be some ER doctor, but I do have some limited medical training and experience, so I know enough to discern if I can help or need to get help. She showed me her foot which was quite swollen and clearly fighting a small infection at the moment, but I had a feeling it might get worse, fast. 

“I have a first aid kit. I think there is a thorn and some dirt still in the wound,” I said to her.

There was a moment of reluctance from her traveling companion, but the girl with the wound was all too keen to have help. 

I went into the overhead and found my small-sized traveler’s first aid kit, pulled it out along with some toilet paper (I usually bring a role of toilet paper in a Ziploc bag for those less-than-stocked bathrooms one encounters while traveling), put alcohol on a swab, then wiped my hands and the injury. I gently pressed the side of the wound and some puss came out. 

“It’s infected for sure, and I can see the thorn. Would you like to me to try and get it out?” 

“No, I will wait for a doctor,” she said. 

“Ok, just don't count on much medical care on where we are going.” 

There was a pause and then they spoke to each other in German. “Ok, see if you can,” she said. 

I went into the kit and pulled out a set of tweezers I had bought designed to remove splinters or the like. I gently found the thorn and slowly pulled it free and showed it to her. 

“That’s it, that’s all the big it is?” she exclaimed. 

“Yes, but it was the infection that was causing the discomfort, not the thorn.” I gave the wound another slight squeeze to try and evacuate any more of the infection, wiped it clean, sprayed it with an antiseptic spray, let it dry, put antibiotic ointment on it, a small cloth band aid and then some medical tape to beef up the bandage. All in all, the process took about twenty minutes and, to be honest, might have saved her trip or possibly a much more complicated infection.  

Six hours later, we pulled into the bus stop and I waited for the girls to exit first. The girl with the wound got up slowly and then stood on her injured food and looked at me and said, “Wow, it’s so much better, thank you.”  

The take away: A well-stocked small first aid kit is a must have for keeping you and other travelers healthy. I never leave home with it. 

Sewing Kit

It was a cool, but not a cold day, in the Romanian mountains. It was, by some estimates, a perfect day to explore the rural people, environment, and enjoy some local food. My Romanian friend, whom I had met couch surfing, suggested we take a ridge road for the remainder of my first remote expedition to find people and subject matter worth focusing on. 

The scenery was breath-taking as we slowly drove down very narrow roads that were more like trails. We began to ascend up a ridge when we came across a cute little house with an old farmer walking outside. I pointed him out to my friend and we pulled over. 

Walking up, we chatted with him for a while and learned about this sheep, garden, and his "new wife." I looked at my friend and gave an expression as if to say “Wow!” 

“He is 82," my friend said, and I nodded in surprise. 

He was almost a doppelgänger for a garden gnome.  His coat was hand stitched at the shoulders to keep the sleeves on and chest buttons were sewn on with thread that was more or less like string. I noticed he was holding something in his hand as he talked. It was a button from the coat. I asked why he was holding onto the button. 

He said, “I have holes in my pockets.” 

We all laughed. Then it struck me - I have a small sewing kit, the kind you get from a hotel.  I excused myself to the car to retrieve it. 

Walking back to them, I said, “Here is a kit to sew your pockets closed and your buttons back on.” 

The man was so appreciative, he shook my hand and was laughing and had a small tear in his eye. He then turned, went into his small little house and returned quickly with a glass bottle and three small glasses. 

He said, “Apple booze, I made it!” We threw our drinks back in one gulp and it took my breath away - it had to be fifty percent alcohol! The old man took our glasses and thanked us again. 

The take away: Having a sewing kit isn’t just for you; it’s for anyone that might need one. You might even get a good shot of homemade booze out of it.  

Tire Valve Covers with Tightener.

The dust wasn’t as bad as I thought, even though we had been on this dirt road for about an hour. My guide and I were riding motorcycles heading north of Gulu, Uganda. We saw a few people as we motored along, but mostly we were alone. I enjoyed the feeling of the wind as I rode and the stunning African scenery. 

Things were going swimmingly until my motorcycle started to move strangely over the road. I alerted my guide that something was wrong. Once we stopped, it didn’t take much work to figure out what the problem was. The tire was either very low or going flat. 

We chatted a bit about it and decided that it would be best to push the bike to the side of the road and go back to get help. As I was putting it in neutral, some people came out of the bush and started talking to my guide, and then more people, then a young boy with a bicycle. After a short talk with the boy, he got on his bike and road away only to shortly return followed by a man with a bag of tools and a bike pump. Greetings ensued and then he had a look at the tire. 

He gave it a glance, then touched the valve stem, turned to his bag, pulled out a small screwdriver-looking tool and placed it in the valve stem, then turned it. Putting the tool back, he grabbed the bike pump, told us the valve stem was loose, and proceeded to pump up the tire with his very old bicycle pump. 

In no time, we were done. The crowd, of what amassed to about 25 people, was all smiles as things were finished and I handed our angel of a repairman some money for his efforts, only to have him turn it down. 

My guide said, “Just return the favor someday.” I got back on my motorcycle, and everyone clapped and broke into a song as we rode away. 

Four years later:

I was in Vlodivostock, Russia. My driver and guide came to pick me up and out of my pocket I pulled out a valve stem cover that had a slot to tighten the valve stem. I checked the valves, which were all loose, so I showed my driver how to use it and then put the valve cover on the driver’s side front tire. He was all smiles. Over the course of our time he would pull it off his tire and show it to all his friends.  

The take away: a little tool can save the day and giving one to someone could make theirs. 

Tire Gauge

We were all over the road in our old beat up four-wheel drive Lada, pulling left when braking and pulling right when driving. I asked my guide to pull over to the side and sure enough, our tires were low. So we went to a service station that was closed but happened to have an air hose sitting out. My guide was keen to just put air in it. So he put in a little bit and said, “That’s good.”  But, I wasn’t so sure. 

My time in Uganda a few years previously had taught me that you need to tighten the valves and have the right amount of air in the tires. So before I came on this long trip I got myself some valves stem covers with tighteners and a few little tire pressure gauges to make sure that if I had to fill the tires with air, it was done properly. So I dug into a little side pocket in my camera bag and pulled a mini tire gauge and proceed to fill all four tires to the specified amount, got back in the car and started to drive down the road, and no surprise to me, that funny little car was holding straight like it was on train tracks. My driver was so impressed he just couldn’t say enough about it. We found our little guesthouse, some beers and a dinner, and I went into my bag to give him the spare tire gauge and a slotted valve cap. He was all smiles.  

The take away: If you are going to be renting or hiring your own ground transport have tire gauge to make sure your up to scratch.

Compact Tools

It was by far one of the hottest days I can remember. I had finally arrived at my guest room and put my kit down on the bed. I was hot and tired, but mostly hungry, so I grabbed my water bottle, daypack, and point and shoot camera to head out for lunch, water and snacks. 

As I walked out, I put the AC on only to hear a horrible rattling noise and a see small amount of mold, then I noticed the doorknob was loose to the point of not working. At this point I was too tired to care about it and left to get food and supplies. 

I found a reasonably clean place to eat and I asked the owner where I could get some groceries and supplies. He pointed the way to a market just around the corner where I stocked up and loaded my daypack and small grocery bag. 

I needed to cross the street from the market to return to my guest room, and what did I see but a hardware type store. I was immediately reminded of the doorknob and AC noise. So I walked across the street and went in the store to look for a pair of pliers and a Phillips head screwdriver. They were pretty cheap, but I wasn’t planning on keeping them anyway; instead, I’d give them to the host when I was done. 

I came back to an AC racket, albeit cooler, lower humidity air. The first thing was to fix the door lock. Surprise, the doorknob required a flat head not a Philips head. I should have checked it first. I tried using the back of a spoon from the coffee set, but it was too thick to fit in the slot. 

Ok, well I’d check the AC for what was rattling instead. The fan axel was moving around due to the clamp being loose. I looked at it, only to discover it required an allen key, which I didn’t have. I was disgruntled to say the least. 

I went in to the bathroom to wash my hands only to discover the faucet was loose. Man! I thought, my room is falling apart. 

I took a deep breath and decided to walk back to the store and exchange what I bought for the tools I needed. I talked to the storeowner and he sort of understood the problem but wouldn’t take the tools back. I was a bit upset but not too surprised. He then walked down an aisle and came back with what looked like a Swiss Army knife but was actually a packet of common tools. It was super well made and had quite a collection of tools. I agreed in getting it after he gave me a store credit for the other tools I’d purchased. So, while I did spend more money than I wanted to, I did get a lot more tools. 

Back in the room, I fixed the doorknob and lock, got the AC fan positioned and tightened, and cleaned the air filter which was caked in mold and dust. I also tightened the screws holding the bathroom faucet down, fixed my camera box wheels, tightened the legs of my tripod, fixed the window latch and fixed the desk chair. Normally I would have just dealt with these issues, but having the tool to take care of these things really made the room better and in some ways safer. I grew fond of this tool quite quickly. 

About two months later I was in Kabul, Afghanistan sitting at table with a few other photojournalists, a Brit mentioned that the door latch for his room was loose and had asked a number of times for the management to fix it. I left the table, retrieved my little cheap multi tool and handed it to him. "Here you go" I said, “Oh, brilliant mate, I’ll be back in a jiffy,” he said. He came smiling with delight. 

The take away: Having a small compact tool set can keep thing up to scratch and in some way safe.