A Hat, an Umbrella and Not Much More

As our ship approached Antarctica that blustery Christmas Eve, an Australian woman eyed my wool dress and asked, “Have you peaked yet?”

I did not understand.

“Your wardrobe,” she went on with a twinkle. “It’s Christmas Eve. Have you peaked yet, or are you saving back for New Year’s?”

“This is as dressy as I get on this ship,” I said, scanning the room bright with sequins.

“Me, too,” she said with a laugh, hugging the Angora sweater she wore with tailored black pants. “I packed for adventure.”

But many had grander schemes. Our passenger list included one glamorous sort who never wore the same outfit twice. She brought white boots, red boots and pink boots, instead of the black rubber basics that most of us wore for slogging ashore amid a mess of penguins.

She entered a room in a cloud of pink hair, a star far from her firmament. Practical was not in her vocabulary; darling was.

She was dressed to the hilt in her worldwide search for “the third Mr. Right,” she told me. Overweight luggage was a small price to pay, she added.

Travel wardrobes make personal statements about the wearer, and not necessarily the same statements one makes at home. Some people who are normally conservative splurge on new color combinations when traveling. Cruises, especially, inspire some travelers to go to new lengths . . . and depths.

And why not? On a cruise there is no packing and unpacking. You can afford to take more luggage. And you do dine out every night. A widow I know said, “I pack lots of formal dresses and dancing shoes because I am going to have fun. I’ll dance more in those weeks in the Mediterranean than I have since my last cruise. I love the chance to dress up.”

Men, on the other hand, may rebel against the suggestion of a tuxedo for a cruise. Especially if they attend frequent black-tie events at home. A dark suit is an acceptable substitute--although on the most formal of ships you may be in the minority.

My favorite wardrobe items have little to do with right or wrong, “in” or “out,” plain or fancy. They have to do with comfort. They have to do with being warm enough or cool enough. They have to do with making travel life easy.

Shirts or jackets, for example, should have a pocket with buttons. If I am reading on an airplane and get sleepy, I want to be able to slip my glasses into a shirt pocket instead of dropping them into my tote or the magazine flap on the seat back in front.

That keeps them near at hand, yet eliminates sitting on them or leaving them behind. I had a South Island of New Zealand guidebook that may still be circling the world in a Qantas seat flap.

Some items of clothing have more than one use. A large challis scarf can be a stole, tied on for warmth or for evening pizazz over a simple dress or pants outfit. A guayabera shirt can serve as a swimsuit cover-up. Whether you wear a T-shirt or a French-cuffed silk shirt can drastically alter the mood of a suit, or a pair of khakis and a jacket.

But other travel items are impossible to fake. For example, if you need tweezers, you need tweezers. I would not leave home without a Swiss Army knife that has tweezers fitted into the end. Same for scissors.

If I am going swimming, I like to have my swimsuit. Other travelers may be comfortable wearing shorts and T-shirts--or nothing--around strangers, but I am not. Same for whirlpool tubs on cruise ships or at resorts.

A warm-up suit--or sweat shirt and fleece pants--has become a steady companion, because I like to take early morning walks in strange cities. I prefer it to a bathrobe for commuting between my hotel room and the spa on the roof.

Windbreakers--one of the greatest of travel inventions--should have a zippered pocket. This is a deterrent to pickpockets, and keeps money, keys and extra film from slipping out as you scramble up a hill for a perfect photo, or race for the last ferryboat or trolley.

A Windbreaker with a hood can roll into a tote, or tie around your waist, on a day of changing climate. It can free you from having to clutch a rain hat in a stiff breeze, or from carrying an umbrella.

Unless you are in rain-prone Bergen on Norway’s western coast. With its fresh air and Hanseatic roofs, its fish and forests and music, Bergen is one of my favorite cities.

But even on the sunniest of days, Bergen should be approached with an umbrella--and not a small one, or one to be shared by two.

It was there, in the lobby of the handsome Hotel Norge, that I heard about the American businessman who had arrived soaking wet. With a sputter, he asked a local lad how long it had been raining.

“I don’t know,” replied the native. “I’m only 8 years old.”