Travelers on the Continent Can Make a Case for Elegant Essentials

W e’re cashing in our tax returns and taking off to Europe for 10 glorious days and nine fun-filled nights, but the budget, we’ve found, won’t allow for a big pre-trip clothes binge. But what the heck, we say, why not make a challenge out of it? Instead of stuffing a two-suiter with everything in the closet, why not pick up a few nifty essentials and take along only one piece of luggage each: a carry-on bag?

Can it be done? With style?

HE: Stop that screaming. Get a grip. You can do this. Think of it as an urban safari. Besides, the only people who are going to know that we’re wearing a lot of the same stuff is us. By the time we start recycling, we’ll be in a completely different locale. We do this right and everyone we run into will think we’re Nick and Nora Charles.

OK. First of all, let’s remember that our space isn’t limited entirely to the bag. We also get to take the clothes on our backs when we get on the plane. To that end, I intend to wear a blue blazer over a sweater, along with a pair of dress shoes and maybe a hat or cap. All that stuff is bulky and doesn’t pack very well into a small space. So that outfit will be my traveling ensemble. When we’re on the move, I wear that. When we come to a halt in a hotel somewhere, I change. And if it gets too warm, I just take off the coat and drape it over an arm. Simple.

SHE: Will they let me on the plane wearing five dresses, three blazers and as many pants? This is tough. For me, part of the fun of traveling is the chance to wear my favorite things--the silk embroidered sweater I got on sale over the holidays, my old wool gab trench coat, my Garbo-esque felt hat, the three-piece walking suit with enough pockets for both of us, and my little black knit wool dress and matching coat. Not to mention my ‘70s slicker--the fire-red number that makes me look like a candy apple in motion.

All right. All right. Look for me at the airport in black gabardine slacks, turtleneck sweater, blazer, trench-coat, scarf, medium-heel shoes and a hat. It’s a start.

HE: Right, then. Onward to the bag proper. And quit that whimpering. This’ll work.

First, essentials. That means underwear and socks. Three changes. Figure on doing a little en suite sink laundry about twice. We buy the soap when we need it. (I know, you think a nightgown is essential. But not this time.)

Next, minimal toiletries and cosmetics (Put down that knife.). For me, a toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, comb, deodorant, microscopic travel bottles of after-shave and shampoo and a tiny bottle of aspirin for all the headaches you’re thinking of giving me.

SHE: I have to take a robe and gown. Not to worry. They’re polyester (look like silk) and, rolled up, take up about as much space as two fists. I love to wear this combo when I have breakfast or dinner in a room.

Next: tennies--each stuffed with two pairs of socks. Underwear? A set of black (which I’ll be wearing) and nude tone. I’ll do my own laundry and bring along a vial of Woolite. Makeup? Lipstick, foundation, eyebrow pencil, mascara and powder will do it. Toiletries? Deodorant stick, dental floss, toothbrush. I’ll borrow your razor, toothpaste and shampoo. I won’t need any aspirin. Traveling gets rid of my headaches.

HE: You’ll have a really big one if you try to borrow my razor. Besides, those are items that can be bought anywhere in disposable form and tossed before leaving for home.

You’re right about the walking shoes, though. Essential, and easily packed. Also Levi’s. One pair. From the waist up, for me, two polo shirts, one sport shirt, one dress shirt, one tie, one handkerchief. That combo, along with a good pair of slacks, will go anywhere from a picnic in the Bois du Boulogne to an evening at the Covent Garden Opera House.

SHE: Keep your rusty old razor! And don’t ask to borrow my dental floss. What the heck is it about men and razors anyway?

No Levi’s for me. Too un-trendy. Too bulky. Too tight after only three days of dining. I’ll tuck in one pair of loose black polyester trousers (they also look like silk) with a gathered waist and a scoop-neck shell with cap sleeves. Perfect for the opera--or any evening restaurant scene. The rest of the time, I’ll be in my slacks and turtleneck. If it’s too warm, I’ll wear slacks (the ones I wore on the plane) with a black or white T-shirt. Hey, I still have loads of room.

Maybe I should bring my . . . You fill in the blank.

HE: Let’s put this razor war to rest once and for all. Men go ballistic when women swipe their razors because when you rake that delicate little blade over two entire legs it tends to get about as dull as a butter knife. This makes for a nasty surprise when you start dragging it across your face first thing in the morning.

And about that blank I’m supposed to fill in: Bring a compass. You’re going to need it to find your way home in a rowboat when the airline gives you the boot for trying to stuff a steamer trunk into the overhead luggage rack. If you can get all the junk you mentioned into a single legal carry-on bag--without using an auto wrecking press--I’ll get us an upgrade to first class.

SHE: In that case, I’m wearing a formal.