Paula Routly: Getting Into Vacation Mode

Have I forgotten how to travel? I ask myself that question every time I have to pack for a trip like the one my partner, Tim, and I took last month to Italy and Ireland.

It’s gotten harder to figure out what I might require in a different place. Is that because my needs have become more numerous and complicated? Or because I don’t leave home frequently enough to get in the groove?

Probably both.

Either way, and no matter the distance or duration of the sojourn, preparing for a vacation feels akin to planning a military operation. I set up a staging area to gather items contending for space in the impossibly small suitcase. I try to anticipate odd necessities: travel plug adapters, sun hat, raincoat, washcloth, personal fan, swim goggles.

I make lists: of books to bring; last-minute things to remember; toiletries, such as nail clippers, that I’m not sure can go in the carry-on luggage. Does anyone know what the TSA rules are anymore? On the plane, I need warm socks, lip balm and, in case of turbulence, crossword puzzles.

Harder, though, is tearing myself away from Seven Days. There is no good time of year to leave — for a week, no less two — and I want to avoid missing important meetings or deadlines for challenging projects. I do as much work as I can in advance: compiling letters to the editor, for example, which has been my responsibility since we started Seven Days 31 years ago. I’ve learned that nothing motivates colleagues to reach out — with questions, concerns, last-minute clarifications — like an impending departure date. In short, my workload tends to balloon before I leave on a trip.

I spend the first hour of every “vacation” obsessing about what I forgot.

Did I mention cleaning up for the house sitter? Responding to bon voyage texts from friends? Remembering to pay the property taxes in advance? By the time everything is stuffed into too many bags, I’m a physical and mental wreck. I spend the first hour of every “vacation” obsessing about what I forgot.

And then … my eyes open. Once it’s too late to fix anything, I see the lushness of Vermont while traveling south to Boston Logan International Airport; shimmering views of the Earth from 36,000 feet; and, after an impossibly short night, a different world.

Only on vacation would I stand for four hours in the blazing Tuscan sun to catch a glimpse of Italians racing horses bareback around an urban piazza, an 800-year-old tradition in the city of Siena. Ditto traveling impossibly narrow roads on the west coast of Ireland, an experience Tim described as “sphincter-clenching.”

While “on holiday,” we also read books, slept well and met wonderful people. There never seems to be enough time for these things when we’re in the throes of our busy lives here.

The irony, of course, is: Comparable marvels abound in Vermont. Following the advice of Seven Days, on Saturday we drove north to 200 gorgeous acres in Enosburg Falls, where sculptor David Stromeyer makes and exhibits his large-scale work. We spent the day walking among his inventive steel creations and wondering why it took us so long to discover Cold Hollow Sculpture Park, Vermont’s Storm King.

If there was a better way to spend the last day of my vacation, I can’t think of it.