If my bag could talk...

If my bag could talk, what stories of distant lands would it tell me? What laments would it sing to me from its shelf, gathering dust between two flights? If my bag could talk...

I was meant for this. I know it. I am sure. Deep down in my fibers, I feel that resounding call of greatness and the powerful allure of simplicity. The simplicity of grandeur: vast expanses, endless landscapes, clouds soaring on the horizon, passing storms, stars spinning all around. And me at the center of it all.

At the center of the world.

I who wear my straps thin, adding all these memories, delicately, like one holds a newborn: with surprise, emotion, and tenderness. All these memories, I integrate into myself, I carry proudly. Heavily sometimes too. Because not all memories are made of petals; some have thorns. But I keep them anyway. They are part of my travels. They are part of the world. They are part of me.

Scratched, worn, frayed, but always free, I continue my discoveries. All means are good: bus, plane, ferry, car, sailboat, dromedary, bike, ULM, snowmobile... All means are good, as long as it moves. As long as I am with Her.

I have traveled a long way. If you only knew what I have seen. Dusty roads with gravel that gets everywhere, even into my secret pocket. Rains that seem to flow from above and below at the same time, sliding down my zippers without touching my precious memories. My body soaked, but my soul dry: it takes much more to reach me!

How I love those moments when finally She comes to get me. I feel the excitement in her fingers. I know that She will always come to pick me up about ten days in advance, that She will make me sleep with Her in her room. But she won't touch me until the day before. It's like that, like building up the adrenaline. Or keeping her feet on the ground... Maybe She is afraid: if She prepares me too soon, She risks leaving right away, not being able to wait one more day.

It is always the night before, when the stars illuminate the sky, that she places me on her bed and starts to pack everything we need to take. Oh, She made me suffer on the first trip. But I know that She suffered just as much as I did. And shared pain brings us closer. But we no longer make the same mistake of wanting to take everything, to prevent everything, to foresee everything. Now we travel light. So light that sometimes I float! But I am not worried; I know that, right against her back, She will prepare me to be as close to her as possible. To be one. She, looking ahead. And I, watching her back. She can trust me; I am here for that.

How I love when her alarm clock rings on the day of the big departure. No need for a reminder to jump out of bed: there she is, at my feet in a matter of seconds. >, she whispers to me. I know. I know.

I know we're going to a big hall, with soft voices announcing departures, and people running in every direction, as if they had the eternal question stuck on their lips: >. > > And what if, what if...

But She does not ask those questions. Or She no longer does. She knows that She will have forgotten something or someone for sure. And that's okay. Life gives second chances.

And then She delivers me. Gently placing me on a conveyor belt like one entrusts their child to daycare on the first day. Emotions, tension. >. I want to tell her that it will be okay, that I will see her again on the other side. On the other side of the plane. On the other side of the ocean. On the other side of the world. Wherever it may be, I will find her.

Oh, I know, I have already scared her. Like that time when I couldn't follow her between two flights, and she searched for me everywhere without finding me. Or that time when they simply forgot to board me, and I stayed behind watching her fly away without me. Fortunately, each time, it was only a short separation: always, I found her. Always, she waited for me.

And those reunions! When she picks me up in her arms after spotting me among all those bags and suitcases spinning around me. I feel the excitement, the joy in her gaze: >. And you pull me close, and we set off to discover the world, confident. Because we are together. We are one.

And in the strong moments, the little nothingness of daily life, the good and the bad times, I am always there, by her side.

The hardest moments are those of return. I know it is hard for her too. So I try to say nothing. When she opens the door to her home and places me on the floor. In her room. She will let me sleep at the foot of her bed for another week before putting me away. Like prolonging the journey. But when her gaze falls on me, I feel that intense pain. That sadness which nothing can console, and surely not time. It's over. For her, for me, for us.

It's over.

She will eventually place me back on her bed, empty me of everything I possess. All these memories that She will lay on the duvet in an orderly line. Even the first aid kit is reluctant to come down to return to the kitchen shelf. I whisper a >. I like that little first aid kit. It is always there for her too. Ready to support her in the most difficult moments. Except this one, the return. This is perhaps what depresses the first aid kit the most: having no medication to deal with these pains.

Then it's my turn. To return to the shelf. Far from the room, far from her. She whispers goodbye, sometimes. Sometimes her voice is too choked by the tear of farewells, so She says nothing. But I know. I know it's hard to come back. I also know that She only wants one thing: to come back to me and take me with her. So I say nothing either. I wait. I wait on this high shelf, throne on the storage area. Once a week, she takes the bag for shopping. Always him. But I know that She doesn't love it. It's me that she wants; her little glance slipped does not deceive. So I swallow my jealousy and my dust. And I wait.

I wait and I know that day will come, the day of a new departure...

Thank you for always being there for me, faithful at the post, ready to leave again, watching my back. Ready to help me distinguish between what is essential and what is superfluous. To help me rediscover that grand simplicity of travel and life.

Faithful companion, you are the emblem of my adventures around the world. I take you everywhere, from hiking in nature to sleeping under the tent to city trips in a 5-star hotel. In my eyes, you do not symbolize backpacking or the >. No, you are much more than that. You symbolize travel in its purest form. And you remind me of two truths, so simple that they have quickly been forgotten:

The return from travel is undoubtedly the hardest part of any adventure. I will talk about it more seriously in a future article, but in the meantime, here is a humorous video where travelers missing travel will surely find themselves.

To continue reading:

A year of travel, what it brought me Evaluation of a year of traveling around the world Return from travel: the sweet insolence A year of travel? In the bags of A bag on the back