Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
clothes, waddling up to the security gate in something like, say, a Dries Van Noten smock
over two skirts and a vintage petticoat, in an attempt to smuggle a few more garments onto
the plane. This explosion of fabric inevitably results in my being forced to submit to a series
of humiliating and invasive security-related procedures, since, let's face it, there could be an
entire arsenal stashed under my ensemble.
Can there be a less elegant way to begin a journey than planting your Fogal-clad feet on
two filthy yellow rubber footprints, waiting for a total stranger to stick her hands up your
dress and dust you down with a powdery substance? No matter! I just smile when the words
“Female alert!” ring out from the TSA agent at the x-ray machine as I approach. To fore-
stall this body search, I have been known to visit the ladies' room, peel off a few layers of
clothing, stuff them into the largest conveyance that could possibly pass as a piece of “hand
luggage,” and hope that this now-diminished costume will get me waved through. Alas, this
only works half the time. “Thank you for keeping us safe!” I cry when the guard realizes
there is nothing under my dress—except maybe another dress.
At least now I am rushing to the ladies' pain-free. For years I insisted on toting a battered
Louis Vuitton duffel, convinced that this bag made me look like Sara Murphy circa 1920,
headingofftotheRiviera,evenwhenInearlydislocatedmyshouldercarryingit.SoImoved
on to what seems in retrospect to be an insane solution, though it made perfect sense to me at
the time—I bought the duffel its own collapsible metal cart, secured it under a crosshatch of
bungeecords,anddraggedthewholemonstrositythroughtheairport.Ofcourse,Ihadtocol-
lapse the contraption at the door of the plane and tug both it and the 100-pound duffel down
the aisle, rolling over people's toes as I fought my way to the depths of coach.
“Get wheels!” my mom pleaded for years. “Look how cute the flight attendants look with
their little rolling suitcases!” But every time I considered this solution, I heard the words of
a stylish photographer friend echoing in my brain. “You can't have wheels,” he said in a low,
disgusted whisper. “It's a terrible gesture when you are pulling it!” Terrible gesture or not,
I did eventually concede, and the result has been life-changing. I am now the poster child
for the rabid cult of Rimowa, an ingenious brand that relies on some kind of advanced tech-
nology (or maybe just four wheels?) that enables me to glide through the airport as if I am
walkingashiny,cherry-redgreyhound.Andit'snotjusttheeaseofmotion—thesethingsalso
have flat tops where you can stack expandable Longchamp totes (another remarkable bag-
gage innovation) that allow you to transport all those fashion items you found so irresistible
when you tried them on in foreign fitting rooms and now will never wear again. But that's
another story.
If I had more time, I could travel by boat, which would solve my problem. You can bring
an almost endless number of cases onboard, making you look like you just stepped out of
a Fred Astaire movie as you fidget on the buffet line. In fact, Cunard offers a White Star
shipping service that will fly your luggage from home to the ship—as many pieces as you
