Riding on the back of a camel

ON CAMELBACK / Riding on the back of a camel

I remember having to look over the back row in order to have enough space to store it. I felt that such a gorgeous thing was clearly unsuitable for an inorganic and boring overhead storage. After a while, I finally found enough space between the painfully bright yellow suitcase and the duty-free bag in the flashy red package. When I slipped the bag in between, I heard a clicking sound in the glass bottle — is this liquor?

The bag was packed with everything I needed to travel. Losing it was equivalent to losing all my property at that time. In an incredibly artistic dream place like Europe, I was an embarrassingly artless girl. I was so proud of the bag that I thought it would be a shame to take it away.

Sure enough, I never let go of my 50-country journey, always holding my tote bag.

I remember having to look many rows behind mine for enough space to fit it in. For something of such exceptional quality it was transparently unsuitable to the nook and cranny politics of the overhead compartment system. At last I found a large enough gap , in between a bright yellow suitcase and the unmistakable vivid red packaging of a duty-free vacuum-sealed bag, from which I could hear the clinking of glass bottles as I slid my bag in between — alcohol surely?

As I observed the lifeline of my trip fit snugly in between its neighbours and I couldn't help but question if everything was going to be okay, being so far away from my tote. That bag contained all of my essential effects for the trip, losing it would mean essentially losing my net worth at the time! I was an artless girl with an impossibly artistic European dream, with a bag that cost too much and an ego that felt too proud to leave it behind.

Sure enough, throughout the trip I clutched the tote with the grip of 50 nations and the weight of 7 kilograms of life support.