When I travel, fear and anxiety melt away. I don't waste time with "maybes" or "what-ifs" and I take problems as they come. Fear has never been a serious problem for me because I realize that it is only powerful when vague and abstract. When people ask me if I'm afraid to travel alone (or afraid to travel at all), few can answer the question "afraid of what?" The usual reply is "that something will happen." But what? By taking time to articulate my fears, I can overcome them. It's only a matter of making contingency plans. Yes, my backpack could be stolen. If that happens I'll do the same thing I'd do at home -- call the police and the insurance company. In the meantime, I'll get a hotel room using the emergency credit card I keep in a belt under my clothes. Yes, there could be an accident. But that could happen at home too. As for terrorists, I suspect I'm safer in Santiago than Manhattan.

    Combatting fear by anticipating potential problems has one annoying side effect: for a backpacker, I'm terrible at packing light. Packing is when all my anxieties come the surface. I answer nagging "what-ifs" with a fat first-aid kit and clothes for all seasons. This trip takes me further into the unknown than last summer's. Aside from a brief trip to Cancun, I had never left the United States before last summer. Still, I "knew" Europe through movies, books, and photos of the Eiffel Tower and the Roman Colosseum. Without opening a guidebook or visiting a single website, I could rattle off a list of cities I'd like to visit. I take this trip with more experience but less knowledge. Before I began my research, I had never heard of many of the political and cultural capitals of South America. I can't picture what my life will be like a day from now, when I land in Santiago. The feeling is exhilirating for the most part, but a little frightening too. Packing gives me a way to respond to those unknowns and deal with the one thing I can't plan away: homesickness. My toiletry bag is massive. I understand that people the world over use shampoo and soap. I can buy more if I run out. But I also know that it probably won't smell like oranges and ginger and it may not be designed to nurture my color-treated hair. My clothing decisions are guided as much by sentiment as practicality. The neckline of one T-shirt plunges a bit too deeply for conservative Bolivia, but I bought it with my mom, so into the bag it goes. My father bought me an NYU T-shirt on graduation day, and even though it helps me scream "Hi! I'm an American tourist" just a little louder, I'm taking it too. I do, however, persuade my father not to give me a lucky stuffed animal for this trip. Since toys and dolls are often used to ferry cocaine across borders, I've decided to forego this particular reminder of home.

    On my final day at home, it's hard not to tick off a list of lasts...last time to drive, to watch Buffy, to read in my favorite chair. With a long trip into the unknown stretching ahead of me, I sometimes forget that four months is not exactly eternity. These things will still be here when I come home. Leaving familiar routines is hard, but traveling makes my mind feel awake. There is something new to think about every minute of every day. I've said once before that travel makes my world bigger, and it's true. I smile every time I read a book and understand a reference or picture a scene more clearly because of somethign I learned on the road. I can't wait to see how South America will expand my world.

    Time philosophizing is over. While thinking of ways to protect myself from disesases I'll never get, I've completely forgotten to pack socks and underwear. What's more, I haven't even washed socks and underwear for my trip. Down to the laundry room for me!

~Meredith