How to feel 50 years younger

Mine was just like this:
sturdy, heavy and packed with memories

The male menopause (assuming it actually exists) means different things to different men. For some it's a new romance; for some it's a sports car, but for me, it was a backpack, or a rucksack as I would call it. I bought my first rucksack when I was 16. It had a heavy steel frame and was probably ex Army-surplus. It travelled the world with me. It was manhandled out of train windows when the Simplon Orient Express stopped at some remote Alpine halt, and  it was lashed onto the roof-rack of a country bus in Africa. It crossed continents with me, and when it was thrown off a bus in the Sudan, it dropped onto the road, and the steel frame snapped. No problem: it was simply welded back together by a blacksmith in the back-streets of Khartoum.

Country buses often carried goats on the roof-rack

That bag saw a good few miles. It was luggage with personality and character; and for a while it sat in the loft in a succession of family homes while I played the Dad, and had a suitcase like everyone else. Then, 20 years ago, the kids no longer came on family holidays  and I started a new phase in my life. 

I discarded the shackles of a Samsonite plastic box, and swung a rucksack over my shoulder.Immediately I felt 20 years younger.

The latest multi-purpose
luggage from Lowe

I bought my Lowe Alpine "Round-Trip 70" sometime in the early 90s, I think. It is a wonderfully utilitarian piece of luggage comprising a heavy canvas bag, with handles both at the side and the top, and with sturdy back straps so that it can be carried as a rucksack, or - with a longer strap - slung over one shoulder. They have upgraded the design since then, but the features are the same, right down to the little square of canvas supplied for a DIY repair kit.

But times have moved on, and a disconcerting number of back-packers can now be seen in Terminals 3 & 4 with huge boxes being coaxed along on multi-directional castors. No water-filtration kit; no Primus stove, and the ridge tent with flysheet has been superseded by a pop-up nylon igloo which might have built-in Wi-Fi for all I know.

I have made my last-minute preparations for my journey: I bought a tube of toothpaste and I tried on all my summer clothes. I bought a swish new day-sack with a padded compartment for my laptop. I would love to take my iPad, but we've not had time to get to know one another yet - and I still prefer a full-size keyboard when I'm doing any serious writing.

Which is one of the main reasons for going to India for two months... but more of that later.

Meanwhile, here is a useful guide to packing your baggage:

So, no boiling up a brew on your camping stove; no running a ghetto-blaster from a car battery as in-flight entertainment, and any fireworks, ammunition or poisons must go in your checked baggage in the hold.

It was much more fun flying Air Djibouti, when the captain ran a poker school after take-off, once he'd handed the controls over to his 18 year-old son.

One thing about travelling; you're never far from a good story.

Now, when I was in Dar es Salaam . . .