Always Bring A Towel
Flying through the carousel in the rain and landing on damp coaster seats. Now that was an adventure. Later that day, my dad balanced an Andechs Helles in one hand and my Radler in the other while I clutched a crepe, and we both eyed the dripping bench. It felt less like an adventure and more like a reproach.
I had forgotten to bring my towel, and sometimes a dry seat just sounds really nice.
Douglas Adams had it right:
“A towel is about the most useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have.”
I am not a hitchhiker, just a tourist hopping on and off the rails. Still, a towel is a useful thing to have in the event of needing to dry benches. This is assuming that the towel is within reach and not left in the hotel room packed neatly in the bottom of a suitcase.
I had remembered to pack my towel. I had forgotten to bring my towel. Towels do not belong spread flat, packed compact, and wedged like a Tetris piece in the main backpack. They belong rolled tight and unobtrusive in a daypack, ready to be flung into action.
A well-used towel can be spread over rough terrain when the view does not come with soft grass or when there is nowhere dry to set your cake. It can even pat your feet dry after wading into a glacier lake, assuming it is clean enough.
While practical a towel can also be statement, a confidence booster if you will. If a tourist finds themselves in a real pickle, one might reach into their small bag and pull out their towel. This silently announces to fellow passengers that they mean business on the rails. A tourist who can travel through alpine mountains and rolling vineyards and produce their towel without rummaging through a suitcase is a tourist not to be underestimated.
It should be noted, however, that pulling out a bulky beach towel is both inconvenient and more awkward than impressive. My towel is packable, soft, and nearly weightless. I picked it up years ago at REI. It has protected my dog in Flagstaff snow and acted as a makeshift cover to change into dry clothes near Lake Geneva.
During my upcoming winter expedition, it may serve again, perhaps as an improvised seat cushion on a toboggan or a shield from the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (a creature so mind-bogglingly stupid it assumes that if you cannot see it, it cannot see you, according to The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy).
Absurd? Absolutely. Yet after a few expeditions, I have learned that absurd wisdom about towels is the kind that holds up in the real world too. That is the beauty of science fiction and the beauty of travel.
Always bring a towel.
Just in case you find yourself somewhere on the banks of the Loisach, and the towel is deemed clean… enough.
