I am not a practical person, nor have I ever claimed to be. This of course poses some challenges when I get ready to travel. (Case in point: bringing a second suitcase just filled with shoes to Vancouver for the Olympics. And yes, contradictory to most people’s beliefs, with the exception of one pair of stiletto booties, I wore them all.)
Most of the time I have been lucky enough to travel with my husband, who gets the unfortunate task of somehow having to pack the clothes/shoes/toiletries/books/ that are carefully siphoned out of my suitcase, and placed on top of his.
The few times I have travelled on my own, or with those that did not share a genetic link (and were therefore not obligated to hold on to an extra pair of jeans, blow-dryer and boots), I have found it difficult to bring with me all the necessities I would like.
That being said, it is with utmost apprehension, (ok, terror) and beaded sweat, that I start to contemplate the sole suitcase I am technically allowed to bring with me when I depart for Italy in two weeks. (Airline luggage protocol must certainly be set forth by men. There is no way a woman would relegate another woman to just one suitcase and carry-on. Sheer madness!)
This time, not only am I travelling alone, I will be enjoying the rolling hills of Tuscany for almost a month as part of self-imposed writers retreat. A month. Surely that necessitates at least half a dozen pair of shoes? Plus runners. Plus flip-flops. Several pairs.
And being prepared is the name of the game when travelling alone, is it not? Which means planning for multiple scenarios: Horseback riding? Multitude of jeans and shorts a must. Indulging in countryside yoga? A plethora of Lulu. An invitation to dine with the God-like master of luxe Italian couture, Mr. Garavani Valentino? (Hey, it could happen. And wouldn’t that be a slap in the face of propriety if I had neglected to pack my recently acquired Valentinos?) 
And let’s not forget the impossible task of packing all toiletry/makeup items. While it has been brought to my attention that Italy is indeed a developed nation with personal care items a plenty, I am not about to stray from my skin/hair/body routine in a foreign land. That being said, I have just been informed that my flat iron will most likely not work in Italy due to voltage differentials or some other craziness—breathing into a paper bag as we speak.
If anyone can help, or has any sage packing advice, I would be most grateful if you passed it along pronto (meaning ‘quickly’ in Italian. I’m nothing if not prepared.)
As long as the advice doesn’t include the line ‘leave the shoes at home’.