How I Learned to Pack Light for Backpacking (After Destroying My Shoulders in Oaxaca)

Picture this: I'm dragging a 65-liter Osprey up a cobblestone hill in Oaxaca (wah-HAH-kah) at 2pm in July. It's 34 degrees. The hostel is "5 minutes from the bus station" according to the map, which is a lie told by someone who has never carried 22 kilos uphill. My shoulders feel like someone is slowly inserting hot knives into the trapezius muscles. I'm wearing jeans — jeans, in Oaxaca, in July — because I packed four pairs and figured I'd "wear the heaviest ones on travel days."

I had a french press in that bag. A full-size french press. For coffee. On a backpacking trip.

That was 2023. I have since reformed.

Why Your Backpack Weight Matters More Than Your Itinerary

Here's what nobody tells you about packing heavy: it doesn't just suck during transit. It changes how you travel. When your bag weighs 20+ kilos, you take taxis instead of walking. You skip the hostel that's a 15-minute uphill walk from the centro because fuck that. You pay for luggage storage because you can't carry it to the restaurant. Every spontaneous decision — "let's just hop on that bus to the coast" — becomes a negotiation with your spine.

I've written about what $50/day actually gets you in different cities, and a fat chunk of that budget disappears when you're too loaded down to walk anywhere. Taxis in Mexico City add up to $8-12/day if you're hauling gear. That's your food budget, gone.

The Revelation: Nobody Needs More Than 40 Liters

After Oaxaca, I went home and laid out everything I'd packed. Then I made two piles: stuff I actually wore/used, and stuff that rode around in my bag like freeloading passengers. The freeloaders won by volume. The french press. A "nice shirt" for "nice dinners" that I wore once. Three books I could have had on a Kindle. A towel the size of a beach blanket. Rain pants — rain pants! — in a desert state.

The stuff I actually used fit in a 38-liter bag with room to spare.

What I Actually Pack Now (3 Years Later)

I'm not going to give you a full checklist here — I wrote my complete packing list for that — but the philosophy comes down to this:

Everything earns its space or it stays home. Every item needs to justify its weight in grams per use. That merino wool t-shirt I wear 3 days in a row without smelling like a crime scene? Worth every gram. The "just in case" rain jacket I wore twice in six months? Donated it in Chiang Mai.

Here's what changed:

Clothes — I went from 12 items to 6. Three merino shirts, one pair of shorts, one pair of lightweight pants, one set of underwear and socks for every two days. I do laundry. Hostels have laundry. Every city on earth has laundry. If you're like me and you grew up thinking "travel = pack for every scenario," unlearn that. You can buy a $2 t-shirt in Bangkok if you spill pad thai on yourself.

Shoes — Two pairs, maximum. Walking shoes and flip-flops. I used to pack "going out shoes" as if I was hitting the clubs in Roma Norte every night. I was not. I was eating $3 tacos in the street. Flip-flops were fine.

Toiletries — Solid shampoo bar, solid soap, deodorant, toothbrush, sunscreen. That's it. You can buy everything else wherever you are. Having said that, bring DEET-based bug spray if you're heading to Southeast Asia on a budget — the local stuff is sometimes glorified air freshener.

Tech — Phone, charger, power bank, earbuds, Kindle. No laptop unless you're working. The laptop adds 1.5kg and you will use it to watch Netflix in the hostel common room, which is to say, you don't need it.

The Carry-On Rule That Changed Everything

Here's the real move: if it doesn't fit in a carry-on, you've packed too much. I fly budget airlines constantly — we're talking the kind of flights where checking a bag costs more than the ticket. Ryanair charges EUR 25-40 for a checked bag on a EUR 19 flight. That's absurd math. My 38L bag slides under the overhead bin on every airline I've flown.

But beyond the money, the carry-on constraint is a forcing function. It makes you honest about what you need. You physically cannot bring the french press if you're limited to 38 liters. Problem solved.

The "Buy It There" Mindset

The single biggest shift in how I pack: you are not going to the moon. Wherever you're going has stores. They sell soap. They sell t-shirts. They sell phone chargers. If you forget something or need something you didn't anticipate, you will find it. Probably cheaper than at home.

The exceptions — your passport, your medications, your glasses — are obvious. Everything else is replaceable. I've bought flip-flops in Chiang Mai for $3, sunscreen in Barcelona for EUR 4, and a rain poncho in Bogota for $2. None of these needed to ride in my bag from day one.

The Weight Test

Before every trip now, I do this: I put my packed bag on a bathroom scale. If it's over 8 kilos, I start removing things. At 8 kilos, I can walk for hours without wanting to die. I can sprint for a bus. I can throw it up onto an overhead rack on a FlixBus from Paris to Brussels without herniating a disc.

8 kilos. That's the number. Write it down.

What About Longer Trips?

People always ask: "But Bryan, what if I'm traveling for three months? Six months?" And the answer is: it doesn't matter. A three-month trip and a three-week trip require the same amount of stuff, because you do laundry. You're not packing 90 days of underwear. You're packing 5-6 pairs and washing them every week, same as you would at home.

The length of the trip changes your budget, your visa situation — check the visa guide before you go — and your general state of mind. It does not change how many shirts you need.

There You Have It, Folks

Pack less. Travel lighter. Your shoulders, your wallet, and your spontaneity will thank you. And if you're about to ask "but what about my french press" — get a $1 pour-over cone. It weighs nothing, it makes great coffee, and it won't give you a herniated disc on a cobblestone hill in Oaxaca.

Plug your cities into the itinerary builder and figure out what you're actually doing before you start packing for scenarios that won't happen. Or try a Southeast Asia route where the weather is warm enough that half your wardrobe becomes optional.

Currently listening to: LCD Soundsystem — All My Friends