As the great Douglas Adams once wrote “…any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the Galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through and still knows where his towel is, is clearly a man to be reckoned with.”
I couldn’t agree more with Mr. Adams. One does not merely go around hitchhiking this (or other) planets and expect Colibri’s finest to be firmly intact and odour-free. Oh no. Towels are the first to be misplaced in transit. We can all identify with The Traveller, en route to Amsterdam after a wild weekend in Germany, who is pleasantly (but with a hint of suspicion) surprised by the sudden lightness of her backpack. Dripping wet after a train station basin bath, she finally sees the ol’ striped beige-and-blue, draped over the steel frame of a bunk bed, somewhere back in Germany.
As we speak, many orphan towels are also slumming it in dodgy youth hostels, left by their owners who just couldn’t deal with their stinky, slimy-soap presence anymore.
But the expected destiny of a Traveller’s Towel is not going to rub itself off on this trip. Last weekend the Husband and I spent R300 on microfibre towels – perfect for campers, hikers and light-packers. They’re super light and small (one can even use them as a pocket-square when a black-tie event comes your way) – but are the ultimate in drying material. They dry in a jiffy and is way smaller than a rolled up t-shirt. In short – they’re a hitchhiker’s dream.
Not that we’ll be hitchhiking. I’ve this totally doable idea of cycling through Central America. But that’s another blog post (one that will hopefully be way more interesting than this dramatic tale of towels).