Cousin Flora loves to pack

"Make copies of your passport. Seriously, bring lots of copies of your passport!"

That was the last thing Megan said to me on the phone from Argentina. "Yeah, yeah," I said, distracted by someone at the door and the dogs barking their brains out. "Gotcha. Copies of the passport."

No big deal, but - why, I ask myself now? Why will I need photocopies of my passport? I guess I'll just have to wait and see. I hope seven copies are enough.

I love to pack, I really do. One of my favorite things about backpacking trips is the preparation: laying out every item of clothing, food and gear, in orderly piles, knowing that one single forgotten item can mean inadequate food, water, warmth, shelter, or light in the middle of the woods at night. I like buying the little packages of dried foods, and organizing them into ziplog bags labeled with masking tape, and then further subdividing them into stuffsacks to evenly distribute the weight among the various packs (for the dogs, too, carry packs - bright red double-saddlebags whose appearance from the closet elicits instantanous displays of canine joy). I love finding clever ways to make the load lighter, more compact; finding ways to make the simplest item do double-duty.

So, what does one prepare for South America?

First of all, there were shots. Not as many as there could have been, since we're not visiting any tropical forests. No yellow fever this time, no malaria pills, thank heavens - those things cause some seriously freaky dreams. But there was the dreaded tetanus (why does that one hurt so darn much?), the ever-practical HepA, and my personal favorite, typhoid: four little capsules of live typhoid, kept in the refrigerator right next to the milk and OJ, and taken on alternating days for a week.

What else? A power converter. International driver's license. Camera, of course. Two Spanish dictionaries. New swimsuit and a good murder mystery for the beach. The special sleeping pills for the plane. The passport - ah, a fresh passport on its first trip out of the country! - and the mysterious extra copies.

And, at the bottom of my luggage, an extra empty duffle bag to bring back stuff. "What kind of stuff do you buy in Argentina? " asks my husband. "A side of beef? Tango shoes?"

I dunno, but the adventure starts tomorrow, and Cousin Flora is going to be as prepared as she can be. You're never fully prepared for an adventure, after all - what fun would that be?