The 28-liter pack argument — specific, not inspirational

The Able Carry Daybreaker. 28 liters. Canvas exterior, clamshell opening, one internal divider. That's the bag. Not because it's beautiful. Because it fits under every seat on every bus, train, and regional puddle-jumper I've been on in 18 years, and it costs less than the compression cubes people fill their 40-liter mistakes with.

Here's what goes in it, in order from the back panel forward: one merino base layer, two pairs of pants (one quick-dry, one not), three tees, a shell that packs flat, one set of decent shoes, pharmacy kit, cables, documents pouch. That's a month. Not a weekend — a month. The rest is math. What doesn't fit doesn't go.

The three things you brought last time that you never touched:

• The 'just in case' jacket — you wore your rain shell every cold night and never opened the puffer once.
• The full-size toiletry kit — Hamid in Essaouira sells shampoo. So does every corner shop in every city you'll pass through.
• The second pair of backup shoes — you wore one pair. You know this.

The bag is not a personality. It's not a statement. It's just a bag. But it has to be this size, because the alternative is checking luggage, and the alternative to that is waiting at a carousel in Tashkent for forty minutes while the bus to the old city leaves without you.