I have a bright blue sleeping bag and dark blue silk traveling sheets. The traveling sheets I got from my aunt Eva, who is now living in South Africa, just before I left for South America in 2009, and the sleeping bag I borrowed from my dad once and never ‘remembered’ to give back.
I slept in them in Potosi and Uyuni, where the nights were amazingly cold, considerng the dry Andean heat in the daytime. I didn’t need the sleeping bag, only the traveling sheets, during the warm, humid nights in the Amazon, but halfway through my monkey park stay the rains came and made the nights surprisingly chilly. Then I was happy to crawl into my sleeping bag again. On the bus from La Paz to Lima, the sleeping bag became my little cocoon and made it possible for me to sleep, even though the bus was crowded and uncomfortable and the journey very very long. And I was never cold in the sleeping bag and traveling sheets in the tent on top of the jeep in Namibia in 2010, even tough the desert nights are freezing.
Now, I sleep in my bright blue sleeping bag and my dark blue silk traveling sheets. Even though Diane has provided me with ordinary sheets for my kingsized bed. I find them cozy, my traveling set. The sheets and the sleeping bag have become my traveling home, a tiny space of familiarity where I can relax and feel comfortable whereever I am in the world.
Diane calls the set my blankie. As in the blanket some small kids carry around and need in order to fall asleep. And I guess she is right in a way, even though it makes me feel kind of stupid. I’m twenty-four and have been traveling around the world since I was three months old. I should be able to sleep without my set of blankets and sleeping bag. But I don’t know. I like them. I feel comfortable in them. And considering I sometimes even have trouble falling asleep at home, anything that makes it easier for me to fall asleep is good, right?
I love my blankies.
Katja Malmborg 