This time next week I’ll be in sunny Athens. I’m combining this with a few days riding horses on the vehicle-less Greek island of Hydra. Can’t wait. Though the old seat bones are already complaining. They haven’t been on a horse in quite some time. I see their point. Anyway, today I’m packing.

‘Packing already?’, I hear you say. ‘Don’t you usually hurl stuff into a bag the night before? Don’t you then spend the journey to the airport smacking your forehead about all the things you should have packed?’

Well, yes. But you see, currently I have a house chock-a-block full of builders and sawdust. Plumbing supplies and paint are scattered throughout the entire downstairs. Hubby just got stopped at Heathrow immigration with his work status questioned, after three years here with impeccable documentation. Will he make it home? Oh, and a houseful of guests arrive tomorrow for Easter. Next week doesn’t look any calmer. So, in a burst of panic, I start packing today. It’s not going well.

The rain lashes on the windows and the hail bounces off the roof. There’s snow outside my bedroom window – and I live at sea level in the south of England. The heat kicked on last night. It’s a new system I have no clue how to program, so I should be grateful someone set it to prevent hypothermia. Daffodils fight valiantly to enjoy their spring rebirth, all the while looking more like the Oompa Loompas at that immersive experience in Edinburgh. I’ve had to re-cover all the tender plants I uncovered last weekend. Yet here I stand, a swimsuit in one hand and flipflops in the other, shivering at the very thought of wearing either one.

The problem with traveling to climates that don’t match your own is always what to wear to the airport. Should you wrap up against the elements to increase your chances of surviving the car ride/stop at the motorway services/train platform wait? Or enjoy the freedom of not carrying your winter coat and snow boots in sweaty hands through a solar blizzard the other end?

Back in the day (oh, how I hated it when Dad used to say that), there was this amazing concept called ‘airport lockers’. You changed in the airport toilet, paid for a key, stuffed your heavy coat and thermals in the locker and boom! Problem solved.

No more. Despite what you see in the James Bond films, there is not always a locker handy from which to retrieve guns, briefcases, fake passports, tuxedos, and wads of cash. Airport lockers just don’t exist anymore. Nowadays (oh, how I hated it when Dad used to say that) you need an app. You need time to drop things at a storage facility somewhere on the ring road around the airport, plus a small fortune to pay for storage per hour. And you’d still have to get from the storage area to the airport without freezing. Is hypothermia really that bad, you start to ask yourself?

As I type this, I’m blow on my fingers to warm up because I don’t know how to turn the heat back on. It’s Easter, for crying out loud! I remind myself this airport travel wear complication was much worse when we lived outside Chicago. Frostbite in ten minutes. Death in thirty. There was no risking a wait in long-term parking for the shuttle in the sarong you’d bought for Hawaii, the South Pacific Islands, or Central America. If you were crazy enough to travel during a Midwest winter, your exposure suit accompanied you onto the plane. Once in your seat, you stuffed as much of the polar expedition suit as possible under the seat in front. You hoped the flight attendant wouldn’t notice the bulky obstacle. Immigration officials the other end looked at you with either pity or distain in their eyes, depending on how much sweat dripped onto your paperwork.

Right. Back to packing. What does one wear to the airport? I know, I’ll do a web search!

I can’t find a specific answer to the airport wear question, but transitional season or ‘shoulder season’ wear comes up. Apparently, ‘shoulder season’ wardrobe must-dos involve layering a lacey cotton top under a cashmere sweater. You are now ready to face whatever cold snap could befall you as you trip delicately to the coffee shop in your slingback stilettoes. Maybe add a scarf, thrown jauntily over the shoulders to stave off the worst temperamental weather March or October can throw at you. None of these people in their shoulder season outfits can possibly live further than one mile inland of the Miami beach front.

The only useful tip? Wear your beanie hat under your sunhat. Could work. Or not. Layering a lightweight skirt with tights or thermals dredges up images of the cat lady next door during my childhood. Let’s just add socks under our flipflops, shall we? Not happening.

What’s clearly going to happen next week is me carrying my heavy coat through Athens trying to find my accommodation as sweat pours onto my map app screen. Wish me luck.

Images: Melissa Brawner (Flickr) and Riccardof (Flickr)