- Author Anne Tyler in "The Accidental Tourist"

Two years ago, Annabel Cohen had what she thought was a great idea.

Visit Japan with no luggage at all.

Pick up what she needed by shopping at vending machines in Tokyo, which, she'd heard, sold all of life's necessities - even underwear and toothbrushes.

Actually, it wasn't true.

Cohen, 47, ended up wearing the same clothes for nine straight days and never found a vending-machine toothbrush until the second-to-last day.

"What I couldn't buy in a vending machine in Japan was what I needed," says Cohen, of Bloomfield Hills, Mich., who nevertheless survived her no-luggage experiment.

"I can be inconvenienced for a couple of weeks," she says cheerfully. "A trip is not about my clothing. It's about how lucky I am to be traveling."

But even she recommends that you bring at least some luggage, if only for hygiene's sake.

Until December, Cohen was marketing manager for an automotive supplier, but she's now freelancing as a food writer and chef and spending a lot of time traveling. She's a single parent with a 19-year-old daughter in college.

She's been many times to Brazil, where she has family. She recently traveled to India and Mexico, Florida and New York.

In late March, she returned from three weeks in Rome cat-sitting for a friend. She took a single carry-on bag. She paid for the trip with frequent-flier miles and cooked at a restaurant in Italy in exchange for meals.

Among her more unusual packing items? Several Sharpie pens, liquid bandage, Twizzlers licorice ("They're chewy, and you make friends sitting next to you"), fake pearls she bought at a dollar store, a book of matches, a red umbrella - and an extra toothbrush.

The downfall for heavy packers "is they pack for every contingency," she says. "I take only whatever fits in the bag."

Into her 21-inch Pathfinder roll-aboard suitcase and medium-red purse go these basics: underwear, socks, two dressy black blouses, one black T-shirt, two plain white T-shirts, two pairs of black pants, one pair black stretchy pants, one lightweight short brown jacket, two black chef's coats for cooking jobs, silver shoes for evening, and nice black shoes. (She wears her sensible Dansko clogs on the plane.)

She also packs plastic zip-top bags containing tiny creams, deodorant, toothpaste, lip balm, liquid bandage, ibuprofen, antihistamines, antibiotics for an emergency, throat lozenges, disposable razor, a few cotton swabs and adhesive bandages, hair elastics, extra batteries, sample-size perfume, and makeup. She also fits in a camera charger, MacBook Air computer, Food and Wine magazine, a book, jewelry, Chi hair straightener, notebook, pocket digital camera, Flip video camera, passport, wallet, and another very small purse.

Her discreet black clothing takes her everywhere, even an elite hotel salon in Morocco that turned away her friend in shorts.

But packing light shouldn't mean looking sloppy, she insists. She mixes clothes from Target and Chico's with designer pieces. But she tries to look nice. And her age.

"I'm not a backpacker," she says. "At this point, I'm a lady, not a kid."