How to Relax After a 15-Hour Flight to Hong Kong
A man in Hong Kong is caressing me and yet we’ve barely even exchanged hellos. I’m at the airport, in a delicious place called Oriental Healing Art next to gate 41 and I’m indulging in something I always seem to talk myself out. A foot massage.
After a 15 hour flight, my legs are sore and I’m sporting a serious pair of cankles. In the past, this water retention prank has alarmed me to the point of panic attack. Case in point, my 1st 24 hours in Cambodia. It’s the middle of the night and I’m naked, curled into fetal position on the cool, tiled bathroom floor of some fancy hotel. Travel Boyfriend is there feeding me Xanax, which I chew without water in hope that it’ll enter my system quicker.
