The Wild Woman's Guide to Traveling the World

by Kristin Rockaway

  He lifted his glass, half full of golden lager, emblazoned with a Bitburger logo, and tipped it in my direction with a wink. His sandy hair was perfectly tousled atop his head like a wheat field in a windstorm. Instinctively, I touched my dark curls. I was sure they were out of place; the Hong Kong humidity had laid claim to them the moment I disembarked the plane. I made a mental note to buy some serious hair product the next day.

  “I’ll pass,” I said, willing my mouth to form words in the midst of my aesthetic crisis. “I get to drink plenty of German beer at home. San Miguel is a treat.”

  “Do you live in Germany? From your accent, I figured you were a fellow American.”

  “No, I live in New York, in a tiny apartment above a German restaurant called Zum Bauer. So sometimes I like to end the day there with a nightcap. Or two.”

  “The Germans know how to brew a fine beer.”

  “That they do.”

  “Ever been there?”

  “Last year, for Oktoberfest,” I said.

  His eyes lit up. “Get out of here. I was there, too. Maybe we saw each other.”

  “Maybe,” I said. But there was little I remembered of my hours in the Hofbräuhaus tent. After I finished my first stein of festbier, details of the evening grew fuzzy. It was possible I’d seen this handsome stranger but had no recollection of it. He could’ve even been that guy I made out with at the end of the night, when the crowds were shuffling into the streets. I never did catch his name.

  “You travel a lot, then?” he asked.

  “Yup. Always got a flight booked somewhere.”

  “That’s the best way to live, I think.” He tipped his head back and drained his glass, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. I stared at the long curve of his neck and spotted the corner of a tattoo peeking out from under the collar of his shirt before he put his glass down on the bar and ordered another Bitburger.

  “And a San Miguel,” he said, before looking at me. “You want another one?”

  “Sure.” I had only taken two sips of the bottle in my hand, but I wasn’t about to turn down another drink before I found out this guy’s name. I started chugging.

  “I’m Carson, by the way,” he said, extending a hand toward me for a shake. It was slightly moist, radiating heat. I felt soft calluses along the heel of his palm.

  “Sophie.”

  “So, Sophie, what are you doing in Hong Kong?”

  “Taking a much-needed vacation.”

  “Alone?” He looked past me, over my shoulders, suddenly aware that he could be encroaching on some other guy’s territory.

  “Well, I was here with my friend, until she decided to go back home because she missed her boyfriend. So now I’m here alone.”

  “What?” He laughed. “She just picked up and left you here?”

  “Her flight’s tomorrow morning. Right now I guess she’s packing her bag, or calling her boyfriend for the fifteenth time. But yeah, she’s just picking up and leaving me here. Nice, huh?”

  He shook his head. “That’s unbelievable. I don’t know if you can really call her a friend now. A friend wouldn’t desert you like that.”

  I wanted to feel smug. Here was someone who was shocked and appalled by Elena’s decision to leave, someone declaring her as the bad friend, not me. But I only felt an ache in my chest and a sense of dread, like I’d forgotten to pack underwear or lost my credit card.

  “What are you gonna do now?” he asked.

  “Enjoy myself,” I said. “She was kind of a wet blanket anyway.”

  “What made you decide to come to Hong Kong with her, then?”

  “I don’t know. I wanted to reconnect with her. And I thought it might do her some good to see a different part of the world.” I picked at the label on the bottle, peeling it back in thin, soggy shreds. “I’m sick of thinking about it.”

  “Then let’s change the subject. What do you do back in New York, aside from drink German beer?”

  “Sometimes I enjoy a schnitzel platter.”

  He laughed, revealing a dimple in his stubbled cheek. “Do you work?”

  “I’m an IT consultant.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I work with computers, doing strategic planning for big businesses. Goal setting, scheduling, resource allocation. That sort of thing.”

  “Interesting.” The blank stare on his face made it clear he hadn’t spent much time in a corporate environment. “Do you like doing…that sort of thing?”

  Shrugging, I took a sip of my beer. “It’s all right. I’m good at it and it pays well. It looks good on my résumé, too.”

  “So the short answer is no,” he said. “How did you get into it?”

  “I went to college, got a business degree,” I said. “Landed a job right after I graduated three years ago, and I’ve been there ever since.”

  The full story? I attended college on a full-ride scholarship, completed my degree a semester early, with honors, and had three companies clamoring to employ me. Even though I wasn’t necessarily gung ho about working for McKinley Consultants Worldwide, I accepted their generous offer of employment. McKinley was one of the world’s most prestigious firms; if they offered you a job, you’d be a fool to say no. Now, at twenty-four, I was routinely working a minimum of twelve hours a day, on the fast track to making partner. My career was, more or less, my life.

  “The best part of the job is that I get to travel a lot,” I said. “My company has offices all over the world. The payoff in frequent-flyer miles alone is worth it.”

  “That’s great.” He took a long drink, his eyes fixed on the flat screen behind the bar showing closed-captioned commercials.

  “What about you?” I said, trying to reel in his attention. “What do you do for a living?”

  “Ah, you know,” he said, still looking at the television. “Nothing like what you do. Just…artsy stuff.”

  “So you’re an artist?”

  “I mean, kind of,” he said, clearing his throat. “I dabble here and there. I’m twenty-five. I’ve got time to figure it out, you know?”

  In the real world, if I had asked a guy about his career aspirations and received this kind of vague, evasive response, I’d politely excuse myself and run for the exit. I needed a man with a plan, someone who was responsible and goal-oriented, who had his head screwed tightly on his shoulders—a tall order for guys in my age bracket. But this wasn’t real life; this was life on the road. Who cared if Carson had no direction or discernible career path? After tonight, I’d probably never see him again.

  “Where do you live?”

  “Well, I’m originally from San Francisco,” he said, his gaze finally focused back on my face, “but right now, I’m kind of living on the road. I’ve been traveling around Asia for the past month, been in Hong Kong for a week. I bounce around a lot. My home is where I lay my head. Know what I mean?”

  “Totally.” In truth, I didn’t know what he meant. I definitely understood the feeling of restlessness, the need to pick up and fly somewhere new. But I always had an anchor grounding me at home, a place to come back to, with an organized closet full of clothes and a fireproof box to safeguard important paperwork. I also had a steady job with a paycheck, something I doubted Carson treated with priority. He struck me as someone who got by on his good looks, perhaps a playboy from a rich family who never had to save up his frequent-flyer miles to book a trip halfway around the world. Unlike me, working hard for every dime I spent.

  “So, no boyfriend?” he asked me.

  “Nope.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Are you asking what’s wrong with me?”

  “No, no!” he said. “I’m just wondering how a cool girl like you is still single. Well traveled, educated, beautiful. I thought for sure someone would’ve scooped you up.”

  “Does that line usually work for you?”

  “Sometimes.” He flashed a smile.

  “I’m not really into the idea of a relationship
right now. Especially after seeing my friend with her boyfriend. They can’t even be away from each other for a week. I travel a lot. I work long hours. I need room to breathe.”

  “Relationships don’t always have to be that way, though.”

  “I don’t know.” After what Elena told me earlier that evening, I didn’t feel I had the authority to speak on this subject. I’d never been in a serious relationship; hell, I’d never even made it past a third or fourth date. There’d only been fling after fling, heated but meaningless sexual encounters, most of which were on the road, one-night stands with guys I’d never spoken to again. Some guys whose names I never even knew. As far as I was concerned, men were only good for one thing. I’d always considered myself fiercely independent, a woman who didn’t need a man to be happy. But maybe Elena was right. Maybe I really was incapable of love.

  “I believe that when you really love someone,” he said, “when it’s right, it’s always with you, even when you’re apart. It’s like a fire, burning in your heart. It needs air to live and breathe; if you smother it, it’ll die.”

  “That’s very poetic.”

  “I’m a poetic kinda guy. Ruled by my heart.”

  “Is there a girlfriend pining for you back in the States?”

  “No, I’m a free agent right now. No fancy job, no home, no girl. Nothing tying me down anywhere.”

  The beer I’d guzzled started swimming through my head, softening Carson’s features and endearing me to his carefree life of wanderlust. I wondered what it must be like to live without responsibility or obligation. How different would my life be if I didn’t have to show up for work every morning, pay the rent on time, or board a flight back to New York in seven days?

  “So, since you’ve been here for a week, any suggestions on where the best nightlife is?” I asked. “The guidebook led me to Lan Kwai Fong, but I know there’s gotta be some other stuff I’m missing out on.”

  “Have you been to Wan Chai yet?”

  “I’m staying in Wan Chai,” I said.

  “Finish your beer and I’ll take you back there. There’s a place I want to show you.”

  I took a long, slow sip from my San Miguel, peering over the bottle to study Carson’s face, deciding if I should follow him. For all I knew, he could be a grifter, conning his way around Hong Kong. But his eyes were electric. And I wanted to see more of that chest tattoo. I’ll go. I just won’t let myself get too drunk. I’ll definitely stop drinking right after I’m done with this beer.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I was dancing on top of a scuffed mahogany bar. How I got there was unclear. The sign on the wall proclaiming it “Jäger Night” at Charlie’s may have had something to do with it. Impulsive decision-making brought on by overconsumption of Jägermeister was beginning to be a theme of mine.

  My hand gripped a brass pole, steadying my body as I swayed to the sounds of a wailing guitar. There were moments when I could tell I was off by half a beat, where my hip popped when it should have swiveled. But I wasn’t sober enough to correct myself, and ultimately, I didn’t really care. My self-consciousness had disappeared, all thoughts of Elena banished. My unruly hair ceased to exist. The only thing I cared about right now, the only thing I saw amid the sea of people below me, were two blue eyes glinting in the low light.

  The past few hours had been a blur. Memories came in hot flashes—Carson’s hand on the small of my back as he guided me through a busy street, his lips brushing my cheek as he leaned in close to make himself heard over the roar of the crowd. Suddenly, being on top of this bar felt too far away from him. I needed contact.

  He offered his hand to help me down, and I stumbled into his arms as he steered me to a safe landing beside him on the sawdust-covered linoleum. I stood for a few seconds in his embrace, the people around us falling away as we locked eyes.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said, hot breath in my ear.

  Outside, the predawn air was warm but fresh, and we laced fingers before ambling down the sidewalk. I let him lead me, unsure of where we were, willing to follow him anywhere. We turned left on Fleming Road and headed toward the waterfront, toward the pale glow of the convention center with its curved roof, hanging out over the bay like a flying saucer. His thumb stroked the back of my hand as we strolled without a sound.

  At the edge of the promenade, we stopped and stood still in the shadow of the city beyond the bay, the lights of Kowloon reflected on the water. Soft, briny breezes brought me back to sobriety, planted me firmly in the present. There was no one else around, and for an instant, I felt uneasy, like maybe I’d made a bad choice coming to this desolate corner alone with a complete stranger. Then Carson slid his hand around my back, pulled me close, smiled at me. My worry dissolved, and we stared at the skyscrapers, side by side.

  “It makes you feel small,” he said. “These big buildings. Think about all the people that are out there, living all their different lives.”

  “Makes you realize how meaningless your existence is.”

  “Or how we’re each part of something so much bigger than any one of us. How our actions affect everyone else in this world.”

  “Maybe.”

  “No man is an island, Sophie.”

  “Again with the poetry.”

  “I told you, I’m a poetic guy,” he said, then turned to face me, his hands resting on my waist. “Seriously, though. Everything everyone does affects someone else’s life, somehow. Like if your friend didn’t ditch you, you probably never would’ve come to that bar by yourself, and we never would’ve met.”

  “And you wouldn’t be standing here reciting poetry.”

  “And I wouldn’t be doing this.”

  Carson inched his hands up my sides, caressed my cheeks, and buried his fingers deep in the tangle of curls at the nape of my neck. He pressed his body against mine, pinning me against the railing. Sea spray raised goose bumps on my bare arms and I wrapped them around his midsection, absorbing his warmth. His blue eyes were fixed on my face as he bent down and kissed me. His tongue was in my mouth, thick and hungry, and I opened wide to let him explore. Every part of me swelled and tingled. I wanted to rip my clothes off on this pier and give myself to him, for all of Hong Kong to see.

  Time paused and stretched as I lost myself in the spice of his aftershave, the tang of his lips. Finally, he pulled back, brushed his thumb over my bottom lip and under my chin.

  “Where are you staying?” he asked, his eyelids heavy.

  “On Jaffe Road,” I said. “I’m not sure how far that is from here.”

  “I know where we are. Let me walk you back.”

  We left the harbor with our hands in each other’s back pockets, and I took a quick mental inventory, assessing my preparedness for the inevitable next step: cute panties, shaved legs, fresh pack of condoms in my suitcase. Whether he was a grifter or not, I wanted him. Then I remembered the one thing that would prevent me from inviting him up to continue the fun.

  “Elena.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “My friend,” I said. “The one who’s abandoning me. She’s probably still in the room.”

  “Oh, right. When’s her flight?”

  “I have no idea. At some point tomorrow.” I looked skyward at streaks of lilac and baby blue, a sign of the sun’s impending arrival. “I mean, today. What time is it anyway?”

  Carson shrugged. “I haven’t been keeping track of time lately.”

  “What about you? Where are you staying?” The moment was slipping through my fingers, and I was desperate to hold on to it.

  “At a shitty hostel in Causeway Bay,” he said. “Sharing a room with three snoring Aussies. Not the most comfortable digs, but it’s dirt cheap.”

  With nowhere to unload our pent-up desires, the heat hanging in the air between us began to dissipate as we walked on. Daylight peeked over the tops of the buildings, and the streets slowly awakened with early morning commuters. When we reached the hotel and stopped in front of its glas
s doors, my heart deflated like a leaky balloon. The night had lasted forever but was over too soon. I’d never had the chance to see that whole tattoo.

  “It was really great to meet you,” I said.

  “Likewise,” he said. “So, what are you doing today?”

  “I think I’m going to Man Mo Temple,” I said. “Or was it Lantau Island? I can’t remember what I had listed on my itinerary for today.”

  “Itinerary?”

  “Yeah. I have everything planned out. Where I’m going, when I’m going there, how I’m gonna get there.”

  “Like, down to the day?”

  “Down to the hour, more or less. I don’t know if I’ll ever get back to this part of the world again. I don’t want to miss anything.”

  Carson looked at me like I had suddenly sprouted an extra head. “Okay. Well, if you’re interested in deviating from your schedule, I’m thinking of taking the tram up to Victoria Peak this afternoon, see the city from up high. Wanna come?”

  “Sure.” Even though I hadn’t planned to see Victoria Peak until Thursday, I figured it wasn’t a big deal to swap out the days on my itinerary. Man Mo Temple—or Lantau Island—could wait until the end of the week, but who knew if I’d ever get another chance to hang out with Carson?

  “All right, I’ll come back in a little while. Try to get some rest.”

  He kissed me gently, leaving a wet spot on my bottom lip. I licked it off, swallowed his flavor.

  “And good luck with your friend!” he called, before walking off toward Lockhart Road.

  I sailed through the revolving door and floated across the lobby, my feet operating on autopilot. As I stood in the elevator, I envisioned Carson’s mouth on mine, his hand slipping under my shirt. Hours ago, he’d been a stranger; now his scent lingered on my skin. After my fight with Elena, I never would have expected the night to turn out like this. Traveling was full of pleasurable surprises.

  Maybe it wasn’t that I was incapable of love but merely that I wasn’t interested in it. There was no feeling like the thrill of the chase, the fulfillment of a conquest. It was the unknown that bred desire—wondering how a new man tasted, what I would find beneath his clothes. Familiarity grew tiresome. What drew me most to Carson was that I hardly knew him at all.