The Wild Woman's Guide to Traveling the World

by Kristin Rockaway

  I shifted my gaze from his body to his pencil, eager to see what he was drawing with such intense concentration. When I craned my neck to steal a view of the page, he smiled down at me and slapped his book shut in one fluid motion.

  “Hey there,” he said. “How was your nap?”

  “Good.” I stretched my arms overhead. “I don’t even remember falling asleep. How long was I out for?”

  “I think we both zonked out around four.” He looked past me, at the clock on the bedside table. “So probably about seven hours.”

  “It’s eleven o’clock?” I popped up, disappointed in myself for sleeping away yet another morning in Hong Kong. Experience had taught me it was best to get an early start on sightseeing, before the streets got too hot or crowded. If I wasn’t careful, this vacation would pass me by while I lazed around in bed.

  “Yup,” he said, unfazed by the way we were wasting the daylight. He stood up and casually crossed the room to tuck his sketchbook into his messenger bag. As I studied the curve and flex of his perfect round ass, I remembered the promise I’d made to myself the night before. I would not be bound by a schedule or obsess over an itinerary. I would take each moment as it came and immerse myself in the present, without worrying about what I should or shouldn’t be doing. I would follow my feelings wherever they led me, acting out of desire instead of fear.

  “Feeling hungry?” he asked me.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  Within minutes, we’d thrown on our clothes and followed our appetites out the door and onto the sidewalk, in search of sustenance. We headed south and turned right on Hennessy Road, holding hands like it was second nature. Like it was something we’d done a thousand times before.

  “I’m in the mood for something sweet,” I announced. “What was that thing you brought me yesterday?”

  “A pineapple bun?”

  “Yes. I want that.”

  “Then let’s get you what you’re craving.”

  Carson planted a soft kiss on my temple, and we set off toward a bakery on Tin Lok Lane. Inside, the walls of the tiny shop were lined with glass cases containing crusty yellow buns and glazed brown tarts, and I could taste the thick sugary air on my tongue. Despite the crowd of patrons inside, it was orderly, and Carson blended right in, like a seasoned local who knew the routine and not a clueless American tourist. He silently grabbed a tray and a pair of plastic tongs, selected two pastries from the bins, and paid using coins he plucked from the pockets of his shorts.

  On the way out, he took my hand again, and I followed his lead through a maze of side streets without asking him where we were going. It wasn’t like me not to ask questions or to blindly surrender control of a situation like this. I always knew precisely where I was headed and exactly how I was going to get there. But the day before, high on Victoria Peak, he’d led me along that leafy green path toward that hidden view of Hong Kong—those were wonders I’d have never discovered if I hadn’t allowed him to guide me. So I had faith in him to show me something new, something great. I knew it was foolish to trust someone I’d known for less than two days, but I’d vowed to let my feelings lead the way, and right now, I felt a burning desire to trail him through this city toward whatever he had in mind.

  We wound up in Wan Chai Park, sitting under a palm tree on the pink stone bleachers beside a soccer court. On the far end, a few young men in basketball shorts were playing an informal pickup game around a single goal. In the midfield, some toddlers were kicking a ball to each other, tripping over their own chubby feet while their smiling mothers chatted and chased after them. Next to us, two office workers in business suits munched on sandwiches, trading hushed bits of conversation between bites. It was a slice of daily life here in this city, a reminder that, though this may be my vacation, there were plenty of other people who called this place home. This was real life, and it was happening now.

  Carson handed me my pineapple bun, wrapped in a thin sheet of waxed paper. It was still warm from the oven, and my salivary glands tingled when I sunk my teeth in. I closed my eyes, letting the sweet dough dissolve in my mouth, losing myself in the sensation.

  “You look like you’re enjoying that,” he said.

  I waited until I swallowed to open my eyes. Carson looked ravenous, but the pastry in his hand remained untouched. From the way he fixed his eyes on me, I knew what he was hungry for.

  “What’s your plan for today?” he asked.

  “I don’t have one,” I said, before taking another bite.

  “No plan? I thought you were a planner. What happened to that itinerary you had?”

  “I’ve gotten sidetracked.” I licked the sugar off my bottom lip. “What are you up to today?”

  “Not sure. I was gonna wander around, see where the day takes me,” he said. “Wanna come?”

  “Sure.”

  Carson looked down at his shirt, wrinkled from spending the night in a heap at the foot of my bed. “I should probably put on some clean clothes first. Why don’t I go back to the hostel and change real quick? I can meet you in your room in a half hour.”

  “If we go back to that room,” I said, “we may never leave it.”

  “Sounds like a fine way to spend the day, actually.” He ran his hand along my thigh, and I recalled how it felt to lie next to him in that queen-sized bed with the pillow-top mattress, snuggled underneath the fluffy duvet, with his arm wrapped tightly around my body and his stubble gently scratching the nape of my neck.

  “Here’s an idea,” I said. “How about you pack your bags, check out of the hostel, and bring your stuff over to my hotel?”

  “What?”

  “Come stay with me.”

  I didn’t know where those words came from. They fell out of my mouth before I could stop them. And they kept flowing, directly from my heart to my tongue, with no filter.

  “I mean, what happened last night, that needs to happen again. It just seems silly to, you know, keep going back and forth to get your clothes when I’ve got this big room all to myself now. It’s all paid for and everything. So, I mean, why don’t you just stay with me?”

  Carson’s mouth hung open, looking as shocked as I felt. He swallowed audibly, and his fingers tightened around the soft brown bun in his palm. I held my breath, and for a moment, I was certain he was going to say no. My heartbeat battered my rib cage and I felt the pineapple bun working its way back up my throat. You shouldn’t have been so impulsive. He’s not interested, and now you look like a fool.

  “That would be awesome,” he said, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.” I exhaled.

  He gobbled down his bun and crumpled the white paper bag. Standing up, he reached his hand out to me and said, “Let me walk you to the hotel.”

  “Not just yet.” I tilted my head back to look at the treetops. “I want to sit here a bit longer, finish my bun and enjoy the morning. This is a nice little park.”

  “Bet it wasn’t in your guidebook.”

  “Actually, it was. I believe it was described as a ‘peaceful oasis in which a traveler can rest her weary feet while watching some local patrons practice tai chi.’”

  Carson leaned over to kiss me, and I tasted the grainy remnants of red bean paste on his lips. “See you soon,” he said.

  I watched him walk away, up the steps and through the wrought-iron gate, and the confident swagger in his shoulders warmed my insides. While I savored the rest of my pineapple bun, life continued around me: friends playing soccer, moms trailing toddlers, coworkers sharing stories. All of them smiling. Everyone belonging to a group. Then there was me, flying solo. I swallowed the last of my pastry and stood up to leave.

  Walking back to the hotel, I pondered the downside of my five-year plan. Organization was my forte; it’s why I was so good at my job. I had a knack for carefully laying the groundwork to ensure a successful future, whether I was considering the long-term goals of a Fortune 500 company or plotting out the detail
s of my personal life. Considering where I’d come from—raised in a loving but modest home by grandparents who couldn’t scrape together a college fund—I thought I’d done pretty well for myself. Certainly I never would have gotten this far if I hadn’t set specific, attainable goals: professional success, financial independence, freedom to travel the world. I had it all planned out.

  But with my focus on the future, I rarely immersed myself in the right now. My life was reduced to a series of check marks, ticking off each goal I achieved without taking the time to revel in my accomplishments. As soon as I hit one target, I was already reaching for the next one and contemplating the one after that. I rushed full speed ahead, my sights pointed sharply forward, never stopping to take a look at what was around me. If I did, I’d see exactly how alone I was. I’d always described myself as restless and consumed by wanderlust, but deep down, was I really just unhappy?

  Now, in Hong Kong, I’d slammed on the brakes. I stood still, submerged in my surroundings. With my eyes wide open, I began to see all the possibilities for living life outside the narrow vision of what I deemed acceptable. There was no script for a successful life. We all had our own paths to wander, our own desires. Some people preferred the familiar comforts of home, while others found comfort in the unfamiliar. In the end, everyone had the same goal: to find peace, to be content. I thought I needed a plan to find happiness, so it surprised me to admit I was happy here, living in the moment. Happier than I could ever remember feeling before. And when I was with Carson, for the first time, I didn’t feel so alone.

  When I arrived back at the hotel, I stripped and showered, reluctantly washing Carson’s scent from my skin. As I toweled off my hair, I thought about how nice it was to be on vacation for a change. How relaxing it was to have abandoned my carefully planned itinerary and be completely unplugged from work. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone this long without checking my e-mail.

  Work.

  E-mail.

  Am I forgetting something?

  I felt the blood drain from my face.

  My boss had only approved this extended vacation on two conditions: that I stay in daily contact with her and that I attend a meeting with the head of the Hong Kong office, Martin Chu. I’d already failed the first requirement, and seeing as how I’d totally lost track of time these past few days, I wasn’t sure if I’d failed the second one, too. Because even though I could remember how to take the train to Po Lin Monastery and the name of the restaurant that served the famous roast goose I’d read about online, I could not, for the life of me, recall the date and time of my meeting with Martin.

  I just hoped I hadn’t missed it already. Blowing off my boss was not the way to ensure a successful future.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Where the hell is my phone?

  I upended my purse on the rumpled bedspread, then started tearing apart my neatly packed carry-on. My smartphone was the slickest device on the market, a slim and sexy touchscreen with full international connectivity and an unlimited data plan. It weighed less than five ounces, but it contained my whole life: to-do lists, schedules, years of archived e-mails. It was also company-issued, and the last thing I wanted to tell my boss upon returning to New York was that I’d lost it while I was screwing around on vacation. That kind of irresponsible behavior would never earn me a promotion to senior associate.

  Under normal circumstances, my phone was always within arm’s reach, secured in my coat pocket or tucked away in my briefcase. I jokingly called it “my ball and chain,” binding me to work obligations around the clock. Now, two whole days had passed, and it never occurred to me to check my e-mail or look at my calendar. And, obviously, I’d completely forgotten about this meeting with Martin Chu. I had no clue what I was expected to discuss with him, and I couldn’t remember why Elizabeth even wanted me to see him in the first place.

  Never mind my phone. Where the hell is my mind?

  The contents of my tote were scattered haphazardly around the room, but my phone was still nowhere to be seen. Just as I was about to reach for my rolling suitcase to begin rummaging through my clothes, I finally remembered what I’d done with it. On the night I arrived, right before Elena and I headed out to Temple Street Night Market, I’d been scrolling through my e-mails when the power icon began to blink red; it seemed the four hours of Sugar Smash I’d played on the flight over had drained my phone’s battery down to nothing. So I opened my carry-on to look for my charger, only to discover it wasn’t there. Then I had the sickening realization that I’d never unplugged it from the wall beside my bed at home. It was still curled up on top of the nightstand, back in my New York apartment.

  Seeing as my phone was incompatible with Elena’s charger, and I was itching to sink my teeth into some street food, I powered it down and locked it inside the room safe, figuring I’d deal with the whole mess in the morning. Only I hadn’t been expecting to be abandoned by Elena that night. Or to get distracted by a handsome stranger I picked up in a bar in Lan Kwai Fong. Now, here I was, two days later, completely out of touch with reality. A reality that included a no-nonsense boss who was undoubtedly going to be pissed.

  When I’d initially called Elizabeth to ask her for a week off, she was hesitant to say yes. “I’m not sure we can afford for you to be on vacation at that time,” she’d said, her monotone voice droning through the phone. “It’s one of our busiest months.”

  At that point, it occurred to me I should’ve cleared the dates with my boss before purchasing those nonrefundable plane tickets. Then again, at the time, Jägermeister had been booking that flight for me.

  “Well,” I’d said, “the problem is, I already bought my tickets to Hong Kong.”

  “Hong Kong?” Her voice perked up. “You know, we recently opened an office in Kowloon. I’d love for you to drop in and meet with Martin Chu. He’s a senior partner overseeing our Asia division, and it’d be good to touch base with him on some of his projects. Let me give him a call to set something up for you two.”

  “Okay,” I’d groaned. Scheduling a business meeting in the middle of what was supposed to be a fun, adventurous girls’ trip didn’t exactly make me giddy. But I agreed, because what other choice did I have in the matter? Elizabeth was my boss. If she said, “Jump,” it was my job to ask, “How high? And at what time? And do you have a detailed agenda for me to peruse beforehand?”

  Which were questions I’d only just realized I’d failed to ask.

  Still wearing a towel, I pulled my phone from the safe and sat on the floor, waiting for the little silver circle on the start-up screen to stop spinning. I felt that old familiar feeling creep into my chest, an encroaching panic about everything I was missing back at work, all the events I should be planning and preparing for. As soon as the phone finished booting, my thumb tapped the icon of the little golden envelope emblazoned with the giant letter M—the McKinley logo—and the next thing I knew I was scrolling through fifty-eight new e-mails.

  I started to respond to them, one by one, until the power icon blinked red again. The battery was at 10 percent; it would never last long enough for me to clear out my inbox. So I decided to skip straight to the most recent message from Elizabeth.

  To: Sophie Bruno

  From: Elizabeth Fischman

  Subject: Hong Kong Office

  Please confirm status for meeting with Martin Chu at 9AM HKT this Thursday.

  I sighed, relieved that I hadn’t missed the meeting yet. In fact, I had three whole days to prepare. The timing seemed all right, too—nine in the morning was early enough that my whole day wouldn’t be ruined. I’d undoubtedly be out of there with plenty of time to spare before lunch. Maybe Carson and I could even head to Tai Po in the New Territories to check out that famous roast goose. Or maybe we’d just wander around and find something delicious at random. I still had no clue what the point of this meeting was, so I shot off a quick e-mail.

  To: Elizabeth Fischman

  From: Sophie Bruno

/>   Subject: re: Hong Kong Office

  Confirmed. What will be the topic of our discussion?

  My battery life was hovering at 9 percent. If I shut it down now, I’ll still have enough juice left to turn it back on later tonight so I can see what Elizabeth responds with.

  I slid my thumb up the screen, quickly surveying my inbox for any other important messages I may have overlooked.

  And that’s when I saw this:

  To: Sophie Bruno

  From: Elena Yardley

  Subject: so so sorry

  soph, i am so sorry about everything. for leaving you and for all the awful things i said. i really hope you can forgive me and eventually we can move past this.

  one thing you should know—when i got home, i ran into your grandmother. so she knows i left hong kong and that you’re by yourself. you’d think she’d be okay with you traveling alone by now, but she seemed really worried. she seemed pretty pissed at me, too.

  anyway, i know you said you weren’t checking your e-mail, but just in case you see this, you might wanna give her a call to let her know you’re all right. i tried to tell her you were fine, but you know her. she never listens.

  again, i'm really really REALLY sorry. i hope you can forgive me. and i hope you’re having an amazing time.

  please give me a call when you get home?

  love,

  elena

  “Shit.”

  I said it out loud, to the empty hotel room. The biggest disadvantage of Elena still living at home with her mother, on the tree-lined street we grew up on, was that she ran into my grandmother all the time. My stomach tightened when I pictured Grandma, pacing around her kitchen and wringing her hands, worrying where I was and if I was okay. After all she’d done for me over the years to keep me happy and healthy and supported, I felt guilty for causing her distress.