Saturday, 6 April 2013

Blubbing in Caviar House

One of my highlights of travelling by air tends to be the couple of hours spent pottering around the shops and deciding where to eat, once I've cleared security and before boarding the plane. This time round was different and I was completely overwhelmed by such a vast range of emotions that my time was mostly spent crying in Caviar House.

I could see the other customers' furtive glances, trying to work out my story. Maybe they were wondering if I was crying because I had just said goodbye to a lover or I was escaping abroad from a broken heart. Maybe they assumed I was laden with illegal drugs or fleeing from a nasty crime I didn't mean to commit. Or just maybe they had guessed I had kissed and hugged my parents and my perfect pooch goodbye, unsure of when I would be seeing them again. Or that I was reading heartfelt text messages from my friends or an emotional email from my husband who I hadn't seen for over two months. Or perhaps they knew I was upset that security had rifled through and ruthlessly unpacked my hand luggage, man-handled my teddy bear and my clean knickers, checked EVERYTHING for explosives and then left me, humiliated, to repack the entire contents while other travellers looked on in sympathy, amusement and/or fascination. Or maybe they could see it was the shock of receiving the extortionate bill at Caviar House after imbibing half a bottle of wine and a sea food platter for one.

Unlike any previous trips abroad, it was with some relief when I was finally able to board the plane, take my seat, hide away from people's prying eyes and focus on arriving in Hong Kong after months of dreaming about what it would be like.

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