I fly a great deal.
Well, that’s not exactly accurate; I am in airplanes a great deal. They fly. I merely constrict my five-feet-eight-inches of body into about three-feet-seven-inches of space for four hours 18 minutes of discomfort, late arrivals, and poor service. It’s a privilege for which I pay a great deal of money.
To alleviate the numbness in my limbs, I think of walking.
However scrambling and stumbling over three other contorted travelers to stagger sloth like down a scrawny center aisle following a unhurriedly moving food cart with attendants lobbing over-priced “box meals” to ravenous twisted travelers doesn’t sound advantageous. Therefore, I read.
One of the airlines on which I frequently endure travel has a regular feature in their magazine. It lays out how to spend a few “perfect days” in an exotic city. For example, “three perfect days in Paris,” or “four perfect days in Bangkok.” They have yet to list “six perfect days in Eureka” but I am sure it is soon to be.