'What nobody tells you about long-haul flights as you get older.'

This article originally appeared on Jo's Substack, Lifestyle Fifty. Sign up here.

The words "long-haul flight" used to fill me with equal parts excitement and dread.

After living in 11 countries and taking more Perth-to-London journeys than I can count, I've developed a complicated relationship with those 17-plus hour ordeals.

They promise adventure, family reunions, the beginning of something wonderful. But they also give me swollen ankles, dehydration, and that special kind of exhaustion that comes from being trapped in a metal tube at 35,000 feet.

Here's what I've learnt: the difference between arriving destroyed and arriving functional isn't all about business class tickets (though that helps!) or magic supplements.

It's about the small, unglamorous decisions that most travel articles never mention.

Read on and find out about my emotional relationship with flying. See if the wisdom I've acquired from countless flights over 50 years can help you. Discover my self-deprecating 'obsessive-compulsive' sock admission and decide if it's a tip that you'll want to follow.

Listen to the Mamamia Out Loud hosts discuss if we need to return to the "Golden Age" of travel and start "dressing with respect". Post continues below.

The water bottle trick that changed everything.

This sounds absurdly simple, but take an empty water bottle through security and ask the flight attendant to fill it once you board.

Not for environmental reasons (though that's nice). Not to save money (though that's satisfying). But because those tiny plastic cups they tend to bring around every few hours are criminally inadequate for hydration at altitude.

I keep my filled bottle in the seat pocket and drink constantly throughout the flight. When I have a connection, I ask the attendant to refill it just before landing, so I have water in the terminal while I wait, or if I'm rushing for a train or taxi.

The difference this makes to how I feel on arrival is dramatic.

What I actually wear (and why it matters).

Everyone tells you to dress comfortably. Nobody tells you how to do that without looking like you've given up on life.

I wear something smart-casual to the airport—usually a stretchy jersey dress or ponte pants with a loose top. Not because I'm chasing upgrades (though I won't complain if one materialises), but because I feel better about myself when I look reasonably put-together.

Then, just before boarding, I might change in the airport bathroom into loose, comfortable pants that I've packed in my carry-on. The airport bathrooms are spacious. The aeroplane bathrooms are not. Learn from my mistakes.

Heading off to the jungles of Borneo. This outfit had already completed 11 hours flying from Perth.

I layer obsessively: a soft cardigan over a coloured T-shirt (rarely white—it shows everything), plus a Pashmina that doubles as a small blanket. Planes are either arctic or tropical with no middle ground.

For shoes, I need something that expands. My feet swell on long flights like everyone else's, and trying to force swollen feet back into rigid shoes at landing is a special kind of torture. I favour sandals with adjustable straps for travelling to hot countries and comfy trainers or walking shoes if I'm going somewhere cold. If I'm short on weight allowance, I always try to wear my heaviest shoes.

The sock situation (yes, really).

I take my shoes off during the flight because comfort wins over dignity at hour seven. But I bring dedicated "plane socks" for two reasons.

First, hygiene. I don't want to pad into the aeroplane bathroom in my regular socks, but I also don't want to go barefoot.

Second, compression, because medically-approved compression socks are known to help with circulation.

So I take off my regular socks, and instead pop on my plane-only socks (whether compression socks or just short socks) which go straight into a plastic bag after the flight, and then into the wash when I get home.

This might be obsessive-compulsive. I'm okay with that.

What I won't do anymore.

Coffee before boarding.

I love coffee. But coffee doesn't really love me. I've learnt that it does love putting me in awkward situations, such as needing the bathroom exactly at take off (embarrassing).

Eating just because it's there.

The crew generally bring food around, and the instinct is to eat it even if you're not hungry. I now have a light meal before the flight at my normal mealtime, then eat on the plane only if I'm actually hungry. I arrive feeling much better.

No snacks.

I don't take snacks on a long-haul flight. Generally, between meals, nibbles will either be brought around during the flight, or available in a cabinet at the back of the plane. However, I remind myself, I really don't need extra snacks — it's boredom, not hunger.

Alcohol beyond one glass.

Yes, wine with lunch or dinner is lovely. A second glass leaves me dehydrated and foggy. Not really worth it.

Relying on the airline's moisturiser, eye drops, or comfort items.

They're either non-existent or inadequate. I bring my own in small, security-approved sizes, packed into see-through Ziplock bags.

The movement nobody sees.

At the back of the plane, usually near the bathrooms, I do stretches that would look ridiculous if I cared what people thought.

Hip rotations. Figure eights with my knees. Reaching up like I'm picking apples from tall branches. Knee lifts. Side stretches. Anything to keep blood flowing and joints from seizing up.

In my seat, I rotate my ankles and lift my knees periodically. The person next to me can think what they like — I'm the one who has to walk through the airport on arrival.

This isn't optional after 60. It's survival.

The social calculation.

I always say hello to the person next to me. Sometimes you get lucky and have a genuinely interesting conversation that makes hours disappear.

If they're clearly going to talk the entire flight, and you're not in the mood, smile, put in your earphones, and either watch a movie or tell them you're tired. People understand.

Most people are just as anxious about being stuck next to someone annoying.

What actually makes time pass.

A good book — something gripping but not demanding. This is not the time for dense literature.

Downloaded entertainment on my iPad or Kindle. The in-flight selection is hit-or-miss at best.

The willingness to just sit with my thoughts. Long flights are some of the only times in modern life when you're genuinely unplugged, with nowhere to be and nothing you have to do. There's something almost meditative about that, once you stop fighting it.

I also remind myself how lovely it is that I don't have to prepare food, cook, clean, tick things off a 'to-do' list, navigate, drive or make decisions beyond what to watch next.

The privilege check.

When I start feeling sorry for myself around hour eight, I remind myself: I'm one of a tiny percentage of humans who can be geographically mobile like this. These flights are taking me somewhere I've chosen to go, probably somewhere wonderful.

This isn't suffering. It's a luxury with some discomfort attached.

What I pack in my carry-on.

The essentials I never skip:

The last one is learnt wisdom. I once spent a week without clothes when my suitcase disappeared. Never again.

The real secret.

None of these tips make long-haul flights pleasant. They make them tolerable.

The real secret is shifting your mindset: this isn't wasted time to be endured. It's the price of entry to adventure. The discomfort is temporary. The destination is worth it.

And honestly? After living in 11 countries away from 'home' and countless flights for vacations, I've realised something: I'm privileged to have this problem. Not everyone gets to complain about long-haul flights because not everyone gets to take them.

So I stretch at the back of the plane looking slightly ridiculous. I drink my water obsessively. I wear my special plane socks.

And I arrive ready to begin whatever adventure comes next.

Jo Castro is a travel writer and award winning lifestyle blogger. Find more of her travel and fashion stories on Substack (jocastro.substack.com) and Lifestyle Fifty (lifestylefifty.com).

This article originally appeared on Jo's Substack, Lifestyle Fifty. Sign up here.

Feature image: Supplied.