Above Africa and Alaska, Awe Replaces Anxiety CONSIDERING the fact that I'm an author and I'm telling people about places they need to see, it's crazy that I'm actually a nervous flier. Maybe people who don't like to fly can take some solace in that. Patricia Schultz, author of "1,000 Places to See Before You Die," in Papua New Guinea. Q. How often do you fly for business? A. A little more than twice a month, but I've also gone on 22 international flights in just about eight weeks. So it varies. A. Los Angeles. I've seen a lot of positive changes, but it's still poorly organized. A. Bhutan, mainly because it's just so otherworldly. They have a philosophy called gross national happiness, and I think that's pretty awesome. A. Dunkin" Donuts coffee, People magazine, a 20-minute shoulder massage and a good shoe shine, if I can find it. I don't blanch or sweat or even need to be tied to my seat. But deep down, I don't like it. I've never grabbed a stranger's hand in flight, but I have grabbed the hand of someone I know. I remember flying from Manila to Hong Kong. The turbulence was just horrible. Every Filipino woman on the plane was praying the rosary, and when we flew into the old Hong Kong airport, I'm still amazed that we didn't take out some of those apartment buildings that you had to fly between in order to land. That didn't do much to help me, but I did have an "aha" moment, which made flying somewhat better. I love Africa, and to get around you often fly in tiny planes. My pilot looked as if he was 11 years old, but assured me he had been flying for 17 years. The plane was really noisy, so he handed me some headphones. Instead of just canceling the noise, I heard Andrea Bocelli singing. And right then, I looked out the window and saw a herd of elephants at a watering hole, and saw some gazelles running. It was the most amazing experience. You can't get that same feeling in a big plane, but it went a long way in making me appreciate flying. Despite traveling so much, you can't plan for everything. I once showed up at the airport in Casablanca, Morocco, at 4 a.m. for a 6 a.m. flight to Fez. But the issued ticket was for a flight that simply didn't exist. Had it existed, it would have been an easy 45 minutes. To travel by car, with bad and windy roads, people were quoting us times of four to six hours. We got a taxi, and the driver had this dilapidated 1960s Mercedes. It actually wound up taking 12 hours, partly because he took us to his mother's home. She served the best couscous in the country, and still sends me a Christmas card every year. I once flew from Fairbanks, Alaska, up to Bettles, which is north of the Arctic Circle. We went to see the Northern Lights. The pilot was the owner of a small bed and breakfast. It seems that everyone in Alaska has a pilot's license, and they park their planes in the backyard like we park our cars in the garage. Of course, I was a little nervous since their idea of de-icing was to throw an old blanket over the propellers. Once we heated up and were ready to go, we had to wait for about 45 minutes for a moose to get off the runway, which was more like the guy's driveway. But it was an incredibly beautiful experience. This guy knew the airspace as intimately as someone knows their route to work. I was astounded by the natural beauty of Alaska, and what was so interesting is that even though he took the same route all the time, he still marveled at the incredible majesty of the landscape. When we landed in Bettles, we went to the village hall, and I got to do some beading with some Inuit elders, including a 92-year-old woman, who was so proud that she had just killed a moose and was even happier that I was interested in moose meat. Seeing the Northern Lights took my breath away. I remember standing there feeling incredible small, incredibly humble. I was also humbled because it turns out that I am a terrible beader. By Patricia Schultz, as told to Joan Raymond. E-mail: joan.raymond@nytimes.com.