I AM DRIVING through the beautiful Bavarian countryside of Germany, passing charming villages that look like illustrations from a children's storybook. I stop for coffee and pastries in a little bakery, walk around the village square, peek inside the whitewashed church of St. Michael, decorated with pastel pink burning hearts. I take photos of an impossibly high village maypole. I am headed to what was once Adolf Hitler’s mountaintop retreat, the Eagle’s Nest.

I AM TAXIING out of Jacksonville, Florida this morning. All crew members and passengers are seated, seat belts fastened, the morning sun streaming through the windows, the start of just another day on just another airplane. Today I am the flight attendant in charge and I am sitting on my jumpseat at the most forward door, the door we call “One Left.”

I AM SITTING in the front seat of my guide Sayeed’s big white SUV in Doha, Qatar, waiting for the camel races at the Al Shahaniyah racetrack to begin. Qataris treat their camels like racehorses, competing against other camels shipped in from all over the world. A racing camel can easily cost $25,000—or more.

I AM HANGING a coach passenger’s garment bag in the first class coat closet. It is summer and we do not have any coats to hang in the closet, just a couple of suit jackets belonging to a few first class passengers, businessmen flying between meetings, appointments, conferences. I AM HANGING a coach passenger’s garment bag in the first class coat closet. It is summer and we do not have any coats to hang in the closet, just a couple of suit jackets belonging to a few first class passengers, businessmen flying between meetings, appointments, conferences.

I AM STARING at elephants foraging near my Land Rover in Damaraland, Namibia. Such huge, amazing creatures, walking precisely, deliberately, in search of the next bush, or bough, or tree, with a trunk as dexterous as my hand.

I AM RIDING on the employee parking lot bus at the Tampa airport, my workday finally over. The bus is packed with other employees ending their shifts. It has been a very long day for me, a turnaround, four flights in and out of various airports, Tampa-Atlanta-Milwaukee-Tampa, with several long sits (waiting around between flights) making my day even longer.

I AM DRIVING across the border from Croatia into Montenegro with Djordie, my guide, and Josef, the driver of this small, slightly ramshackle car.

A PILOT IS TELLING me about his job interview at Flying Tigers. A huge freight airline, we also have a tiny passenger branch, a charter for the US military. We take troops to air force bases all over the world.

I AM WATCHING a performance of the National Bunraku Theatre in Osaka, Japan. Everyone in the theatre is Japanese but me. The English translation of the storyline is softly channeling through the headset on my ears. I am enthralled.

I AM STANDING at the aircraft door. We have landed, taxiied to the gate, my door disarmed and ready to open. I wait for the gate agent to give me a thumbs up through the window, indicating the jetway is in place, the door can be safely opened, passengers can deplane.