Traveling again, and reading Rebecca Solnit's A Field Guide to Getting Lost, which is fitting:
Airplane flights are usually from city to city, but in between are the untrodden realms to which you can only give approximate labels -- somewhere in Newfoundland, somewhere in Nebraska or the Dakotas. From miles up in the sky, the land looks like a map of itself, but without any of the points of reference that make maps make sense. The oxbows and mesas out the window are anonymous, unfathomable, a map without words.