I partly grew up in Syria, so I’d visited Lebanon many times, but I’d never been that far south. It was stunning, and so unlike the rest of the country. If you go to the beach in Beirut, you’ve got to go to a private club, basically. But in Sidon and Tyre, the beaches were public – they were clean and beautiful and open to everyone. There were women in bikinis, women completely covered up, and when you went to the little shacks where they cooked freshly caught fish, some sold beer, some didn’t. I was pleasantly surprised by that. Then there are all the Greek and Roman ruins. The history is a living, breathing part of both cities, but preserved in a really thoughtful way. Just as the beach was accessible to all, so is that history.

I’ve traveled very widely in Pakistan, but the Kalash Valley is unlike anywhere I’d ever been in my own country. The Kalasha people are said to be the descendants of Alexander the Great’s troops – a tiny leftover who practice a pagan religion that follows the seasons and the harvest. They’re a matriarchal society – women rule everything. They’re all blonde and blue- or green-eyed, and they wear very traditional jewelry. There’s no electricity, your cellphone doesn’t work, there’s no TV, and very few cars. You’re in a place that’s entirely untouched by modernity.

I went to Cuba when I was 26, when the country was first opening up a little. I was there to write about it for a Pakistani newspaper, but also traveling with two girlfriends, so it was an incredible experience. When you travel somewhere as a writer, you get to knock on people’s doors and ask them questions. I’d be interviewing the Minister of Health about Cuba’s “medical diplomacy," or visiting an eye hospital to see cataract surgery, but then we’d do tourist things like go to salsa classes. Having my friends with me made it the best of both worlds.

I went to Cuba when I was 26, when the country was first opening up a little. I was there to write about it for a Pakistani newspaper, but also traveling with two girlfriends, so it was an incredible experience. When you travel somewhere as a writer, you get to knock on people’s doors and ask them questions. I’d be interviewing the Minister of Health about Cuba’s “medical diplomacy," or visiting an eye hospital to see cataract surgery, but then we’d do tourist things like go to salsa classes. Having my friends with me made it the best of both worlds.

I went to Tehran for one week to write about life for young people, and it was a revelation. I went with the stereotypical ideas most of us have about Iran. Everyone had told me, “Don’t take colorful clothes. Only take black." So I traveled without a hairbrush, without make-up, in the baggiest, blackest stuff I owned. And as I sat on the plane, looking around, I saw all these very beautiful women with very beautiful hairdos. I remember thinking, “Uh-oh. I’ve made a mistake here." When I landed, the first thing I had to do was buy eyeliner and a hairbrush.

I loved how elegant everything was in Japan, and how elegant the people were. Every time I was lost, I would stop someone and ask, and every single time they would walk me to the place instead of just giving me directions. Or they’d walk me to the best place to have lunch and show me what to order. They were amazing guides to their own cities. Whenever anyone writes to me and says, “Oh, my friend’s neighbor’s uncle’s aunt is going to be in Karachi. Can you help?" I always help – because I really think it’s something that gets paid back when you’re lost somewhere in the world. I believe there’s a kind of karma for travelers. The nicer and warmer you are to travelers in your city, the nicer people will be to you when you travel.

I’ve visited India many times. When you fly you can maintain that it’s just like going from one country to another. But at Wagah [the land frontier], when you cross the same mustard field, the same earth, the same air, and just a few footsteps separate what used to be one country, but is now two, it’s profoundly moving. After, I went on to Amritsar and to the Golden Temple. It was such a poetic experience to be with so many other people and see, actually, how much unites people. Again, that was very moving for me. But even though there are so many people there, you do have the sense of it being a kind of meditative experience, as well as a community experience. I think, also, when you are not of a faith, going to a place of worship can sometimes make you feel quite like an outsider, and I didn’t feel that there. I wasn’t prepared for how peaceful and beautiful it was.

I think that if, like me, you love to travel, we can travel quite romantically. We think every experience is going to be a great learning experience, an introduction to a new culture. But sometimes it just goes wrong! I went to Rio with one of my best friends. We love South America, and after Cuba we thought, “Let’s go to Brazil." It was a disaster from beginning to end – a lost wallet, getting ill, feeling anxious – and we ended up buying entirely new tickets to leave two days early. It’s a good lesson that sometimes when we travel we can have unrealistic expectations.

Fatima Bhutto’s The Runaways (Vintage) and New Kings of the World (Columbia Global Reports) are on sale now