Today, we spent 11 hours hiking exploring Bryce Canyon National Park. I was surprised to see that it wasn’t very crowded at all, especially since it’s noted as one of the top two national parks tourists visit when coming to Utah. Bryce Canyon is most notable for its huge natural amphitheaters filled with endless hoodoos, which are strange long pointed geological structures shaped like deformed sticks or spires (or what Chris thinks look like upright penises with multiple cock rings). What is so striking about the hoodoos and the overall park is how the colors seem to change on the hoodoos depending on the angle you are looking at them from, and what time of day it is. We didn’t get to see the glowing oranges during sunrise or sunset, but as we walked around the amphitheaters during a blue sky vs. a grey sky, the colors looked very different depending on the sky and the angle of the view. The shades of orange, yellow, red, pink, and purple were at times more intense and at others, more subtle and nuanced. Some areas of Bryce Canyon resembled the Grand Canyon, while others clearly were a land of their own. I even overheard some other tourists say that Bryce Canyon “makes the Grand Canyon seem so boring!” I wouldn’t ever call the Grand Canyon colors and rock formations boring, but I completely understand why someone would say that after seeing Bryce’s endless hoodoos. They really do look as though they go on and on forever, and as far as the eye can see.

After 11 hours of hiking, our bodies were filled with the crisp and lush fresh air from the canyon, while our shoes and pants (and somehow, even my stud earrings) were covered in red sand and dust. I think we’ve set a record for the most number of steps done in a day on our Fitbits — over 35K miles and over 13.5 miles.

As an American, I am often embarrassed about a lot regarding this country — how little Americans know about and travel the rest of the world, our disastrous and disgustingly expensive (and ineffective) healthcare system, our lack of gun control and restrictions, our general prioritization of business and profit over actual lives, our high infant mortality rates and low competency levels for K-12 schools. As strange as it sounds, I think one of the things that makes me proudest of this country is all the beautiful and varied land we have here, particularly our national park system, which is so well maintained and full of diverse growth, rock formations, and bodies of water.

During this trip to Utah, we’re primarily here to visit Zion National Park and Bryce Canyon National Park, two very different parks in southern Utah that I didn’t even learn about until about four years ago when reading about the national park system and Utah specifically. Odd “hoodoo” rock formations shaped like pillars are all over Bryce Canyon, and because they are all grouped together over a large panoramic view in a canyon, in some ways, they almost make even more famous parks like the Grand Canyon seem plain. Zion kind of sounds like its name, some biblical paradise that has gorgeous red, yellow, pink, and purple rock formations with a sea of green plants and trees everywhere. Both parks have hikes of varying intensity, and we’re planning to do as much as possible to enjoy our condensed time here.

When I visit places like Zion or Rocky Mountain National Park, which we visited in November 2012, I feel sad for people who think there’s not much to see in the U.S. other than the cities and states along our east and west coasts. So much exists in this country that makes it unique and beautiful that we should be proud of and appreciate. These places are so stunning that all I can really think when I see them is… wow. The photos never give a full portrayal of the vastness of these places. Being there in person is what is so awe-inspiring. It’s just little us in these big, big parks and even larger world.

There are 58 national parks in the U.S. I wonder how many of them we will be able to see in our lifetime, if not all of them.

This morning, Chris and I visited the Cabrillo National Monument, which overlooks the Pacific Ocean and has a really spectacular cliff walk. The cliffs have these beautiful edgings from all the erosion that has occurred over the years. The actual Cabrillo statue at the site was pretty underwhelming; we mostly came for the cliff walk/hike and the ocean scenery, which did not disappoint one bit.

As we walked around the cliffs and along the edges, I thought about how comforting it would be to live in California again, to be this close to the Pacific Ocean and see views like this every day or every weekend whenever I wanted. The smell of the ocean and the sound of waves crashing — we don’t and can’t get that in the urban jungle that is New York City. And then the idea deflated immediately when I thought about being closer to home. Being closer to home is not a comforting feeling.

And that was when I started getting vertigo and couldn’t walk along the very edge of the cliffs anymore. All I could hear was my mother in my head, yelling at me for coming to a place like this where you could easily fall over and die.

When I was researching San Diego to see what we’d do here, I was getting bored of looking at TripAdvisor and looked to some travel blogs for some semi off-the-beaten path ideas. One of these ideas was what was labeled “the seven bridges walk,” which was supposed to be an interesting walk around the city or what the travel blogger called “an urban hike.” There are few changes in elevation, and the walk takes you to seven (actually eight if you count *all* of them) pedestrian bridges through the city. I thought it sounded like it could be different, so I put it on our list. And then as we went on it, I realized how annoying it was.

Not only was it a seemingly meaningless “hike” with little interesting to see, but it even backtracked and made us walk across a bridge… to then walk right back across it again to where we came from. What kind of “hike” is that?! If you ever try looking for “different” things to do in San Diego, by all means avoid this “walk” completely!

We would have been better off sticking with wandering around Balboa Park.

We’re spending a long weekend here since Chris was here for work this week, and the main thing on my list was to eat, eat, and eat. Of course, the ocean and sunsets also excited me, but San Diego screams Mexican food to me, and I barely remembered any of the food I ate the last time I was in San Diego, which was almost 18 years ago. Chances are that it wasn’t that good and was mostly touristy, too.

Last night when I came in, Chris took me to the Marriott Marquis hotel restaurant, where I hesitantly ordered the California wet burrito on the menu because I was craving burritos. I wasn’t sure what to expect of it until it arrived, but when it did and I took my first bite, I was thoroughly satisfied: the steak was grilled and cooked perfectly, and it was stuffed with guacamole, sour cream, and even French fries that managed to retain their crisp. This was a darn good burrito for a hotel restaurant.

Today for lunch, after waiting about half an hour, we went to a no-frills hole-in-the-wall restaurant in a more run down area of San Diego. We walked through tents and tents of homeless people to get there. The restaurant reminded me so much of the places I’d eaten at in Mexico — the plain tables, the minimal signage for the food, the cheap white plastic chairs. We had crispy chicken tacos, flautas, a tamale, and a “small” (it was quite large) helping of rice and beans with house-made flour tortillas. I usually don’t want flour tortillas, but these were the best and softest I’d ever had with just a slight char. This place couldn’t have been any better: they made all their own tortillas, made all the tacos to order, gave you ample cotija cheese, cilantro, limes, and onions, and even soaked chunks of pork fat into their hot sauce. And our massive lunch cost $15 total. It was like we robbed the place.

I wish we had Mexican food this delicious in Manhattan. I will be salivating about these meals for a long time.

I was headed toward my gate for my San Diego-bound flight this afternoon at JFK airport when I noticed two girls who couldn’t have been older than 13 checking their boarding passes and loudly speaking to each other. “They just announced they are boarding executive platinum and platinum fliers,” one of the girls said. “We’re platinum, so we should board now, too.” There wasn’t even a semblance of a line, just a big crowd in front of the “priority” and “main” aisles to board the flight, so I rushed ahead of them into the priority line, scanned my electronic ticket, and got on the plane.

As I sat on the plane, I thought about how crazy it was that these two girls who were barely teenagers had platinum status on American Airlines; that’s at least 50,000 miles flown each year, assuming economy class tickets and that we’re going by mileage only. I just started getting this level of status in the two years, and that was when I was 28. When I was 13, I had only boarded one dinky flight, and that was from San Francisco to Las Vegas. I wondered if they argued about their upgrades and tracked their frequent flier status all the time, too. It’s certainly a life I never had when I was that young. I also wonder if they try to talk about platinum status and frequent flier privileges with their peers, who have no idea what the big deal is and what all these terms even mean. Maybe one day I will have children who are like that, all because of the privileges that their mommy and daddy gave them.