A paved road leads all the way up to the crater, the one the Spanish baptized “La Boca del Infierno.” The landscape changes from lush and verdant to dry and rocky, only short, little patches of grass and a few stubby bushes managing to survive. When I get out of the van, the sulfur smell makes me recoil just as the volcano draws me in. I reach the crater quickly. When I peer over the rock wall that borders it, I feel awe-struck at the sight. Giddy and woozy and awe-struck. The crater descends quickly, rocky for several hundred feet, and then a huge, gaping hole with gases rising out of it in a thick, constant stream. The massive hole glows red at the bottom, where the lava seems to undulate like waves. My eyes sting, and I start to cough, and I realize I can’t stand inside the cloud of gases much longer.

Notre-Dame at Night

We managed to see Notre-Dame on our last night in Paris. I had visited it years before as a college student, but that felt like a long time ago. We approached it by crossing a bridge from Île Saint-Louis, the custardy taste of mille-feuilles still in our mouths, and then passed by a long partition. This time around Notre-Dame was both an iconic attraction, an 850-year-old sacred site, and a construction zone. When we reached the front and crossed the street where suddenly the chatter of people and blare of traffic were louder, there she was lit up in nearly all her glory. It was simultaneously magical and heartbreaking because we got to see Our Lady, and I was able to see it again after all those years, but it was post-fire and the spire and roof were gone. Still, I stood in the crowd and soaked it all in because I knew I wouldn’t be back for a long, long time—also heartbreaking.

Parque Central, Granada

Granada's Parque Central is flanked by two-story, columned buildings in Easter-candy colors. It would look like a Disney attraction or the set of a movie except for the weathering—wet, dark tracks that begin at the ground and creep upwards. The first time I saw it, when Calle La Libertad ended and opened into the park, I reeled. I'd seen this square before but only in pictures, lots and lots of pictures, and seeing it in real life was uncanny. I looked over my shoulder for cars or motorcycles and crossed the street, immediately recognizing the squat trees with waxy leaves manicured into blunt rectangles, the fenced-in fountain with its lemon yellow trim and pale turquoise water, and the coral gazebo that sits in the middle of the park like the pendant on a cameo necklace. But the weathering, that was more prominent than in pictures; in fact the heat, which my light coat trapped against my skin, and the rain, and the weathering they created, were all more noticeable than I had imagined. But they made Granada more real, more wholly itself—not something I could have ever imagined from pictures or travelogues. 

Mont Saint-Michel

A rocky island sits at the edge of a bay, sometimes on land, sometimes surrounded by water. It's said that forces exerted by the sun and moon control the tides, and you definitely sense heavenly bodies at work on this sometimes-island. From a distance, the stone paths, walls, and surrounding blockade merge with the mossy rock that supports them. Once inside, the many hallways, paths, windows, towers, and rooms give the impression of so much more to explore on this small patch of land, while up on the roof, you take in expansive views of silt planes. Despite the noise and busyness of a major tourist attraction, your skin tingles at the idea of being stranded on Mont-Saint Michel, nothing but water in every direction, the sounds of monk chants reverberating off the walls and disappearing into the bay.

Sunset Boulevard

As I walk down Sunset Boulevard toward Chateau Marmont, I notice a proliferation of the color pink. Raspberry lips on billboards, fuchsia bougainvillea spilling over cement walls. Pepto-Bismol and magenta façades. Bubble gum and carnation and cotton candy. Pink, pink, pink. Once I notice it, I can't not see it. Even the name has me thinking pink. It's a wild revelry, a carnival of color, that says more, more, more.

Cinque Terre

As I walked the worn trail toward the village of Vernazza in Cinque Terre, I looked toward rugged mountains on the one side, some painstakingly cultivated by traditional farmers, and a steep, rocky drop to mermaid green water on the other. You feel half-tempted to respond to that deep-sea Siren call with one wide-armed jump, but are pulled back to reality by dusty earth, terraced vineyards, and a well-trodden path to a colorful, welcoming village.

Breckenridge, Colorado

On a clear winter day, we went snowshoeing outside Breckenridge, and as the sun began to set, we wound up a narrow road to a little motel at the top of a nearby mountain. We settled in for the night, our legs aching and our skin salty-smelling, with the snow falling lightly outside. The next morning, pure white covered the ground, shrubs and trees, and ski trails across the valley and contrasted with the evergreens—eye-straining brightness reflecting the sun's rays.

Yosemite National Park

When we drove into Yosemite, everything more than fifteen feet away from us was obscured by a thick layer of mist. It was like entering another world. On a narrow, winding road, we headed further into the park, where the tops of steep cliffs were completely hidden behind fog. The next day, I woke up prepared for more cold weather, but the sun was unobstructed. As beautiful as the scenery had been the day before, I was eager to see Yosemite on a clear day.

Gore Creek, Vail

It was early October, and I didn't expect to have to fight my way through a snowstorm to reach Vail. I also didn't expect to wake up to 26 degrees. But this view, framed by a rickety wooden bridge, almost made it worthwhile. As the cold air bit at my cheeks and nose, I leaned over the bridge and stared at the blazing aspens, the snow covering the riverbank and weighing down the evergreen trees, and the early morning sunlight on the water. Only later did I notice the spider web interlacing the beams—the little flaw that turns pretty things into beautiful things.

The Queen Mary

We walked through the habor toward the Queen Mary on a foggy day. Later, on the tour, we wound deeper and deeper into the ship, past gauges and steering wheels, restaurants and cabins—always expecting to see the ghosts of gloved and hatted passengers around the next bend. Then we resurfaced, like divers coming out of the dark sea, and took a walk on the planked deck before closing out the afternoon with a cocktail at the Observation Bar.

Glenwood Springs, Colorado

During a weekend trip to Glenwood Springs, Colorado, I stood at the edge of the natural spring pool. I could smell the wet concrete. I could almost feel the fresh water on my skin—cool in this pool, warm in the neighboring one. Across the water, chairs lined up like flamingos, and the resort's red roof and red flowers blended in with the mountain's red rocks. I was almost transported to another time, half-expecting to see ladies in one-piece suits and wide-brimmed hats lounging in the chairs or soaking their feet.

Tunnels Beach, Kauai

The first full day of our trip to Kauai, we woke up to miraculous sunshine, having driven through thick rain all the way from the airport the day before. We packed up and headed straight to Tunnels Beach for sunbathing, swimming, and snorkeling. I strode down the hot sand until reaching the water—the temperature of a warm bath—and then kept on walking. I slipped the goggles over my eyes and put my mouthpiece in and then, with a quick breath, I entered a breathtaking underwater world, opaque and emerald colored. Spindly reefs hiding whole colonies of sea creatures stretched out into the ocean and reached up toward the surface. I saw a sea turtle pass below me. Jewel-toned fish swam around me, scattering when I got too close—except for a bright blue and yellow one, who swam alongside me, inching closer and darting away, like some aquatic Pan.

Circus Flags

This summer, a good friend of my husband's held his wedding reception at a traveling circus. The big top glowed white against the darkening sky, and flags from all around the world waved as proudly as queens. Paper ticket stubs in hand, we walked down a red carpet spread out over soft grass toward the tent, where the smells of popcorn, hay, and manure replaced those of grass and dirt.