The most important train station in North America probably isn’t what you’re picturing.

And yet: it’s the busiest passenger rail hub in the Western Hemisphere.

More than 600,000 people passed through this station daily before the pandemic. In 2024 alone, Amtrak handled more than 12 million passenger boardings here—making it the company’s highest-traffic station by a significant margin. Add in Long Island Rail Road and NJ Transit commuters, and you’re looking at a transportation facility operating at nearly three times its designed capacity.

This is what happens when you tear down a Beaux-Arts masterpiece in 1963 and replace it with a sports arena sitting directly on top of your railroad tracks.

How We Got Here (and Where “Here” Is)

The original Pennsylvania Station, completed in 1910, was designed by McKim, Mead & White—the same architectural firm behind some of America’s most iconic buildings. It was glorious. It provided direct rail access to New York City from the south for the first time, with soaring waiting rooms modeled after Roman baths and a train concourse that made arrivals feel monumental.

Then came the automobile age, declining ridership, financial pressure, and a decision that The New York Times later called vandalism. Between 1963 and 1966, the station building was demolished. Madison Square Garden rose above it. The Two Penn Plaza office building followed. The rail operations moved underground to the cramped subterranean facility we know today.

Located beneath the Garden and bounded by 7th and 9th Avenues, 31st and 33rd Streets, today’s Penn Station spans two full city blocks across three underground levels of concourses and 21 shared tracks. It’s open 24/7, though with limited services between 1 AM and 5 AM.

The station is owned and operated by Amtrak, which acquired it in April 1976 following Penn Central’s bankruptcy. But ownership doesn’t mean exclusive use; those 21 tracks serve three separate rail operators with very different needs.

Three Railroads, One Station

Amtrak uses Penn Station as its New York hub for intercity service along the Northeast Corridor and beyond. Before Moynihan Train Hall opened, Amtrak passengers accounted for roughly 5% of daily ridership, a small share but crucial for connections to Boston, Washington, D.C., and cities along the Eastern Seaboard.

Long Island Rail Road (LIRR) brings suburban commuters from across Long Island into Manhattan. With the 2023 opening of Grand Central Madison as part of the East Side Access project, some LIRR trains now terminate there, helping relieve pressure on Penn Station.

NJ Transit connects New Jersey communities to Manhattan, handling the largest share of daily commuters. NJ Transit passengers primarily use the western concourse beneath Madison Square Garden—the old main waiting area from the original station, though few remnants of that grandeur remain.

The tracks are shared strategically: tracks 1-4 are western-facing stub ends primarily used by NJ Transit, while tracks 5-21 provide through-running capability and access to the East River Tunnels (for LIRR service to Queens and Long Island) and the Empire Connection (for Amtrak trains heading north up the Hudson).

It’s a complex ballet of scheduling, with each track used roughly every two minutes during peak periods.

Enter Moynihan: A Second Chance at Grand

On January 1, 2021, exactly five years ago, Moynihan Train Hall opened across 8th Avenue, occupying the entire historic James A. Farley Post Office building between 31st and 33rd Streets.

Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan championed this project starting in the early 1990s, recognizing that the Farley Building—also designed by McKim, Mead & White to complement the original Penn Station—offered a rare opportunity. As he famously observed: “Where else but in New York could you tear down a beautiful Beaux Arts building and find another one right across the street?”

The $1.6 billion transformation took decades of planning and political will. What emerged is a 486,000-square-foot complex featuring a 92-foot-high glass skylight above the main concourse, with natural light flooding spaces designed a century ago to move mail rather than people.

Moynihan increased Penn Station’s total concourse space by 50%. It provides access to 17 of the station’s 21 tracks, all of which serve Amtrak and LIRR. The train hall is open daily from 5:00 a.m. to 1:00 a.m.; outside those hours, operations shift back to the original Penn Station across the street.

For Amtrak passengers especially, Moynihan represents a dramatic improvement: dedicated ticketing, baggage claim, a spacious waiting area, and the Metropolitan Lounge for premium passengers. The boarding experience feels less like navigating a basement and more like using a proper world-class rail terminal.

LIRR passengers gained new ticketing and customer service facilities open 6 AM to 10 PM daily, though the LIRR’s main concourse remains in the original Penn Station structure.

Unfortunately, NJ Transit passengers don’t have direct access to board at Moynihan, as tracks 1-4 don’t extend into the new facility. They can exit through Moynihan if arriving on tracks 5 and above, but departures remain tied to the old Penn Station concourse.

Connecting the City (and Beyond)

Penn Station’s power isn’t just about the trains—it’s about what you can reach once you’re here.

The station connects directly to multiple subway lines: the A, C, and E trains via 8th Avenue, and the 1, 2, and 3 trains via 7th Avenue. The PATH system (connecting to New Jersey) has a station at 33rd and 6th Avenue. Local buses serve the area at multiple points around the complex.

Walk east and you’ll find yourself in Midtown Manhattan’s core business district. Walk west through the Penn District and you can access the High Line elevated park, Chelsea’s galleries and restaurants, Hudson Yards’ newer development, and Hell’s Kitchen’s diverse food scene.

For air travelers, there’s a dedicated AirTrain information kiosk in Moynihan helping passengers navigate connections to JFK, Newark Liberty, and LaGuardia airports.

The Future: Metro-North Joins the Party

Construction is currently underway on the Penn Station Access project, which will fundamentally change how the region moves.

For the first time, Metro-North Railroad, which currently serves New York’s northern suburbs exclusively through Grand Central Terminal, will gain access to Penn Station. The project routes some New Haven Line trains via Amtrak’s Hell Gate Line through the Bronx and into Penn Station, creating four brand-new stations in the East Bronx: Co-op City, Morris Park, Parkchester/Van Nest, and Hunts Point.

Initially targeted for completion in 2027, the project has been delayed due to access issues affecting construction on Amtrak’s Hell Gate Line infrastructure. Current estimates suggest completion could slip to 2030, though MTA officials stated in late 2025 that three of the four stations might still open by 2027 if Amtrak expedites track access.

The impact will be significant: residents of the East Bronx, currently without direct rail service, will save up to 50 minutes daily in commute times. Passengers from Westchester and Connecticut will have direct access to Manhattan’s West Side, NJ Transit connections, and everything else Penn Station offers.

It’s another layer of connectivity for a station that already serves as the transit spine of the entire Northeast.

Why This Matters

Penn Station handles more passenger movements than any other rail facility in North America, yet it remains deeply flawed. The underground portions are still cramped, confusing, and far from the welcoming urban gateway a city like New York deserves.

But here’s what’s remarkable: despite operating well beyond its designed capacity, despite the challenges of coordinating three separate railroads, despite being wedged beneath a sports arena—it works.

Over 12 million Amtrak passengers chose trains over planes or cars for their trips. Hundreds of thousands of commuters rely on LIRR and NJ Transit service through this station daily. The numbers keep growing.

Moynihan Train Hall proved we can create beautiful, functional transit spaces even when working within the constraints of historic buildings and complex ownership structures. The Metro-North expansion will further demonstrate that investing in regional rail connectivity pays off in reduced commute times, environmental benefits, and economic development.

Penn Station isn’t perfect. It may never recapture the grandeur of the original. But as the beating heart of intercity and commuter rail in America’s largest metropolitan area, it’s doing something essential: moving people efficiently across a region where that kind of connectivity shapes everything from where people live to how businesses operate.

Sometimes the most important transit infrastructure isn’t the prettiest. It’s just the most necessary.

Getting There: Penn Station is located beneath Madison Square Garden, between 7th & 9th Avenues and 31st & 33rd Streets. The Moynihan Train Hall entrance is at 421 8th Avenue. Multiple subway lines provide direct access, and the station is within walking distance of much of Midtown Manhattan.

For more details on Moynihan Train Hall, visit moynihantrainhall.nyc.

The post Penn Station & Moynihan Train Hall: New York’s Transit Heartbeat first appeared on Vector+Vista.

Except twenty minutes became forty. Then an hour. By the time I transferred to the northbound train heading to Burbank Airport North, Southwest had rebooked me onto a direct flight to Midway.

Most people would’ve been relieved. I was tracking a different kind of loss.

The original routing—Burbank to Phoenix, then Phoenix to Chicago via Louisville—wasn’t the fastest way to get where I was going. I picked it because it worked with my morning: a mid-morning departure meant I could take the train instead of dealing with a car. My 7:30 PM arrival meant my friend could pick me up on their way home from downtown without me inconveniencing anyone. And yes, the routing itself mattered to me. Phoenix to Louisville isn’t a segment I’d flown before, and probably wouldn’t get another chance to fly. It was one of those uncommon opportunities that Southwest’s network sometimes creates.

But now? Direct flight. Practical. Efficient. And completely erasing the one thing that made this trip interesting to me.

When the train pulled into Burbank Airport North that November morning, I could’ve called the airport shuttle. Instead, I walked. The weather was spectacular in that eerie way Southern California mornings sometimes are—a thick fog bank hanging over everything, softening the edges of the San Fernando Valley.

I stopped to photograph these trees along the way—leaves shifting from deep purple to green to yellow in this perfect gradient. Couldn’t not capture that. Called my friend who was picking me up later that evening and told her about the rebooking. She was relieved I’d be on time. I was still processing.

Stopped at McDonald’s for breakfast. Hadn’t had that in a while. Then it was a quick ten-minute walk to the airport.

Security wasn’t bad, but the gate area was chaos. Nearly every inbound Southwest flight was running an hour to ninety minutes late because of the fog. People were camped out everywhere, resigned to the wait. The irony wasn’t lost on me: the flight I’d been rebooked onto—the one I didn’t want—was leaving on time.

Standard flight across the United States, nothing remarkable about it. We landed at Midway. I walked to arrivals and, out of curiosity, looked up what had happened to my original flights.

The first one, Burbank to Phoenix, had finally arrived about forty-five minutes after my Phoenix to Chicago flight departed. I would’ve been stuck in Phoenix. So the rebooking had saved me from a misconnection. Fine. At least there was that.

But then I noticed something strange about that second flight. I pulled up its flight path and watched the route it had actually flown. The plane left Phoenix, heading northeast toward Louisville, as it was supposed to. But somewhere over western Kentucky, the path turned sharply northwest, cutting straight for Chicago. It skipped Louisville entirely.

I opened Google News and found the answer immediately: Louisville’s airport was closed. A UPS cargo flight had crashed just after taking off a few hours prior. The airport was shut down. My flight—the one I would’ve been on if the fog hadn’t delayed me out of Burbank—had been diverted mid-flight.

I stood there at Midway, waiting for my friend, taking in what I was reading. If everything had gone according to plan—if there’d been no fog, no delay, no automatic rebooking—I would’ve been on a plane that turned around mid-flight. I would’ve landed back in Chicago, but hours later, on a flight full of confused and frustrated passengers, after sitting through whatever chaos that diversion created. Or maybe I would’ve been stuck in Phoenix, waiting for a different flight to get me to Chicago.

The fog that ruined my routing had kept me out of something far worse. And I had no idea it was happening until it was over.

I don’t know what to do with that kind of timing. There’s no moral here, no lesson about trusting the universe or whatever. It’s just strange to realize that the thing you spent the morning thinking about, a delay you couldn’t control, a rebooking you didn’t want, turned out to be exactly what you needed. Not because it was more convenient. Because it kept you out of something you didn’t even know was coming.

At the end of the day, I had a flight that got me where I needed to go. That’s all that really matters. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about that fog bank over Burbank, and the flight path that turned northwest over Kentucky, and the strange way those two things connected without me having any say in either one.

I keep thinking about those trees I photographed that morning—the way the leaves shifted from purple to green to yellow without any clear line between the colors. Just a gradient. You couldn’t point to where purple ended, and green began. That’s what that day felt like. I couldn’t tell you the exact moment when a delay became the thing that changed the whole situation. It just… happened. One thing became another thing, and I only understood it in reverse.

Sometimes the reroute is the route.

The post When Weather Writes the Flight Itinerary first appeared on Vector+Vista.

Recently, their advertising agency, Lucky Generals, produced another ad emphasizing that being oneself is the best thing, and they are here to support you in being you. Take a look at the latest advertisement.

And if you missed the first spot in the series, here it is.

The post Virgin Atlantic Sees the World Differently first appeared on Vector+Vista.

My first trip to Portland was in early spring, when the cherry blossoms along the waterfront were starting to bloom. I stayed downtown, walked everywhere, and immediately noticed the city’s rhythm: slower, softer, but still humming with life. Powell’s City of Books was my first stop (of course), and I lost hours wandering the labyrinth of shelves. Since then, Powell’s has become a ritual—like visiting an old friend who always has something interesting to say.

On later visits, I started digging deeper into the neighborhoods. Alberta Arts District stole my heart with its murals, boutique shops, and killer brunch spots. Over on Division Street, I became mildly obsessed with Salt & Straw ice cream (yes, even when it was 45 degrees and raining), and I had one of the best meals of my life at a cozy corner spot where the chef greeted every table like family.

What I love about Portland is that it doesn’t try too hard. It’s cool, but it doesn’t boast. It’s got grit, but it’s warm. People ride bikes in the rain. Strangers say hello on the street. And there’s a quiet kind of magic in the way moss clings to the trees and buildings—like nature never gave up its claim.

I’ve explored the city by foot, bike, bus, light rail, and streetcar. I’ve sipped lattes in minimalist cafes, browsed farmers’ markets overflowing with wild mushrooms and local honey, and tucked into dive bars with pinball machines and cheap beer. I’ve wandered Forest Park’s misty trails and watched the sunset from the Pittock Mansion, where the city looks like it’s been tucked into a forested dream.

Portland isn’t flashy. It’s thoughtful. It’s layered. It’s a place that welcomes you back like an old friend—ready to show you something new if you’re paying attention.

And that’s why I keep returning. Because in Portland, I can slow down. I can breathe. And I can remember that the best kind of travel doesn’t always mean going somewhere new—it means seeing a familiar place with fresh eyes.

The post Returning to Portland: A Love Letter to the City of Roses first appeared on Vector+Vista.

But I like that I still have these holdouts. It means I still have places to wonder about. And maybe the best kind of travel is the kind you anticipate.

So here they are: the final seven states on my list—and a few reasons I’m looking forward to in each of them.

Tiny but mighty. Delaware always seems to get overshadowed by its neighbors (looking at you, Pennsylvania and Maryland), but I have a soft spot for the overlooked. I want to walk through the colonial streets of New Castle, get a taste of local life in Wilmington, and dip my toes in the Atlantic at Rehoboth or Bethany Beach. I’m drawn to places that feel like time slowed down a little, and Delaware gives off those vibes—bonus points for tax-free shopping and a surprisingly rich brewing scene.

Yes, somehow, I still haven’t made it to Maine. Other northeastern states, but not Maine, yet. I know—I’ve romanticized it enough in my mind to practically feel like I’ve been. Lighthouses on rocky cliffs. Pine forests, quiet lakes, and coastal towns that lean into their salt-weathered charm.

Portland (Maine, not Oregon this time) is high on my list, but I also want to get beyond the city: maybe Acadia National Park, a few sleepy fishing villages, and an old bed-and-breakfast where I can drink coffee while wrapped in a wool blanket. I have a feeling I’ll love it so much I’ll wonder why I waited this long.

Nebraska doesn’t usually make the top of people’s must-visit lists—and that makes me want to go even more. There’s something about the Great Plains that makes you think about space, silence, and the long rhythms of the land. I want to see the sandhill cranes in flight over the Platte River, drive past fields that ripple like golden oceans, and feel what it’s like to be truly in the middle of the country.

Plus, I’ve heard Omaha is full of surprises: good food, strong art, and a sense of hometown pride that runs deep. Lincoln too. Nebraska might be quiet, but I suspect it’s also quietly beautiful.

Oklahoma is one of those states that’s been just out of reach—I’ve driven near it, around it, even flown over it—but never actually stopped to explore. And the more I read about it, the more intrigued I get.

Oklahoma City is going through a creative boom, with public art, food trucks, riverfront parks, and revitalized neighborhoods that feel fresh without forgetting their roots. I want to explore the National Museum of the American Indian, eat spicy fried chicken in a neon-lit diner, and see how cowboy culture and modern design coexist. Oklahoma feels like one of those places with more depth than people give it credit for—and I’m ready to find out.

Rhode Island feels like a secret you stumble into. Small enough to drive across in under an hour, but full of charm, history, and that salty New England grit I love. I want to wander around Providence’s old mills turned into galleries and cafes, explore the college town energy of Brown University, and eat clam cakes by the water without worrying about getting sand in my shoes.

And Newport? I’ve heard it’s like stepping into a different century—with Gilded Age mansions and coastal cliffs begging for a long walk. Rhode Island may be small, but I suspect it’s packed with personality.

South Dakota is wild in the best sense of the word. I’ve seen photos of the Badlands and the Black Hills that stop me in my tracks—alien landscapes, dramatic skies, bison silhouetted against rust-colored cliffs. I want to drive the open highways, visit Mount Rushmore to say I’ve done it, and stand beneath the granite spires of Custer State Park with no cell signal and no rush to be anywhere else.

There’s something freeing about those wide, empty spaces. I’m ready for big sky moments, winding scenic roads, and that weird joy of roadside attractions in the middle of nowhere.

Vermont is the state I’ve been romanticizing for years. Maple syrup, rolling green hills, old barns, covered bridges, and small towns that smell like wood smoke and cinnamon. It sounds like a Wes Anderson set I never want to leave.

But beyond the postcard charm, I’m drawn to the state’s spirit—independent, artsy, and deeply tied to the land. I want to stay in a little inn with a fireplace, visit the original Ben & Jerry’s factory (yes, seriously), hike a trail with more trees than people, and just let the quiet soak in. Vermont feels like a place that makes you slow down and pay attention in all the right ways.

Final Thoughts

Having seven states left to visit doesn’t feel like a gap—it feels like a gift. It means I still have stories I haven’t heard, landscapes I haven’t seen, and flavors I haven’t tasted. It means there’s still wonder waiting, just down a road I haven’t taken yet.

So here’s to the last seven: small, vast, overlooked, and surprising. I’m coming for you. Maybe not all at once. Maybe not on schedule. But definitely with curiosity, a camera, and a good pair of walking shoes.

The post Seven States I Still Haven’t Been To—And Why I’m Excited to Get There first appeared on Vector+Vista.

When I traveled on Wednesday, June 30, the weather was playing a bit nicer than it had a few days prior. Coming into Denver, there were a handful of bumps and cumulus clouds that we jumped around. While waiting for my connecting flight to Chicago O’Hare, the clouds started to move into the north and east of the airport. Knowing how things had gone the days prior, one could begin to wonder if we soon were going to be experiencing a weather-related delay. The weather stayed at bay, but instead, my inbound aircraft was delayed because of the weather in Chicago where it was coming from.

Despite the inbound delay, we only departed about an hour behind schedule. We took off to the east, which meant that we were likely going to be doing some fancy footwork to get through, above, and around the storms in the area. Our climb out of Denver took a bit longer than normal to start the cloud dance. Before long we were making some strong banks to the north and northwest to keep things as calm as they could be.

After some time, we reached our cruising altitude of 27,000 feet, which is a bit lower than normal. But seeing the clouds around us, there was clearly weather dotting the plains below us. Instead of flying directly east towards Chicago, we took a more northern route over Iowa. It was around here that we cruised up to 32,000 feet and stayed there through our descent into the Windy City.

As you can see from the pictures below, it was a neat climb out from Denver as there were plenty of clouds and shadows to enjoy.

While sitting at the gate, the aircraft started getting a bit warm because the APU (auxiliary power unit) wasn’t working on the aircraft, which meant that we had to wait for the engines to be started because the A/C and such would kick in. I had an exit row seat on this flight, and this specific aircraft was one of American’s that still has the at-seat entertainment. With the seats at the exit rows, the screens fold down for safety reasons. While my screen turned on and off, it, in fact, didn’t actually work. After resetting the screen multiple times, it still didn’t respond to the touch, oh well.

My in-flight crew was quite awesome though. They were all very pleasant and professional throughout the entire flight. Especially since they were the crew that brought the aircraft in from Chicago where they waited at the gate without cool air for quite some time because of the weather moving through the area. In-flight service is what it is at this point. Water, sodas, and pretzels. I’m looking forward to actual food items returning to flights.

Flight Details:
Flight: American Airlines 2363 | Airbus A321-200 (N118NN)
Route: Denver-Chicago (DEN-ORD) | Dp 6:39 p.m., Ar 9:59 p.m.
Seat: 12F

The post Heading Out of Denver + Dodging Some Weather first appeared on Vector+Vista.