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.