First, I love the East Coast, where I’m currently living.

I’m within a good driving distance from many state parks, a short road trip away from the Blue Ridge Parkway, and it doesn’t take long to drive to my favorite coffee shop this side of the Mississippi (Land of Thousand Hills, you know). I do still plan to move to Asheville after graduation and try to work for the Biltmore Estate. I love the rolling hills and the modest mountains and the wonderful vegetation that grows over here.

But oh did the West Coast challenge that love.

Let me explain:

I recently ventured from my home in Atlanta to Vancouver, British Columbia where my best friend relocated to last year (this was my only reason for setting foot onto that plane, let me be clear). My first ride ever on a commercial jet (Yes, I’m 23 and have never traveled by plane, but I took care of that now. Am I an adult yet?) put me in Toronto first and Vancouver second, but once I got there, my heart was instantly torn. The vastness of the Pacific Ocean. The acres and acres of squared off farmland. THE MOUNTAINS—I may have cried more than once just at the sheer beauty of things.

I remember my friend saying how the mountains greet her every morning on her way to work and how there are ALWAYS snowy peaks. She, too, was instantly captured by the breathtaking beauty that surrounds that city when she first moved there.

Now, this trip being my furthest North, furthest West, and my most recent time being in a new country, I noticed some things. It literally seems like every other car on the road is a Porsche (and when it’s not a Porsche, it’s a Tesla). There is a Starbucks on every block (Hello, West Coast). The exit signs are green. Plastic carrier bags at grocery stores are suddenly costly. Gas is expensive. Vancouver is expensive. Suspension bridges are everywhere. The trees are lovely (oh, the trees). It can get hot. The coffee tastes better (oh, what an objective observation). There are bodies of water in random places.

And the farms surrounding the city and suburbs produce noxious aromas at certain times of the day that put dairy farms in Knoxville in the heat of August to shame.

But twist your head in any direction (except for, obviously, in the direction of the ocean), and the jagged mountain peaks with their snowy caps just capture your heart. One of my favorite things to witness was the silhouettes of the ginormous Vancouver skyscrapers dwarfed by the background of mountains. Again, I may have cried (make fun, if you must).

This adventure was primarily fueled by lots and lots of coffee and sheer excitement. I’ll spill the details of our coffee outings around town in the next post.

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Major nature outings are obviously a must in this region of North America (Hello…mountains). So, the Capilano Suspension Bridge was very high on our to-do list. And, oh my gosh, the expense is so worth the experience!

Like much of the Northwest, it’s a photographer’s paradise. Winding pathways. Tall, tall trees. Wonderful rainforest vegetation. The Bridges. What I’m pretty sure is considered a creek (though it seems like a steady river going down the gorge) runs underneath this one main bridge that stretches so long beyond the two cliffs. Going across the first time wasn’t too bad but returning yielded some interesting navigation between crowds that were loaded onto the bridge. All at once. All were trying to steady themselves enough to get a good picture of the mountains beyond. Once across the bridge, there was a system of other bridges and walkways that guided us through the trees and vegetation, and then up into the trees. I didn’t cry at those sights, but I came close.

There’s also a “cliff walk” that we did that sent us suspended over the edge of the cliff to look at the water below. Those were cool points. We got out her glass lens sphere prop and took some really neat photos there (trying our best to stay shaded, as refracted sunlight, we harshly found out, will singe our hands through that glass ball).

We traveled East early one morning, after witnessing a beautiful, streaky sunrise in Fort Langley, to visit a small community around Cultus Lake. I could easily live there. Small, unique bungalows all gathered together. And the mirror-like lake reflecting the hills in the early morning light? Oh, I was in heaven.

Unfortunately, we had arrived a bit too early to experience some of the sights there since we had gotten up for an early sunrise (the campground gates were all still closed and locked from the night). All of it was okay, however, because we were quite hungry.

And lastly, we got to explore Golden Ears Park, a mysterious land that existed beyond the big suspension bridge that we would just miss to visit her work and church. This was seriously dreamland for me.

I’ve always seen moody pictures of roads flanked by tall cedars and douglas firs that lead straight and disappear into a mysterious mountain peak shrouded in snow and clouds. And I got to see those views (albeit without the moodiness or the clouds because it never rained while I was there—shocked was I too!). Having to look up to see crooked, snowy pinnacles through the trees is something I wish I could experience every day. It’s just so cool.

Through the woods, I reached a “creek” that the trail follows up to a waterfall. Another “creek” because the rushing, roaring water seemed to be anything but staid flowing water. The wind carrying spray everywhere near that overlook and, again, the tall, tall trees rising over the rocky sides made this scene so picturesque and beautiful. Just like all the pictures I’ve ever seen of the Northwest.

There’s a beach there too. It’s made of rocks, but a beach no less. Mountains are rising all around you, and through two specific peaks (kind of like the sphynxes in the last scenes of a Never Ending Story), snowy ranges lay in the distance. The first time we came, the beach was shrouded with people. But the second time yielded a much calmer environment for me to simply sit and think (not about my impending flight home, anything but that).

Even waiting at that gate to go home, I got a front row seat to one of the most gorgeous sunsets I’ve ever witnessed. The colors of the setting sun illuminated the background of the mountains’ silhouettes. And it was good. So, so good.

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This trip gave me many first experiences: my first commercial plane ride (my first four actually), first time going all the way West across the country, my first time going to Canada, my first time seeing the Pacific Ocean. So many firsts. And I really learned something about myself that I never would’ve suspected five years ago: my need to travel and see things. The areas around my home on the East Coast are great and beautiful. But the world is much, much bigger than Tennessee and the Carolinas (not that I didn’t know that before, I just have context now).

So I’m thankful for the cool things I got to witness. Not to say I’d love it more than my current plan to move to Asheville in the future. But one my new friends offered me a room in British Columbia.

And I haven’t stopped thinking about that sincere offer since.

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The Bones of J.R. Jones—Hearts Racing

Monica Heldal—Boy from the North

Old Man Canyon—Phantoms and Friends

Blue Water Highway Band—Best Friend

The Oh Hellos—Passerine

Lord Huron—Secret of Life

Adele—River Lea

The Paper Kites—On The Train Ride Home

The Head and the Heart—Rivers and Roads