San Francisco is a city of contrasts—rich and poor, mansions and tents, skyscrapers and towering trees. It’s a bustling tech hub yet a nature-lover’s paradise. It’s a city teeming with people, yet it manages to maintain a neighborhood feel. It's a “big” city, all wrapped up in 49 square miles. One of my favorite places makes me feel as though I’m worlds away from tech giants and big stores, far from the crowds and noises of the city: Lands End, where trails wind through trees far above the sea and where sweeping views of the Golden Gate Bridge reward nearly every step.

I’ll confess: In all my travels to San Francisco, I had never made it to Alcatraz. Part of me wondered if it would be a bit “too” touristy and overhyped. Among all the other potential day trips and places to visit, Alcatraz simply never made it to the top of my list—that is, until this past March. The verdict: Wow. Just wow.

I was lucky enough to be exploring on a weekend, when the fort was open (in the spring, it’s open Friday-Sunday). For the next hour or more, I explored every nook and cranny. I wondered about what California must have been like years prior, when the fort stood guard even before the Golden Gate Bridge became the city’s sentinel. I wandered inside its arched walls as the rain slowed to a steady drizzle and, then stopped, making way for clearing skies. From within the brick walls to atop the fort itself, I took it all in—the bridge from every angle, including underneath!. From this incredible new-to-me vantage point, I wondered how I had never made my way here before.

To say that Muir Woods is “beautiful” is an understatement. Maybe “staggering” is more apt. It’s easy to feel so small and young among the tall and old trees. Coastal redwoods rise from the ground, stretching far into the sky. I craned my neck, pointed my lenses, and still, I could not do these trees justice. With the rain falling and the moist air, the clean, pure smells of the forest filled me. I felt grounded. Calm. With every step, I reaped the wonderful benefits of forest bathing.

My “jet-setting” life was certainly not glamorous. Yet, as the taxi or the Uber made its way from SFO or OAK toward the city, I took it all in. As I walked the mile from my hotel, The Metro—(truly, my home away from home), each Saturday to and from classes, New Hampshire and my life there seemed miles away—3,138, to be exact.