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The English Garden (or Englischer Garten, for those of you who insist on showing off the B you earned in high school German class) is a massive public park located near downtown Munich.

It is called the English Garden because it harkens back to a sort of informal landscaping style that was popular in the U.K. during the 1800s. But mostly the name just served to confuse me because 1.) I was leaving for London the next day, and I kept thinking I was already there, 2.) I didn’t understand why everyone in London was speaking German, and 3.) I really, really wanted some tea with scones, and THERE WEREN’T ANY.

The level of disappointment I felt was severe, but not so bad as the time I found myself in Rome and realized that there were no churros to be found anywhere near the Spanish Steps. That was a dark day indeed. (Shudder.)

And still, despite the dearth of English sweets, I found the park to be delightful, which is no small thing. It may have helped that I had spent the afternoon eating my weight in candied almonds which I had purchased downtown.

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And it might have helped that Rand was there, too. That afternoon was one of the rare ones where my husband caught me as I was dashing in and out of our hotel room, learned where I was off to, and, after staring at his computer for a few long moments, said the words I always love to hear:

“I’m going with you.”

Next to “Let’s get gelato” and “I’m still hungry, let’s order something else,” there are few things that come out of his mouth that make my heart flutter more.

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You must forgive me, then, if my impression of the English Gardens is a little bit biased. If it seems like I saw the entire place through rose-colored glasses, it’s because I did. The sky was coral, the grass was green, and the air smelled of smoke and leaves and flowers.

We climbed up to the Monopteros – a small Greek temple on a hill. Dusk was approaching, and the temple was practically glowing in the later afternoon sun. There were clusters of people hanging around, smoking cigarettes and having intense conversations about (I assume) the deep and profound things that occupy the minds of Europeans.

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The light was near perfect. Had I been able to take a single in-focus photo … well, just imagine how amazing it would have been. Instead, I took these, which I’m still pretty happy about:

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If my heart had a twitter account, this would be its profile picture.

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And I took a series of photos during which I forgot that I was zoomed in:

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This is kind of amazing.

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The view of the rest of the park from up there was pretty fantastic, too …

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But I kept getting distracted, because in the fading light, Rand looked like the star of a black-and-white movie.

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Eventually, we headed down, to see more of the park.

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We walked by the creek …

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And past the Chinese Tower …

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And for a good while, we just wandered.

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Someone played a guitar, and someone juggled, and under a tree two people sat kissing. Believe it or not, it wasn’t even us.

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The English Garden is lovely. I can’t guarantee that you’ll like it as much as I did. But go on a sunny day, and go with someone who you love, and you might find that it’s the best place ever. Even if they don’t have scones.

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The Essentials on the English Garden in Munich, Germany

• Verdict: Yes. On a sunny day, this place positively glows.
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• How to get there: I’ve walked there from our hotel (the Hilton at Munich Park), but I’ve also taken the tram from Tivolistrasse. Plus there are several metro and bus stops along the park.
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• Ideal for: kids; joggers; picnickers; guys with beards and guitars; groups of young people playing hackysack.
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• Insider tips: the park is huge (larger than Central Park, in fact), so abandon all hope of seeing it all. Wear walking shoes. I’ve heard that during winter, there’s ice skating, and that you can rent paddle boats on the lake.
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• Nearby food: despite the lack of scones, there is no shortage of snacking in the English Garden. There’s a beer garden and restaurant near the Chinese Tower (one of four total throughout the park), and several other cafes and shops where you can get ice cream or a drink, and just sit and enjoy the day. I swear we wandered by a kiosk devoted solely to milkshakes, but I now think I might have made that up.
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• Good for kids: Absolutely. There’s plenty of places to run around, as well as playgrounds throughout the park (including one near the Chinese Tower).
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“We’re taking you to the Keeper of the Plains,” I was told, and there was little elaboration after that.

“Okay,” I said. “And the Keeper of the Plains is …?”

“You’ll see.” I must hand it to my friends. They know how to create suspense.

It turned out to be a 44-foot-tall statue of a Native American man standing at the crux of the Big and Little Arkansas (pronounced “Our Kansas”, for the record) Rivers in downtown Wichita.  A raised hatchet in one arm, its headdress and fringed pants seeming to blow in the wind, the statue looms tall over the nearby bridges and park that offer views of it and the river. It is a tranquil place, but as a white American woman from a devoutly-PC part of the country, I found myself looking around and thinking, “This is cool, right? We aren’t offending anyone?”

It’s the same twitchy concern that I suspect many European-Americans feel when they see anything relating to the Native Americans. The desire to raise up one’s hands and say, “Hey, we’re cool, right? I’m somewhat aware of all the atrocities that happened to the myriad of native peoples in North America, and feel that it ranks fairly high on the scale of genocidal heinousness, but you and I … we’re cool, right?”

The question usually goes unasked and unanswered. Instead, I simply try to appreciate where I am with a good measure of reverence and quiet nodding, and try to casually mention to anyone within earshot that my family has only been in the United States for 30 years or so, so really, I can’t be held accountable for anything. Never mind that no one is accusing me. Never mind that this is beside the point.

Putting aside America’s complicated and less-than-stellar history with the native peoples of North America, the statue, billed as one of the finalists for the 8 Wonders of Kansas (but not actually making the final cut), is worth a visit. Designed in the mid-seventies by Native American Artist Blackbear Bosin, the statue manages to not look out of place next to the decidedly modern suspension bridges that span the rivers.

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From the pedestrian-only bridges, you can get a fantastic view of where the rivers meet. This area was once home to the Wichita tribe, who considered the land sacred.

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Though it was closed when we reached the statue at sunset, the Mid-America All-Indian center is nearby, and features a museum with flags of the 549 sovereign tribes of the United States. Instead, we roamed around the surroundings areas and enjoyed the view while we waited for the 9pm Ring of Fire show.

I am ridiculously proud of this photo, despite the fact that it is underexposed.

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I found this spot of dried mud particularly fascinating – and no, there is no sarcasm to detect in that statement. I come from Seattle, where mud never, ever has a chance to dry. Indeed, it’s rare that there is dirt that isn’t mud.

Seriously, I've never seen anything like this outside of shows on the Discovery channel.

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It was slightly cooler by the river, and there are misters in the ground that shoot up gentle sprays of water. My friend’s three-year old pressed his hand against it and astutely noted, “It’s water.”

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I found it all surprisingly peaceful. The integration of the new construction with the old, the man-made features with the natural landscape – the result was downright harmonious. It made you want to pause and look around and take it all in.

Yeah, kinda like that.

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Even the nightly Ring of Fire show manages to not be terribly jarring or nerve-wracking, and it involves huge, gas-powered pits of fire that light up around the statue (considering that the day’s temperatures had peaked at well over 100 degrees, close proximity to a giant fire was not ranking high on my to-do list. I suspect it’s nice in the wintertime, though).

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If you happen to be in Wichita, it’s worth a stop. It’s the kind of place that you can appreciate with quiet reverence. Even if you happen to be three years old.

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The Essentials on the Keeper of the Plains statue and surrounding plaza:

Verdict: Recommended

How to get there: Bwah ha ha ha – you think I know my way around Wichita? I get lost on my way downstairs. (Okay, fine – it’s at 650 North Seneca, in the conveniently named Keeper of the Plains Plaza. You will obviously need a rental car.)

Ideal for: Families, bird-watchers (there are a few indigenous species hovering around the river), architecture lovers. The entire park is wheelchair accessible.

Insider Tips: The plaza does not offer a lot of shade, so choose a day when temperatures aren’t too extreme, or go in the early evening after the heat has died down. The nightly Ring of Fire show lasts 15 minutes, and starts at 9pm during Daylight Savings months (spring and summer) and 7pm during standard time (fall and winter). The show may be cancelled due to inclement weather, high winds, or if the depth of the river is deemed too high. If you want to visit the Mid-America Indian Center, you’ll have to arrive earlier (check their website for exact hours).

Good for Kids: We wandered around with my friends’ 3-year-old son, and while he enjoyed running around the area, there’s not a lot to stop a precocious toddler from hurling himself into the water, if he so desired (at one point his father declared, “I just know I’m going to end up diving in after him”). So keep a close eye on little ones, especially if they’re the adventurous sort. Older children should be just fine, and the statue/Ring of Fire show would probably be fun for them.

So much so, that at the close of every trip we take to New York, as Rand is packing up his bag, I usually say the following …

“Why are you bothering to do that, when we’re never leaving here?”

He smiles and reminds me that our home and friends and his work are back in Seattle, as is the rest of my wardrobe. And if we lived in New York, it would be in an apartment the size of a shoe closet.

With a sigh, I pack up my bags, and grumble something about rent control.

Of course, this scenario changes radically if we happen to be in the city any time between May and August. I do not fare well in hot weather. And by “hot”, I mean anything above 73 degrees. After my third shower of the day (brought on by a Lady-MacBeth-like desire to be clean) I will squeeze Rand’s hand, and gently whisper that if we do not get out of the sweltering concrete dungeon that is New York, there will casualties.

“You’re cutting off circulation to my fingers,” he replies sweetly (his is absolutely adorable when he winces in pain).

“I know,” I say, mere centimeters from his face. “And that will be the least of your troubles if you do not return me to the 70-degree bliss that is a Seattle summer.”

Recently, I found myself in New York with five hours to kill. Normally, this would be an unacceptably short amount of time. But considering that it summer, it was barely enough hours in which to not die of heat exhaustion. I contemplating spending it in a chilly museum, but I’ve done that so many times. I wanted something novel and grand. I wanted to see where New Yorkers went in the summer.

After soliciting suggestions from folks on Twitter, I decided to visit the Highline, the expansive above-street-level park that runs from the Meat-packing district up through to Chelsea (Note: I apparently do whatever anonymous people on the internet suggest. Please use this information with discretion.) Originally an elevated train track (built up high so that pedestrians at street-level would not be harmed), it is now filled with indigenous plants, wide walkways, ice cream vendors, and locals and tourists alike.

The cab driver I hailed looked at me like I was positively mental when I asked him to drive me there. From the climate-controlled comfort of his cab, I could see why. Any response besides, “Let’s just drive around for a few hours with the air on full-blast,” would have sounded mad. But the Highline would at least get me above street level, above the crowds and the heat of the sun bouncing up off the black asphalt, or so I reasoned.

Dear lord, people were wearing long jeans. I don't know how they did it.

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I’d been to the Highline before, but a brand new section of it had opened only days before – nearly doubling the park’s size. I walked up the steps, praying that the new section would offer shade (the one thing the older part of the park did not have).

The good news is, yes, there was shade.

See? Shade! I even got to stand in it.

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The bad news? The shade was hot. I KID YOU NOT. Up until that moment, I didn’t even realize that such a thing could be possible. The same buildings that cast a shadow onto parts of the park also block any pesky breezes that might interfere with one’s enjoyment of the 90-degree weather.

THE SHADE IS A SHAM. A SHAM!

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Still, the temperature up in the park was far more manageable than down below. And the park is, even in the sweltering heat – truly lovely. As a girl from the Pacific Northwest, I love my greenery, and it’s something I start to miss whenever I’m in Manhattan. The Highline offers plenty of it, even if, on Mondays and Tuesdays at least, you can only look at.

I understand the need for this, but still found it perversely funny.

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Notice the lawn here is blocked off. The sign says it’s so the lawn can recuperate after a busy weekend, but I like to think it’s so the grass doesn’t escape and run amok on the streets of New York.

The Highline: where New Yorkers can look at plants without the inconvenience of having to touch them.

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I imagine that if the lawn had been open, the Highline would have been more crowded than it already was. There were people everywhere, eating ice cream, glugging from enormous bottles of water, and profusely sweating. I fit right in.

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The new section of the park offers a lot more places to sit, and, in my opinion, has better views than the old section.

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It’s a strangely surreal thing to see this elevated garden cut through the city, a green band running through the concrete jungle of the West Side.

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There’s even wildlife. I mean, actual wildlife. On the streets of New York, the closest you’ll see to indigenous fauna is the occasional rat, a few pigeons (or sky rats, as I like to call them), and a couple of girls in leopard print skirts (well done, ladies). But with the expansion of the Highline comes bird feeders! With actual birds inside!

The birds are camera shy. But they were there. BELIEVE ME.

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There was also an origami one, in the event that a real one didn’t show up. Gotta hand it to New York – there’s always an understudy available.

I like that it resembles a tiny chicken.

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I found the new portion of the park to be much lusher than the old section of the Highline. Outside of Central Park, there are few places in the city that offer than much plantlife. Things are alive and growing.

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If you angle your camera juuuust right, you can almost pretend you aren’t in New York anymore …

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But really, considering how much the city has to offer, why would you ever want to do that? I mean, unless it’s the middle of summer.

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The Essentials on The Highline:

Verdict: Recommended. Though I’d check the weather before heading out. It’s definitely nicer on a cooler day.

How to get there: There are a slew of buses and subways that will get you close to there, but you will likely end up walking a block or two (most of the trains stop at 7th or 8th; the Highline is on 10th). Or if it’s really hot, you can be a weenie and cab it, like I did. There are entrances to the park on roughly every other block, but not all of them are wheelchair accessible (though the park itself is).

Ideal for: Strollers; walkers; photographers; anyone who needs a bit of peace above the din of the city streets. Dogs are not allowed.

Insider tips: The park is open from 7am to 11pm daily. I’ve found it’s much less crowded very early and very late in the day. The lawn at 23rd street is closed on Mondays and Tuesdays, as well as after heavy rains, for rehabilitation. Wear comfy shoes and bring your camera.  Remember to stay on the paths, and don’t pick or disturb the plants or wildlife.

Nearby food: There are a few ice cream and drink vendors in the park, but naturally that gets a little pricey. There’s also The Lot: a street level “plaza” (ahem, parking lot) in the shadow of the Highline that features food trucks and free events, but it’s supposedly only around for the summer. And, of course, you can always bring a picnic with you.

Good for children: Yup. You’ll want to make sure little ones stick to the paths, but other than that, they should be fine.