Boston

There are stadium tours, and then there's the Fenway Park Tour: a bucket-list pilgrimage to America's oldest Major League cathedral, where, since 1912, generations have come to worship at the altar of baseball and booze-soaked nostalgia. Sure, it's cliche to gush about the Green Monster-the terrifying 37-foot-high left-field wall-but cliches exist for a reason, and in this case, that reason is a century-old giant looming awkwardly above Lansdowne Street, taunting hitters like some brick-faced Bostonian deity. Go early, ideally before noon, to beat crowds and catch the ballpark basking in sunlit splendor (read: looking prim and distinguished before the evening hordes descend and drown it in beer and bravado). Book online at least a week ahead-locals and traveling fans fill these slots quicker than bargoers claiming barstools near closing time. Expect to spend about $25 per adult, and don't forget sunglasses, comfortable shoes, and enough cash for a souvenir or two because baseball nostalgia, especially the Red Sox brand, doesn't come cheap. Even if baseball's about as thrilling to you as reading tax law in Esperanto, go anyway-if only to stand where Ted Williams once swung, curse playfully at the ghost of Babe Ruth, or recount your journey into the heart of Sox Nation for the rest of your life, exaggerating details as tradition demands.

There are few experiences more paradoxical-and perversely delightful-than willingly signing up for nausea-prone hours of scanning a monotonous horizon, hoping fervently for an aquatic mammal to momentarily break the sea's surface. But here's the dirty little secret: whale-watching off the waterfront is genuinely thrilling, offering a primal reminder that humans are, at best, politely tolerated visitors in nature's grand theater. Embraced by salty winds and the dulcet cries of enthusiastic tourists ("Is that-Oh. Never mind, just seaweed."), you'll discover that the Atlantic is both ancient storyteller and fickle showboat. To maximize your odds, book a morning tour-when whales skim nonchalantly near the surface like hungover partygoers-and do it at least a few days in advance, budgeting roughly $50-$100 per person. Pack layers (the ocean breeze has a cutting sense of humor), snacks to appease your inner cynic, and binoculars to feign expertise. Even if you spend three hours spotting little more than a suspiciously whale-shaped buoy, trust me, the sheer possibility of encountering a 40-ton mammal lunging magnificently skyward makes this nautical gamble entirely worth the anecdote.