Devils Island

If your idea of a cheerful holiday involves haunting stone ruins and tales of human misery that'd give even Dostoevsky pause, then a visit to Devil's Island-once France's most notoriously grim penal colony-is your new favorite detour into the macabre. Splayed across a lush, deceptively paradise-like isle off the coast of French Guiana, these decaying prison walls whisper the dark secrets of inmates desperate enough to plunge into shark-infested waters, preferring toothy death to endless suffering. Mornings here are best, when sunlight slants through tangled jungle foliage, illuminating crumbling cells once occupied by villains, political scapegoats, and a few miserable innocents caught on the wrong end of imperial bureaucracy. Plan your devilish jaunt at least a week ahead, allocate around $50 for transportation and guided storytelling with a suitably grim-faced local guide, and pack mosquito repellent-lots of it-plus a sturdy pair of walking shoes (flip-flops will just earn you contemptuous looks from the iguanas). Sure, you might leave mildly unnerved, sweaty, and wondering why humanity ever thought exile via tropical torture was a reasonable judicial solution-but the unsettling history lesson, eerie ambiance, and bragging rights you'll earn ("Oh yes, I've spent leisure time on a notorious prison island, haven't you?") make it perversely worthwhile.

If the phrase "guided canopy walk" conjures an image of cozy bridges and gentle strolls, think again. This Amazonian escapade places you on narrow, swaying walkways suspended dizzyingly high above the forest floor, allowing you to peer down at the insect metropolis below while secretly praying the monkeys overhead aren't plotting your humiliation. Early mornings are your best bet; that's when the rainforest's quirky residents-think toucans channeling eccentric old aristocrats and sloths impersonating lethargic philosophy professors-are most actively gossiping amidst the branches. Book at least a week in advance to secure a knowledgeable guide who can distinguish between edible berries and neurotoxic fruits, and budget around $50-$80 per person, which is considerably cheaper than helicopter rescue. Bring sturdy walking shoes, reliable insect repellent, and a few extra granola bars in case your stomach starts growling louder than the howler monkeys. Sure, you'll sweat buckets, second-guess your vertigo, and question your sanity a half-dozen times-but standing eye-level with birds born to mock gravity in one of the most biodiverse corners of the world makes it entirely worth the humiliation. Even if your Instagram story is mostly sweaty selfies and blurry insects, you'll dine out on your daring canopy exploits for years.

If you've ever dreamed of tempting fate by baiting a line for something that could just as easily nibble back, a piranha fishing expedition is your ticket to glory-or glorious embarrassment, depending on your luck. Found lurking ominously beneath the murky depths of South America's Amazonian and mainland coastal rivers, these notorious pint-sized predators gained a bad rap courtesy of Theodore Roosevelt, who painted them as ravenous, bloodthirsty fiends. In reality, they're more skittish opportunists than relentless killers, although those razor-sharp teeth will inspire a healthy respect at the mere sight. Aim to embark on your misadventure bright and early-piranhas bite best in the cooler, shadowy hours of dawn, which conveniently frees up the afternoon for nursing your pride or celebrating your catch. Plan at least a few days ahead to secure an experienced guide who can spin suitably terrifying tales about locals losing toes and foolish tourists tempting fate. Bring along $50-$100 per person for a guided half-day affair, a decent hat, insect repellent, and nerves of questionable steel. Whether you haul in a trophy catch or just snag weeds and sunburn, you'll return with bragging rights-because how many people can casually claim they've spent their morning fishing for the toothy terrors of South American legend?

Drifting through the inky waters of a South American tributary aboard an overnight riverboat feels like stumbling into a Werner Herzog documentary narrated by David Attenborough-only your narrator is a sunburned guide named Jorge, who swears that piranhas are "mostly harmless." As your vessel chugs lazily along the Amazon tributaries, jungle sounds crescendo into a nocturnal symphony, each shriek and splash fueling imaginations already primed by adventure-hungry wanderlust and too many nature documentaries. Historically, these mighty waterways served as highways for indigenous tribes, ruthless smugglers, fortune-seeking rubber barons, and overly ambitious explorers whose final journeys ended abruptly and ignominiously (and not always accidentally). Book at least a month in advance, and aim to depart around mid-afternoon-this lets you savor the sunset over palm-lined horizons without feeling rushed. Count on budgeting about $100-$200 per night, enough to secure basic comfort without detaching entirely from authenticity-meaning mosquito nets, hammocks, and the occasional questionable stew included. Pack bug spray, a flashlight, and perhaps some local rum to share with newfound friends when the stars blaze brighter than you've ever seen. You'll return sweaty, sleep-deprived, and slightly paranoid about insects-but oh, the stories you'll have about that time you braved the jungle darkness, survived Jorge's terrible jokes, and drifted along riverbanks echoing with the primal heartbeat of the Amazon.