Gudhjem

Hidden among windswept pines and crumbling cliffs outside picturesque Gudhjem, the ruins of Roverborgen-literally "robbers' castle"-beckon intrepid adventurers and history nerds alike, rewarding their climb with some Baltic intrigue and Instagram envy. Built by medieval brigands whose hobbies included looting, feuding, and spectacularly bad hygiene, these mysterious ruins still whisper of pirate retreats and long-lost booty hidden in shadowed alcoves (or so the enthusiastic local bartender assured me after my third aquavit). Set out early in the morning or just before sunset, when the golden rays slice dramatically through the jagged stonework and the sea breeze is just brisk enough to make your jacket feel justified. Bring sturdy shoes, a fully-charged phone, snacks, and maybe a flask of Bornholm's local spirits to toast the ghosts of Viking rogues-budget just enough kroner afterward for pastries and coffee in Gudhjem as a delicious reward for your archaeological bravery. Even if you're skeptical of pirate legends and possess zero navigational skills, Roverborgen's views alone justify the hike; plus, casually dropping "I explored a forgotten medieval robbers' den overlooking the Baltic last weekend" into casual conversation never fails to earn you priceless bragging rights.

Cycling around Bornholm isn't just a leisurely pedal down quiet Scandinavian lanes-it's your chance to become the protagonist of your own Danish indie film, complete with windswept hair, charmingly quirky locals, and possibly existential musings about the meaning of life (or at least the meaning of pickled herring). Bornholm, Denmark's easternmost outpost, has been invaded by Vikings, pillaged by pirates, and swapped hands more often than a second-hand IKEA bookshelf. Today, however, it stands gloriously tranquil, a mesmerizing medley of rocky Nordic coastline, whimsical coastal villages, forests thick enough for trolls, and fields that look suspiciously Photoshopped. Plan your odyssey a few months ahead-Bornholm is deceptively popular with Danes, Germans, and the odd enlightened wanderer from further afield, and accommodation can get snapped up quicker than free beer at Oktoberfest. Set aside at least three days to savor the experience-ideally starting each morning at a lazy hour when the morning mist has begun lifting and the smell of pastries wafts from quaint bakeries. Budget generously-expect to fork out around 100 euros per day, factoring in bike rentals, comfortable lodging, and, most crucially, copious quantities of smoked fish sandwiches and local craft beers. Don't even think about leaving without sunscreen, rain gear, and your best padded shorts-your future self will thank you. Yes, your calves may hate you. Yes, a Baltic breeze might attempt to blow you clear off the coast and into Poland. But trust me, pedaling the quiet circumference of this island gem isn't just a ride-it's an existential pilgrimage accented with rye bread, maritime breezes, and sneaky schnapps tastings. Worth it? Absolutely-if only to smugly drop into conversations afterward, "Oh Bornholm? Yes, it's amazing this time of year."

Somewhere on the breezy outskirts of Nexo, far from stuffy Scottish cliches, stands the Baltic Whisky Distillery-a fiercely independent spirits outpost stubbornly defying geography and logic alike. Bornholm, a windswept Danish island better known for smoked herring and absurdly charming pottery studios, might feel like an unlikely whisky Mecca, yet here it sits, gleefully thumbing its nose at tradition. Arrive mid-afternoon when the distillers have hit their stride, aromas are richest, and fellow visitors haven't yet dulled their palates with too many tastings. Plan ahead by a week or two if you favor thorough guided tours (whisky nerds swarm seasonally like mildly intoxicated locusts), and budget around 30 euros-just enough to sample unique Nordic-infused drams while patiently nodding as your guide passionately explains the alchemy of Baltic barley. Bring water and salty snacks-trust me, whisky tasting without edible ballast can quickly take you from connoisseur to cautionary tale. Even if smoky single malts aren't usually your thing, this quirky Viking twist on whisky-making will gift you just enough bragging rights to comfortably annoy your whisky-snob friends-worth every single drop.

Spending the night on Ertholmene-better known to locals and map-makers as Christianso-is like stepping onto the set of a delightfully obscure Scandinavian Wes Anderson film, minus Bill Murray, regrettably. This tiny Baltic archipelago, clinging defiantly to Denmark yet stubbornly autonomous in spirit, once served as a vital naval fortress during the Great Northern War. Today, its military past feels like a distant memory-though the austere stone ramparts remain, now inhabited primarily by nesting seabirds who seem to regard visitors with polite disdain. Book several weeks ahead (months, if you're aiming for the brief Nordic summer), pack provisions accordingly-remember, these islands scoff at convenience stores-and budget around 600-900 Danish kroner per night, unless you can charm one of the few accommodating locals into bartering fresh fish for your dubious storytelling skills. Arrive before sunset to watch the Baltic twilight drench the lime-washed cottages in melancholic perfection, and bring layers-Baltic breezes don't care about your itinerary. Overnighting on Christianso rewards you with crisp air, unparalleled silence, and bragging rights for having stayed someplace even Vikings deemed too remote. It's the kind of beautifully absurd adventure you'll find yourself name-dropping at dinner parties long afterward-partly because it's fascinating, mostly because hardly anyone else will have done it.