Huelva

Visiting Riotinto's Corta Atalaya isn't exactly your typical sightseeing jaunt-think less charming cobblestones, more epic Mordor vibes. Once Europe's largest open-pit mine, this gargantuan crater yawns open, discolored slopes cascading in surreal shades-rust reds, alien oranges, and unsettling greens-a vivid, visceral testament to humanity's relentless hunger for precious metals and minerals. Historically central to Spain's industrial boom, Riotinto originally fed the Roman Empire's appetite for copper before later satisfying British ingenuity during the Industrial Revolution (the Brits left behind their passion for cricket here, too-because nothing complements environmental upheaval quite like teatime and wickets). Your best bet is to swing by in the late afternoon, when the sun throws apocalyptic shadows across the landscape, turning your snapshots into instant Instagram fodder. Plan ahead-tours book out fast, and you'll thank yourself for grabbing tickets a few weeks early, especially during summer. Bring sturdy shoes, sunscreen, and a sense of irony, along with about €15-€20 to cover entry and an inevitable post-mine beer in Riotinto village. Sure, staring into the abyss of environmentally complicated capitalism might not top everyone's bucket list, but trust me, it's worth the existential contemplation alone-not to mention the endless mileage you'll get recounting the afternoon you gazed straight into Europe's biggest man-made hole.

If you've ever wondered why anyone would get excited about fish jerky, welcome to Isla Cristina-an unassuming Andalusian fishing town where the locals treat cured bluefin tuna, known as mojama, with the reverence usually reserved for saints or particularly talented footballers. Essentially, we're talking about a ruby-red, painstakingly salted, air-dried marvel that dates back to ancient Phoenician fishermen, who stumbled onto cured tuna as a tasty accident while navigating less-than-precise Mediterranean seafood preservation techniques. Today, mojama is Andalusia's culinary rock star, served sliced translucently thin, its intense umami hit creating a salty, smoky, melt-in-your-mouth reverie that's best washed down generously with a crisp local fino sherry. Go mid-morning before the crowds roll in, or around sunset to have your taste buds serenaded alongside the local gossip-just bring about twenty euros, your sunglasses, and perhaps a healthy skepticism toward the virtue of refrigeration. Sure, chewing through preserved tuna flesh under the fierce Spanish sun sounds more survival training than tapas tasting-but even if salty fish leathery enough to rival your sandals doesn't sound immediately appetizing, you'll walk away with bragging rights and an appreciation for Spain's culinary audacity.

Descending into the Aracena Cave of Wonders feels oddly like stumbling onto Mother Nature's private stash room-an eccentric vault dripping with stalactites that look like cathedral candles melted by Salvador Dali himself, stalagmites thrusting upward defiantly, and underground lakes glinting with a seductive, otherworldly sheen. Located in the sleepy Spanish village of Aracena, this subterranean marvel quietly mocks human endeavors aboveground, reminding visitors just how spectacularly minuscule their existence really is. It's advisable to book at least a week ahead, as cave enthusiasts tend to be fiendishly organized-surprising, given they're essentially eager to burrow beneath the earth. Aim for mid-morning visits to beat the crush of selfie-stick-wielding late risers; pack layers to fend off cave-chilled temperatures, comfortable shoes for navigating slippery paths, and around 15 euros for entrance-that's less than you'd spend on questionable tapas elsewhere. Even if you're mildly claustrophobic or suspicious of caves that resemble alien movie sets, the Aracena Cave of Wonders is worth braving-not least for the sheer pleasure of telling your friends you willingly descended beneath rural Spain to hang out in geology's best-kept secret.