Limassol

Standing boldly in the heart of Limassol's crooked Old Town streets, the Limassol Medieval Castle isn't content just being another crumbling pile of stones-oh no, this is where in 1191 Richard the Lionheart, after casually invading Cyprus, married Berengaria of Navarre and promptly declared her Queen of England. (Never mind that Berengaria never actually stepped foot in England-this quirky historical footnote makes for a superb pub trivia comeback.) Today, the castle doubles as a museum, housing artifacts that span centuries, including Byzantine coins and ominous medieval weaponry, all suitably rusted to impress on your Instagram feed. Plan your sortie either early morning or late afternoon to sidestep the fierce midday sun and wave after wave of tour groups brandishing selfie sticks like medieval lances. The castle is compact, ideal for a spontaneous detour rather than meticulous month-long planning, and €5 should comfortably see you through the gate. Bring sunscreen, a sense of irony, and your finest historically inaccurate Game of Thrones quotes. Even if medieval history (or Richard's dubious marital exploits) doesn't set your heart racing, the anecdotes you'll collect from strolling within castle walls once occupied by lion-hearted kings and reluctant queens will be worth the meager admission alone.

There's something irresistibly thrilling-and delightfully modestly macabre-about plunging into the watery graveyard of the Zenobia Ferry, a hulking Swedish-built vessel that sank off Larnaca's sun-soaked shores in 1980 with its cargo of trucks, whisky, and, one assumes, a surplus of Nordic melancholy. Ranked as one of the finest wreck dives on the planet, the Zenobia now hosts legions of curious divers eager to swim through its eerie corridors, imagining themselves Indiana Jones with flippers-minus Nazis, and (hopefully) snakes. To savor Zenobia's moody allure without battling the crowds, slip beneath the waves early at dawn, when ethereal morning light filters through portholes, illuminating truck cabs and ghostly cargo decks in Spielberg-worthy melancholy. Plan ahead-reserve your spot at least a few days in advance with a reputable dive center-and budget around €100-€150 for a couple of dives, including gear rental. Pack your underwater camera, a dive torch, and a sense of cynical whimsy. Whether you surface deeply moved by historical grandeur or just irreversibly creeped out, the Zenobia delivers the kind of eerie exhilaration that's worth every cent-and, at worst, makes an unbeatable anecdote over happy-hour ouzo.

Sampling Commandaria wine in Cyprus is less a tasting and more a pilgrimage-albeit one that may leave you tipsily pontificating about crusaders, medieval feasts, and how you've somehow become a connoisseur of the world's oldest named wine variety. This amber elixir, first popularized by the Knights of St. John back in the 12th century, carries whispers of history and a devilishly sweet punch hidden beneath silky layers of honey, dried figs, and a mischievous touch of spice. Visit a rustic winery tucked among the olive groves and sun-baked hills of the Limassol region, ideally around late afternoon or early evening, when golden sunlight slants through ancient cypress trees to complete your Instagram-worthy backdrop. Reserve at least a week ahead-in Cyprus, hospitality means leisurely pacing and storytelling-and budget around €15-30 for tastings, pairing platters, and a bottle or two for souvenirs (trust me, your future dinner guests will thank you). Pack some Iberian-level sunglasses, sensible shoes (cobblestones have ruined many an ambitious wine drinker), and perhaps a notebook-because Commandaria has a way of awakening deep philosophical musings on life, crusades, and why humans spent centuries perfecting fermented grape juice in the first place. Worth doing? Absolutely-if only to return home as "that one friend" who casually drops, "Did you know the Knights Templar practically invented dessert wine?" at every dinner party.

If your idea of adventure is rattling along dirt roads astride a belligerent donkey whose stubborn sensibilities rival your Aunt Mabel's at Thanksgiving dinner, then take yourself to the dusty trails of Apesia. Donkey safaris-an endearing and slightly absurd throwback to simpler times-allow travelers to experience Cyprus in the same way farmers have done for centuries: slowly, grumpily, and occasionally with considerable swearing. Apesia, a sleepy hamlet nestled amongst olive groves and rolling hills, provides the perfect backdrop for this journey. Aim for early morning or late afternoon; your donkey (and your backside) will thank you for avoiding the midday heat. Book at least a week ahead during peak summer months, set aside roughly €30-€50 per person depending on your tolerance for rustic comfort, and come equipped with sunscreen, water, and a healthy dose of humility. Sure, it's kitschy as hell, mildly uncomfortable, and your mount may occasionally halt to snack or stubbornly refuse progress altogether, but therein lies the charm. You'll leave Apesia with stories of donkey-induced indignities and panoramic countryside scenes-making it well worth the price of admission and the temporary bruising to your dignity.

As evening settles gently over the Troodos foothills, you'd be wise to abandon sobriety, sensibility, and your overly ambitious fitness tracker-you're here to stay overnight in Cyprus' legendary wine villages, where the entire population seems blissfully impervious to rush hour, global crises, and low-carb diets. These charming hamlets-such as Omodos, Lofou, and Vasa-are idyllic remnants of traditional Cypriot life, each stone alleyway steeped in centuries of grape-stained history and delightfully resistant to modern urgency. Arrive in late afternoon, leaving enough daylight to wander sun-dappled cobblestone streets, then surrender your evening to lengthy, wine-laced dinners at family-run tavernas, sampling the crimson-hued Maratheftiko and crisp white Xynisteri wines, Cyprus's proud and surprisingly potent gifts to humanity. Book at least two weeks ahead, especially in peak grape-harvest season (late August and September), and budget about 100 to 150 euros for comfortable lodging, indulgent meals, and enough vino to keep your storytelling fueled for months. Pack water, sturdy shoes for navigating medieval paving stones, cash for tiny tavernas that consider credit cards suspicious, and aspirin-trust me on that last one. Do this not because you need another picturesque Mediterranean escape, but precisely because you don't. You need a story of wine-induced revelations under ancient olive trees, unscripted philosophizing with intoxicated village elders, and that one glorious morning when you wake up unsure of your exact location but absolutely certain you've lived your best life.