Saint Petersburg

Boarding the White Nights Festival Cruise in St. Petersburg is like stepping into a strange, luminous dream, flavored with equal parts vodka-soaked revelry and cultural gravitas. Amid the almost perpetual twilight, the sun refuses to fully retire, casting Nevsky Prospect-and indeed the entire city-in a restless, ethereal glow reminiscent of Dostoevsky's insomnia-fueled wanderings. As you glide along the Neva River past mirrored palaces, onion domes, and grandeur-soaked bridges, you'll bounce between folk music and ballet numbers that seem charmingly stuck in a different century. Book a few weeks ahead (these cruises fill quicker than a shot glass at a Russian banquet), arrive just before midnight to maximize the surreal spectacle, and budget around 50 to 100 euros to ensure your ticket includes bottomless drinks and at least one plate of caviar-topped blini. Do pack layers; Russian summers are notoriously fickle, and the crisp nighttime breeze can bite harder than a babushka's scolding. Whether you're captivated by the hypnotic Nordic luminosity, seduced by the romantic theatrics, or simply amused that you can drunkenly wave at Pushkin's statue without total darkness to hide your indiscretions, the White Nights Cruise is unquestionably worth your rubles-even if it's just for the endlessly repeatable story of the night you partied while the sun stubbornly refused to set.

At exactly 11 a.m. in the lavish gardens of Peterhof Palace-Russia's brazenly flamboyant answer to Versailles-over 140 fountains burst to life in a delightfully splashy symphony of imperial excess. Built by Peter the Great, who never met an extravagance he didn't enthusiastically endorse, the Grand Cascade Fountain Show is a glittering testament to baroque bravado, powered (remarkably enough) entirely by gravity, without a single pump in sight. To dodge the thickest crowds and secure prime gawking territory, arrive by 10:30 a.m. and stake out your spot like an aristocrat safeguarding prime real estate at court. Plan this aquatic spectacle a few days ahead, stash a waterproof camera, and budget for around 1500 rubles, including admission and transport. Sure, it's overly grand, slightly surreal, and unapologetically touristy-but where else can you witness gold-plated gods and brazenly nude nymphs frolicking beneath sprays of water, propelled entirely by sheer imperial ambition and Newtonian physics? Even if palace fountains aren't normally your thing, the Peterhof show is worth the spectacle, if only to say you've been drenched-metaphorically or otherwise-by Russian history itself.

Sailing out to the Fortress Kronstadt on Kotlin Island feels suspiciously like infiltrating the set of an abandoned Bond villain lair, minus the tuxedos and death lasers-though you should probably bring sunglasses and sturdy shoes anyway. Built by Peter the Great in a bout of paranoia-fueled ambition, this naval fortress stands firm in the Gulf of Finland, dripping with salty tales of heroism, mutiny, and simmering revolution. Best approached in the early morning, before tourist groups swarm and sunlight mercilessly exposes the Soviet-era rust, you'll wander between hulking cannons, cavernous bunkers, and walls patterned by decades of Baltic sea spray and neglect. Plan at least a week ahead-Russian bureaucracy waits for no adventurer-and budget around $50 per person, covering the guided tour and ferry ride from St. Petersburg. Pack a good jacket (even summer days in the Gulf can turn icy), water, snacks, and an appetite for dark historical irony. Whether you're an enthusiast of naval drama, urban exploration enthusiast, or just a connoisseur of obscure histories, a day at Kronstadt is worth every ruble, if only for the chance to say you've poked around an imperial fortress once pivotal enough to command seas, now quietly resigned to commanding Instagram hashtags.