Southampton

Stonehenge is the kind of prehistoric mystery that humanity decided long ago was worth endless speculation, worship, and-nowadays-selfies with tourists who look slightly underwhelmed by the rocks themselves, yet somehow still awestruck by their own audacity in schlepping through the verdant Wiltshire countryside at dawn. If you want to dodge the tour-bus hordes and glimpse the stone circle as it was probably meant to be seen-a mysterious, brooding relic immersed in mist-then drag yourself out there early in the morning or just before sunset. Book ahead (weeks or months if you're aiming to catch the summer solstice, when druids, hippies, and amateur astronomers become one ecstatic mass of humanity), and prepare to shell out around 20 quid for entry (double that if you splurge on guided tours that promise quirky anecdotes and historical tidbits nobody asked for but secretly everyone loves). Bring layers, a waterproof jacket, and perhaps a thermos of tea spiked with something bracing, because Stonehenge's unsheltered hillside isn't known for mercy when it comes to British weather. Is it touristy? Absolutely. Is it overrated? A tad-but so were the pyramids to Napoleon until he got there. Regardless, there's something undeniably compelling about staring at ancient boulders stacked improbably upright by Neolithic hands 5,000 years ago, pondering all your life's existential questions, and then realizing you're mostly just cold, slightly damp, and hungry for chips. But, trust me-it's worth it for that moment alone (not to mention the bragging rights afterwards).

If your idea of sightseeing includes soaking up history while standing knee-deep in sand that once witnessed humanity's largest maritime invasion, then buckle up (and pack a decent jacket-Normandy's weather treats sunshine like a distant cousin it rarely sees). The Battlefield Experience Tour across Normandy's beaches offers the rare opportunity to trace the poignant footsteps of soldiers who stormed ashore on D-Day, swapping dry textbook narratives for gritty stories of bravery, chaos, and sheer human hubris. Book at least two weeks ahead-the tours might run overnight, but wartime nostalgia doesn't sleep, especially in summer-and plan to budget around €200 per person for the guided experience, lodging, and meals that probably won't earn Michelin stars but taste infinitely better when consumed within range of actual bunker remnants. Aim to go early morning; the half-awake, mist-shrouded coast is hauntingly atmospheric-picture Spielberg meets Monet, but with more barbed wire. Bring sturdy shoes, extra socks, bottled water, and your sense of humor, because nothing deflates the solemn dignity of history quite so swiftly as realizing you chose to storm Omaha Beach in flip-flops. Even if warfare isn't your usual cuppa, visiting Normandy's legendary shores makes for one hell of a dinner-party anecdote-after all, how often do you get to casually drop the phrase "When I was standing on Omaha Beach..." into conversation?