Split

Wandering the labyrinthine corridors of Diocletian's Palace-built as a lavish retirement pad by Emperor Diocletian, a man whose idea of retirement was less shuffleboard, more ruthless autocrat chic-is oddly delightful chaos. Far from a fenced-off archaeological relic, the palace is Split's lively beating heart, where centuries collide as enthusiastically as locals at the fish market haggling over octopus. Aim to dive into this fascinating mash-up early in the morning around 8 or 9 AM, before the cruise ships disgorge selfie-stick battalions. Plan ahead by at least a day, especially if you're eyeing a spot on a guided tour or a table at one of the quaint tavernas fashioned from the palace's ancient nooks. Budget-wise, set aside about 10-15 euros for a guided stroll (though wandering around lost and happy remains priceless), and pack sunscreen, good shoes, and a fully charged camera, because you'll alternate snapping photos of Roman columns and graffiti-tagged alleyways. Sure, it can feel surreal sipping espresso within walls that witnessed gladiators, emperors, and-more recently-the odd Game of Thrones extra, but that's exactly why you should go. Even if you're not a history nut, it's undeniably cool to casually tell friends you had breakfast in a UNESCO World Heritage site.

Embarking on a Game of Thrones tour is a bit like willingly joining a support group for those permanently scarred by "The Red Wedding"-morbidly fascinating but impossible to resist. You'll wander through cobblestone alleys and crumbling fortresses, places that once echoed with dialogue about dragons, dubious family trees, and disturbingly frequent beheadings. Best experienced early in the morning, before the army of selfie-stick-wielding visitors descends like White Walkers on vacation, planning ahead roughly a week or two should suffice-or longer if you're aiming for the full diehard nerd extravaganza. Budget about $50-$80 per person for a guided tour, although stocking up on snacks and bottled water is smart, lest hunger forces you into tasteless, overpriced tourist fuel. Armed with comfortable shoes, sunblock, and perhaps a foam sword for dramatic photo ops-if you're brave enough to endure the judgmental stares-you'll retrace the footsteps of power-hungry queens and morally conflicted anti-heroes. Even if you aren't able to remember the difference between Westeros and Winterfell by the end, you'll undeniably come away with a quirky anecdote or two-after all, nothing elevates dinner-table banter quite like recounting the day you stormed King's Landing in flip-flops.

Krka National Park is Croatia's answer to Eden-but with tour buses and speedos. Nestled in lush Dalmatian greenery, its network of plunging cascades pours with chuckle-inducing enthusiasm, as though nature itself is in on a joke you haven't quite grasped yet. Historically, this patch of paradise was home to monks, medieval fortresses, and enough folk legends to fuel a Netflix fantasy series, so feel free to imagine yourself suitably heroic (just don't bring a sword-park rangers frown upon it). Arrive ungodly early or rebelliously late-anything other than the mid-morning crunch-to avoid the hordes of selfie-stick wielding pilgrims. Plan a day or two ahead at the very least, bring 30 euros or so to cover entrance fees and necessary ice-cream bribes, and pack sturdy water shoes lest the slippery limestone make you look foolish in front of photogenic European influencers. Sure, swimming near Skradinski Buk waterfall has become the poster-child cliche of Croatian tourism, but there's a reason cliches exist. Taking that plunge into turquoise water while a waterfall thunders behind you is worth every elbow jab from fellow visitors and every euro spent-if only so you can smugly recount it later over beers, exaggerating just how daring, how intrepid-how unabashedly alive-you felt.