Sydney

If the Eiffel Tower and a spaceship ever got cozy after a few glasses of Shiraz, their lovechild would likely resemble Sydney's impossibly photogenic Opera House. On a guided ramble through its iconic ivory sails-architectural marvel or bizarrely elegant insect wings, depending on your wine intake-you'll uncover scandalous cost blowouts, feuds that'd put the Kardashians to shame, and an ambitious Danish architect who stormed off mid-project, never to return. Aim for the morning tour, not just to beat the selfie-stick-wielding throngs, but because there's nothing more satisfyingly Aussie than sipping a flat white beneath those gleaming tiles while seagulls cast judgmental glances your way. Book at least a week in advance and prepare to part ways with about A$45, worth every cent if only for the smug knowledge you'll wield at future dinner parties. Pack your shades, a refillable water bottle, and a healthy appreciation for scandal-and remember, even if architecture isn't your game, the story of one nation's multi-million-dollar headache turned beloved icon makes it absolutely worth the stroll.

If you've ever harbored fantasies of ascending a giant steel structure a la James Bond-but with a safety harness and fewer explosions-BridgeClimb Sydney is your ticket to glory and mild vertigo. Scaling the iconic Sydney Harbour Bridge, an engineering marvel born from the sweat, profanity, and sheer stubbornness of Depression-era workers, you'll rise 134 meters above the glittering harbor and the charmingly rowdy lanes of The Rocks below. Opt for early morning or twilight climbs to escape the merciless Aussie sun and catch the city in dreamy, golden-hour splendor, and book at least two weeks ahead, because spontaneity is overrated when harness and jumpsuit fittings are involved. Budget around $200-$300 AUD (no, adrenaline-fueled Instagram bragging rights aren't free), and remember: wear sturdy shoes, leave your fear of heights at ground level, and accept the indignity of the mandatory jumpsuit-everyone looks equally ridiculous, trust me. Despite the slight humiliation of realizing your legs are trembling like a newborn kangaroo, the climb pays dividends in breathtaking panoramas, properly edgy selfies, and the eternal privilege of smugly reminding your friends at every dinner party for years afterward.

Strapping yourself into the open cockpit of a vintage Tiger Moth biplane, a nostalgic contraption of canvas, wires, and sheer pilot bravado, might at first feel like an exercise in gloriously reckless decision-making. Invented in the 1930s by those ever-resourceful Brits as a wartime training aircraft, this storied relic now offers the bold and marginally foolhardy traveler a spectacular airborne adventure above Camden, Sydney's charmingly laid-back backyard. Early mornings are best for avoiding turbulence and snagging ridiculously photogenic sunrise panoramas, but let's be honest-any time you're hurtling through the air in what resembles a flying lawn chair is delightfully absurd enough to justify the slightly eyebrow-raising $300-ish price tag. Plan at least a week ahead to secure a flight, pack sunglasses, a scarf (for swagger, obviously), and nerves of steel (or at least moderate aluminum). Sure, there's more comfortable ways to get your aerial kicks, but none quite as poetic, precarious, or Instagram-bragworthy as buzzing Sydney's landscape in a piece of airborne nostalgia-if nothing else, it'll elevate your travel stories from mildly amusing anecdotes to legendary cocktail-party fodder.

Setting foot in Australia's Blue Mountains feels like stepping into a postcard painted by someone who had a little too much eucalyptus gin-breathtaking vistas punctuated by rocky spires named with a poetic flair ("The Three Sisters," as if the gods themselves got sentimental after a few beers). Just two hours out of Sydney, yet worlds away from its caffeinated bustle, this rugged wonderland has charmed explorers and baffled cartographers since Charles Darwin himself ambled through and wondered aloud which brave marsupial first thought cliff-jumping into those misty valleys was a good idea. To avoid the army of enthusiastic selfie-stick-wielding tourists, you should roll into the mountains early, when the morning mist still drapes lazily around the rock formations, or late enough in the afternoon to catch the sandstone cliffs glowing amber, as if lit by an impeccable Instagram filter. Pack sturdy shoes, layers (because Mother Nature here has mood swings), and a flask filled with something genuinely Australian-preferably whiskey distilled by a local who might regale you about legendary bushrangers or phantom panthers over a fireside chat. Budget at least $100 AUD for a modest day of train rides, snacks, and a hearty lunch at a pub where even the bartender sounds suspiciously Scottish. Come for the scenery, stay for the ghost stories, and even if your boots get muddy and your camera battery dies at precisely the wrong moment, you'll leave with a damn good tale to spin at the pub back home.