Europe has no shortage of places worth seeing. From iconic landmarks to little corners of the countryside, there is always a new page to turn. Some of the places that stand out most, though, are not always the ones we initially imagine when planning a trip. Sometimes they come from taking a different path, deciding at the last minute, taking on something we weren't quite prepared for, or pushing ourselves to do something we never thought we could.
I’ve been fortunate enough to travel extensively throughout Europe for well over a decade now, seeing the continent by land, sea, river, train, and even on foot. I’ve always been grateful for these moments, and I share them not because I’ve cracked the perfect code of traveling, but because each one has taught me something greater than myself. These five keep a special place in my heart. My hope is that they might inspire you to look at your own travel list a little differently. Maybe it becomes less of a list to complete and more of an invitation to leave room for the unexpected.
There are plenty of wonderful guides for a first visit to Europe. This is not one of them. Instead, we’re going to look at going beyond the ordinary and finding ways to make even a first trip feel like something uniquely your own.
01 — Discover
A Place of Your Own
Sometimes discovering a place is less about finding something new and more about finding somewhere that feels entirely your own. That was the feeling we had at the Isle of Eriska. We arrived in the rain, as you sometimes do in Scotland, but somehow the weather only seemed to make the whole experience feel even more Scottish. With acres of land to wander and the shoreline stretching out around us, there was no particular place we needed to be. We could walk along the water looking for shells, follow the nature trails, come across a few cows along the way, or stop for a while and take it all in. Even breakfast became part of the experience, lingering in the conservatory surrounded by blooming hydrangeas and watching the rain beyond the windows. There was something wonderful about not wondering what we might be missing somewhere else. For a few days, I found a sense of contentment in what was right in front of me, and a deeper gratitude for the simple gift of being there.
02 — Wander
Follow Your Curiosity
Cinque Terre is the kind of place that invites you to get a little lost. The streets of its five villages don't simply wind; they climb, descend, twist, and seemingly change direction at every turn, revealing colorful umbrellas outside cafés, beautiful churches, and glimpses of everyday life framed by the terraced hillsides that tell the story of generations of farming. In Vernazza, I climbed the tower for a different perspective, while along the coast I watched the waves roll beneath the boats anchored offshore, lifting and lowering them with the swell. And then there was the food: a lunch of mussels and trofie, homemade lemonade when the sun grew strong, and, in Vernazza, a surprising introduction to the anchovies the region is known for, particularly in nearby Monterosso. Even the steep stairways had their own way of making you stop and look around. They can certainly be a challenge if you're not accustomed to them, but that's part of what makes wandering here so enjoyable. You don't always know what you'll find around the next corner, and there is something wonderful about following your curiosity to find out. Sometimes the best way forward is to release a little control, let curiosity guide you, and see where it leads.
03 — Go Further
Find What You’re Capable Of
I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I set out from Chamonix to trek the full Tour du Mont Blanc. Eleven days, three countries, and terrain far more demanding than anything I was accustomed to. I remember reaching Le Brévent on that first day, sitting down for a picnic, and thinking I had conquered the hardest part. I was so captivated by the view that I lingered far too long, only to discover that the descent could be every bit as challenging as the climb. A wrong turn added another hour, and I arrived at my refuge late that evening, dehydrated, drenched in sweat, and wondering what I had signed up for. Most nights I would study the map for the next day and think, “That doesn't look too bad,” only to discover that my estimate of the day's difficulty and timing was almost always wildly optimistic. There were days of sheer awe and others when every step felt like a chore, but somewhere along the way my body began to adjust, I learned to lighten my pack, and I began to understand the quiet power of putting one foot in front of the other. The remarkable thing was that I wasn't sure I could finish until almost the very end. And on the last day, when I finally did, I was surprised to find that I was sad there wasn't another day of walking ahead of me. Somewhere along those eleven days, the thing I had once wondered if I could endure had become something I didn't want to leave behind. The Tour du Mont Blanc taught me that strength doesn't always mean conquering something all at once. Sometimes it means recognizing your limits, adapting when you need to, and having the humility to keep walking. I found that I was capable of far more than I had imagined, but I also learned that getting there required perseverance, patience, and a willingness to admit that I didn't have it all figured out. Looking back, maybe that first day really was the hardest part. Starting something significant often is. Once you take that first step, you may not know exactly how you'll make it to the end, but you can keep walking.
04 — Simply Be
Presence in the Moment
There is a difference between seeing a destination and actually being in it, and Lake Annecy gave me one of my favorite examples of that distinction. Staying at Les Trésoms Lake and Spa Resort, I borrowed one of their bicycles and spent the day riding around the lake, taking in the mountains, water, and villages along the way. But at some point, on a warm day with the lake stretching out beside me, I stopped, put the bike down, and jumped into the cold water right alongside the road. There was no plan to swim that day. For a few minutes, I wasn't thinking about where I would go next. I was in the water, surrounded by the mountains, with the sunshine hitting my face, enjoying something I never could have planned. Maybe that is the heart of Annecy. It was a gift, and it reminded me how easy it is to move through a beautiful place while thinking about what comes next. Sometimes we have to be willing to notice the obvious that is right in front of us and receive it.
05 — Remember
A Place We Must Never Forget
Of all the places I have traveled, Normandy may be the most difficult to put into words. Omaha Beach is incredibly beautiful and peaceful today, which somehow makes it even harder to comprehend what took place there. Standing on the beach and looking up at the steep climb our soldiers faced, or standing in the wide-open fields near the tanks and trying to imagine moving across them knowing what waited ahead, I found myself struggling to grasp the scale of the sacrifice. How could I? There is a strange confusion in the peace of these places. The beach is quiet, the cemetery is still, and the men who rest there are at peace now, far removed from what brought them there. Crowds of people stand quietly, looking out across the beach or walking among the resting places. Perhaps we are all searching for words that aren't there. At the Normandy American Cemetery, the bronze statue The Spirit of American Youth Rising from the Waves carries another kind of weight. Its young figure is a reminder that so many of those who fought and died there had barely begun their lives, with so much still ahead of them. You can see photographs, watch documentaries, and read the stories, but standing there makes it different. It is no longer just history. I believe every American should experience Normandy if given the opportunity, not because we can ever truly understand what those who served there endured, but because it is our responsibility to remember, to respect the sacrifice of those who served, and to never become so comfortable that we avoid the places that remind us what our freedom has cost.
Maybe that is why certain places stay with us long after we have left them. We return home, unpack our bags, settle back into familiar routines, and yet something still remains. A little more gratitude. A little more courage. A greater appreciation for the moment in front of us. A deeper respect for those who came before us. Sometimes a place gives us a memory. Sometimes it gives us a new way of seeing.
That, to me, is the real gift of travel. Not the number of places we can say we've been, but the things we carry home that cannot be measured on an itinerary. The rain falling over a Scottish shoreline, boats rising and falling with the waves in Vernazza, the feeling of taking one more step when you aren't sure you can, sunshine on your face on an ordinary day, or the silence of Omaha Beach. Long after the details of a trip begin to fade, those moments often remain, quietly leading us in ways we may not even recognize at first.
So perhaps going beyond the ordinary isn't about finding the most extraordinary place. Maybe it's about being open to what a place can teach us, and allowing it to become part of the person we are becoming.