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Destination: Slovenia

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Europe’s Best Museums? They Have a Type.

What are the best museums and sights in Europe? Or, more specifically, what are the best types of sights?

I’m wrapping up guidebook research after spending 10 weeks on the road, split over three trips in Spain, Morocco, England, Denmark, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, and Hungary. Looking back, I realize that most of my favorite sightseeing experiences fall into a few categories that go beyond the predictable churches, castles, monuments, and big-name art museums. And so, I brainstormed this admittedly subjective list: not just a roundup of my personal favorite sightseeing in 2025, but also a broad-strokes look at five categories of sights that I find especially rewarding.

Whether you’re planning a trip to these destinations, or looking for inspiration for a trip anywhere, I hope these “types of sights” encourage you to consider some attractions that might, at first glance, be easy to overlook — but that merit some of your limited time.

1. The Endearing Local History Museum

In the sweet town of Keswick, deep in England’s bucolic Lake District, there are two options for a rainy day: Hike and get wet… or find something indoors. I opted for the latter and visited the Keswick Museum, which fills a historic Arts and Crafts-style hall in a lush park. I was unexpectedly charmed by how this place harnesses a chipper community spirit to make the story of this small town surprisingly engaging.

While modest, the Keswick Museum is more than the sum of its parts. It features a well-curated assortment of local artifacts, from a surveyor’s gigantic 1825 relief map of the Lake District (suspended on the wall) to a variety of items relating to the flourishing of Keswick as a tourist destination (including the earliest known guidebook to the town, from the early 1910s). The highlight? “Musical stones”: naturally resonant chunks of slate that someone has whittled down to the perfect tone, then set up as a xylophone for playing tunes. There’s also a gallery where museum volunteers take turns researching and installing their own temporary exhibits. How delightful!

Sure, they ain’t the Louvre or the Prado. But wonderful local history museums around Europe, when done well, can really bring a place vividly to life. Some, like Keswick, are in small towns or even villages. One of my favorites is the Herring Era Museum in Seyðisfjörður, Iceland, which explains how that little fish revolutionized not only the local economy, but made Iceland a financially viable independent nation. I’ve also enjoyed the one in Zermatt, Switzerland; the scrappy hilltop museum on the isle of Folegandros, Greece; and the Appenzell regional museums in the towns of Appenzell, Stein, and Urnäsch, Switzerland.

Others are in big cities, designed to help visitors get their heads around the local identity and the role that place played in the story of Europe. Excellent ones are in Zagreb, Croatia; Lausanne, Switzerland; Liverpool and Bristol, England; the Bryggen Museum in Bergen, Norway; the Musée Basque in Bayonne; and the Riverside Museum in Glasgow, Scotland.

2. The Single-Artist Museum

While wide-ranging art museums can be delightful, I find myself especially drawn to a museum devoted entirely to one artist, often displayed in the home in which they actually lived. In England’s Lake District, William Wordsworth’s Dove Cottage and Beatrix Potter’s Hill Top Farm both had me imagining the writer hunched over a desk, creating their masterpieces.

In Hungary’s Szentendre — just up the Danube from Budapest — I enjoyed getting to know the expressive, poignant sculptures of Margit Kovács.

In Córdoba and Ronda, Spain, I marveled at the works of two talented artists I’d never heard of before: Julio Romero de Torres and Joaquín Peinado, respectively.

On past trips to France, Albi’s Toulouse-Lautrec Museum deepened my appreciation of the works of an artist I only thought I was familiar with. And the former home of Claude Monet in Giverny, France, is a pilgrimage for lovers of his works, who stroll through the lily-padded gardens that inspired him.

The best example I visited in 2025 (and one of the best anywhere) is the National Trust’s tours of the childhood homes of John Lennon and Paul McCartney. After meeting at a suburban Liverpool train station, your small group hops on a minibus for the short drive to each house, where you’re welcomed by an impressively well-versed docent who does an insightful intro chat, then sets you free to roam the same halls, kitchens, bedrooms, and loos where two of history’s greatest songwriters spent their formative years. Not really a Beatles fan? The homes also provide wonderful social-historical insights into the everyday lives of working-class Liverpudlians in the 1950s. This remarkable experience combines being in proximity to tangible details — the pinups over John’s boyhood bed, the well-worn piano in Paul’s living room — with gaining a strikingly intimate understanding of two boys, becoming young men, who would change the world. For example, I learned that both Paul and John had lost their mothers at a very young age — perhaps providing them with an unspoken kinship that sustained their fruitful, fitful collaboration.

Another mind-blowing “one artist” museum I visited this year was the Robert Capa Center in Budapest, Hungary. I knew little about the Budapest-born photographer, but after spending an hour and a half here, I am a fan. Like a mid-20th-century Forrest Gump, Robert Capa traveled the world during one of its most tumultuous eras — documenting the Spanish Civil War, the First Sino-Japanese War, the Allied campaigns in North Africa and Sicily, the D-Day landings at Omaha Beach, the liberation of France, the creation of Israel, and the early days of postwar communism in Hungary and the USSR. He also snapped intimate slice-of-life portraits of Picasso, Matisse, Hemingway, Ingmar Bergman, and many others. The museum displays Capa’s most iconic images and tells the improbable life story of this eyewitness to history.

My all-time-favorite “one artist” home is devoted to an architect that many have never heard of: Jože Plečnik, who reshaped the Slovenian capital (and his hometown), Ljubljana, and also carried out major works in Prague, Vienna, and other cities. Still furnished with unique, Plečnik-designed furniture, one-of-a-kind inventions, and favorite souvenirs from his travels, the Jože Plečnik House paints an indelible and unusually intimate portrait of an artist.

Yet more “one artist” museums to consider around Europe: the Seidel Photo Studio Museum, in the Czech town of Český Krumlov; the Rodin Museum in Paris; the Salvador Dalí sights outside of Barcelona (Cadaqués and Figueres); the Ivan Meštrović Museum in Split, Croatia; the Charles Rennie Mackintosh House at Glasgow University in Scotland; the Rembrandt House Museums in both Amsterdam and Leiden, Netherlands; the Hans Christian Andersen House in Odense, Denmark; the Mozart sights in Salzburg, Austria; the Albrecht Dürer homes in Nürnberg and Wittenberg, Germany; Edvard Grieg’s Troldhaugen, just outside of Bergen, Norway; and The Secession in Vienna, with its Gustav Klimt paintings and distinctive “golden cabbage” dome.

3. The Single-Topic “Deep Dive” Museum

Some museums are a mile wide and an inch deep — trying to cover too much territory and doing none of it well. Many of my favorites take precisely the opposite approach: going all-in on a single, extremely narrow topic, probing the depths of all its fascinating details. (Of course, you could put most of the “single artist” museums, above, into this category as well.)

One of the best in this vein is the magnificent Vasa Museum in Stockholm, Sweden. The entire museum is literally and thematically built around a single item: the massive warship Vasa, which sunk to the bottom of Stockholm Harbor 40 minutes into her 1628 maiden voyage. More than three centuries later, the ship was rediscovered, raised from the deep, refurbished, and became the centerpiece of a state-of-the-art museum that tells the whole story and gets you prow-to-prow with the Vasa herself.

This summer, in charming Ribe, Denmark, I stumbled upon a museum devoted to hometown boy Jacob Riis (1849-1914). Despite the ticket-seller’s assertion that Riis was the most important Danish-American of all time, I was embarrassed to admit that I knew nothing about him. The exhibit set me straight, eloquently telling the tale of this Danish émigré who documented the plight of the desperately poor — mostly immigrants — who lived in the squalor of New York City’s tenements (and eventually published a seminal exposé, How the Other Half Lives). It was inspiring to learn how, by harnessing and pioneering the rapidly evolving medium of photojournalism, Riis brought about reforms that improved the wretched lives of the people he documented. Riis also became close friends with President Theodore Roosevelt, who called him both “the most useful citizen of New York” and “the ideal American.”

Sometimes that “single topic” is unexpected, even startling. The Museum of Broken Relationships, in the Croatian capital of Zagreb, displays a variety of items that each come with a complicated story of a now-defunct relationship — from a love-at-first-sight romance that burned out, to the loss of a dear friend or parent, to becoming disillusioned with a favorite politician. Touching, witty, and incredibly human, this museum is a good reminder to take a chance on sights that may seem quirky at first blush.

Thinking back on other examples of the “deep dive” style of museum, I realize the Netherlands is particularly adept at this approach: In Amsterdam, you have the famous Anne Frank House, of course, but also a Pipe Museum, a Houseboat Museum, and a Museum of Canals, while nearby Leiden has the Pilgrim Museum. Ireland also has a knack for these, from the Irish Wake Museum in Waterford to the Irish National Famine Museum in Strokestown to 14 Henrietta Street in Dublin; the Titanic Belfast Museum straddles this category and the next one. Others to watch for: the Paris Sewer Museum; the Viking ship museums in both Oslo, Norway, and Roskilde, Denmark (plus Oslo’s Kon-Tiki Museum); the Musical Instruments Museum in Brussels; the Olympics Museum in Lausanne, Switzerland; and some that are just plain bizarre, including the Phallological (Penis) Museum in Reykjavík and the Currywurst Museum in Berlin.

4. The High-Tech History Museum

Increasingly, history museums employ clever, high-tech innovations — location-sensing audioguides, sound and lighting effects, wrap-around films, interactive features — to bring to life a complicated or murky bit of history. Frankly, I’m on the fence about this trend: All too often, the whiz-bang gizmos act as a crutch, distracting from the thinness of the actual information. But when combined with impressive artifacts, compelling storytelling, and a clear point of view, these high-tech history museums can be mind-blowing.

Case in point: This summer I toured the stunning Moesgård Museum, just outside of Aarhus, Denmark. The museum was long famous as the home of the Grauballe Man, a remarkably well-preserved Iron Age corpse that was discovered in a nearby peat bog. In 2014, the Moesgård opened a gigantic new purpose-built building with a mission as grandiose as its architecture: combining astonishing artifacts — from prehistoric stone tools and mysterious barrows, to the Grauballe Man, to a perfectly preserved Viking boat — with evocative storytelling and high-tech methodology to create a powerful experience that kindles an appreciation not only for the story of prehistoric peoples in Jutland, but for human evolution in broad strokes. There are also two sprawling galleries hosting temporary exhibits that are at least as good as the permanent one. It instantly became one of my favorite museums, anywhere.

Another favorite is the Museum of the History of Polish Jews (POLIN), in Warsaw, Poland. Built on the site of the onetime Jewish quarter, POLIN is architecturally striking in itself. Inside, it employs a combination of thoughtful storytelling and state-of-the-art presentation to make the absolute most of the scant few artifacts that survive from what was once a flourishing culture. While so many Jewish-themed sights around Europe focus narrowly on the Holocaust, POLIN takes an expansive and enlightening approach to the entire Jewish experience in Poland.

Many of these high-tech history museums focus on one historical era — often World War II, including the Caen Memorial Museum in Normandy, France; the Museum of the Second World War in Gdańsk, Poland; and the Uprising Museum in Warsaw. The museum at the Culloden Battlefield, just outside of Inverness, Scotland, is one of the best of this type. Others are broader in their focus, including the German History Museum in Berlin and the Landesmuseum (Swiss National Museum) in Zürich. And some of the museums described earlier (including the Vasa Museum) could slip into this category, as well.

Artifacts; storytelling; high-tech exhibits: A museum that does all three equally well is rare. But when they hit — they really hit.

5. The Cross-Cultural Structure

Europe’s epic history is the story of successive civilizations layering one upon the other. Often, while a few artifacts survive from centuries past, most of what you see today dates from one or two discrete historical periods. But a few sights manage to capture a broader swath of history in stone, by simultaneously embodying starkly different civilizations in one cohesive structure.

The prime example of this is one of my favorite sights in all of Europe: the Mezquita in Córdoba, Spain. This gigantic structure — a massive box, 400 feet by 600 feet — began as a low-lying Moorish-style mosque, built around 785. Strolling through seemingly endless rows of 800 columns (spanned by graceful double arches), you feel you’ve stepped back to the age of Al-Andalus, when Córdoba was the capital of a sprawling Muslim realm.

But then you turn a corner and — bam! — you’re transported into an entirely different time and place: a towering 16th-century Catholic Baroque cathedral, stretching 130 feet into the air, that was built within that original mosque.

In Split, Croatia, the entire town center (filling the former halls of a Roman palace) gives you this same sensation of “layers of history” — especially the cathedral that sits upon Peristyle Square. The hulking, octagonal hall that forms the core of this building was originally the mausoleum for the Roman Emperor Diocletian, who was born nearby, retired right here, and notoriously tortured many Christians. But the frilly Venetian-style bell tower — and the rich golden decor inside — make it clear that those pagan Romans were soon supplanted by the Catholic Venetians, and later Croatians, who retrofitted Split to their own specifications.

In Pécs, Hungary, the main square is topped by another such structure. The Gazi Kasim Pasha Mosque — originally built during a period of Ottoman control in the 1540s — was later turned into a Catholic parish church (the Church of the Blessed Virgin). Today, its classic mosque architecture is still evident, and upon stepping inside, you observe a hybrid of Muslim and Catholic symbols and styles: striped arches over windows; a large prayer niche (mihrab) with a crucifixion above it; colorful Islamic-style stalactite decorations; and dome paintings that combine Christian angels with the geometric designs of Islam. On the wall is a verse from the Quran, translated into Hungarian and used for Christian worship — a reminder that, as fellow “people of the book,” Muslims and Christians share many of the same foundational principles.

Tangier — Morocco’s closest point to Europe — is another prime spot for these “cultural hybrid” sights. Just off the main square, you escape from the bustle of rumbling delivery vans and buzzing motor scooters into the tranquil garden courtyard surrounding St. Andrew’s Anglican Church — built on land that the sultan offered as a gift to Queen Victoria. There you’re greeted by gregarious Yassin, who wishes “peace be upon you” as he explains how, while the church’s architecture is mostly Islamic, it’s Christian in spirit: The Lord’s Prayer rings the arch in Arabic, as verses of the Quran would in a mosque.

Sometimes it’s not a building but a location. In the heart of old Sarajevo, at the precise point where Sarači street becomes Ferhadija street, you can look in one direction and swear you were in Istanbul, with its cobbles and market stalls; looking the other way, you could easily be in Vienna, with broad pedestrian boulevards and grand Austrian-style architecture.

And speaking of Istanbul, the ultimate example of a “cross-cultural” sight surely must be the Hagia Sophia: an early Christian church, later turned into a mosque, so influential that it became a template for many other mosques across the Ottoman Empire (including the one in today’s Pécs).

All of these sights are a reminder of the full complexity of Europe’s story — and of how few of those layers we actually see in our everyday travels… until we go looking for them.

What are some of your favorite museums in these categories? Or do you have favorite “categories” of sightseeing that I’m overlooking? Share your thoughts in the Comments.

Of course, all of the sights mentioned here — and so many more — are described in detail in our Rick Steves guidebooks.

If you’d like to hear more about my 2025 travels, join me on Zoom Monday, November 10 at 6 p.m. Pacific Time (that’s 9 p.m. Eastern) when I’ll be doing a virtual “Trip Report” for Monday Night Travel. It’s free, as long as you sign up in advance.

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24 Fascinating Factoids About Europe

One of the joys of researching Rick Steves guidebooks is how, every day, I stumble upon fascinating little insights that tell me a lot about the place I’m visiting — and sometimes, about human nature. As I spend my summer wrapping up the work I did on this spring’s research trips, I keep rediscovering delightful nuggets scrawled into my little black notebooks. Here are a couple dozen of my favorites, ranging from historical tidbits to everyday cultural insights (like where the Swiss buy their groceries, what the Spaniards fight bulls on, and why Germans — but not Italians — like to open the window)… to things that just made me chuckle. As a kid, I loved paging through yellowed paperbacks of Ripley’s Believe It or Not! Reviewing this list, I’m realizing this is my very own European version.

While we use the word “danish” to describe a sweet pastry, in Denmark it’s wienerbrød (“Vienna bread,” from the French viennoiserie) — named for the Viennese bakers who brought the art of pastry-making to Denmark, where the Danes perfected it. Ironically, in Vienna, they call the same thing “Copenhagen” or “Danish” bread.

For centuries, each community kept its own local time, based on the sunrise and sunset in that precise location — which often differed by a few minutes from town to town. But by the late 19th century, faster and faster trains made standardized timekeeping essential. Imagine: You’d show up for your 10:00 train to London, only to discover that, in London, it was already 10:10 — and, therefore, you’d just missed your train. In 1884, the prime meridian (through Greenwich) was established as a starting point for calculating world time zones; over the next few decades, Greenwich Mean Time was gradually adopted across Europe and around the world, ensuring that everyone shares the same clock.

Siglufjörður, a remote fishing village at the northern tip of Iceland, was once a herring boom town, nicknamed the “Atlantic Klondike.” From 1903 to the 1960s, salted herring (which was highly nutritious and traveled well, making it particularly valuable during the world wars) represented fully one-half of Iceland’s total export income. The hard work of cutting and salting the fish was done by “herring girls,” who lived in dorms through the season — hanging out and listening to records while waiting for the boats to come in, when they’d rush down to the docks and work 20- or even 30-hour shifts. These “herring girls” were the muscle behind Iceland’s economy during a critical time, arguably empowering it to become fully independent from Denmark.

Italians think very deeply about digestion. It’s why their food is so delicious. And it also explains several cultural quirks that travelers scratch their heads about: a reluctance to serve cappuccino (or anything with lots of milk) after lunchtime; a taboo against mixing seafood and cheese; their insistence on serving your salad after the pasta, not before; and their bad attitude about tap water. (They’re not trying to upsell you. They’re just worried about your digestion — and there’s a water for that.)

The albero sand used for Spanish bullfights is special: The vivid-yellow color is the perfect complement to the flamboyant matador outfits and deep red blood, and the sand is just coarse enough to provide traction, minimize dust, and allow drainage. The premium sand favored in Andalucía, quarried at Los Alcores near Sevilla, is so precious that bullrings rent it for use only during bullfights; after the spectacle, it’s shoveled into trucks and taken to the next town.

One of Europe’s many north/south divides has to do with the circulation of fresh air indoors. Many Germans adhere religiously to the practice of Lüften (“ventilation”): At least twice each day, especially in the winter, they throw open all the windows to blast out stale air — as a matter of hygiene and good health. (Some people in the Low Countries and Scandinavia have a similar custom.) In Italy, quite to the contrary, many people have a deep fear of catching a draft; they believe a colpo d’aria (“hit of air”) can cause all manner of health problems, from headaches to diarrhea. A similar belief is persistent in many parts of the Balkans, especially Serbia (where it’s called promaja).

John Lennon and Paul McCartney had something very specific in common — aside from growing up near each other in Liverpool and becoming two of the greatest songwriters of all time. Both of them lost their mothers at a young age, perhaps forging an unspoken bond that facilitated their historic collaboration.

During the Cold War, West German authorities secretly stored 15 billion Deutschmarks (roughly €7.5 billion) in a hidden bunker, tucked in an unassuming neighborhood in Cochem on the Mosel River — neatly stacked floor-to-ceiling in cardboard boxes (now open to visitors). The currency was held in reserve in case of nuclear war, and to protect it from being devalued through nefarious means; the Bundesbank even created alternate designs for their banknotes — and printed billions — in the event that the Deutschmark needed to be replaced wholesale in a hurry.

In many European cities, you’ll find the same sculpture: an anonymous unhoused person, sleeping under a blanket on a bench. Only upon closer inspection do you notice the wounds in the feet that identify this person as Jesus. Homeless Jesus, by Canadian sculptor Timothy Schmalz, challenges the viewer to see the divine worthiness of each fellow human being — no matter their social stature. Since the original version was erected in 2013 at a Toronto theological school, more than 50 copies have appeared all around the world (I’ve seen them in Dublin, Glasgow, and Amsterdam).

Switzerland has two dominant grocery store chains: Coop and Migros — and either you’re a Coop family, or you’re a Migros family. Migros focuses on in-store brands and prides itself on having a conscience: They don’t sell alcohol or cigarettes, they were the first Swiss supermarket to stop giving out free plastic bags, and they donate one percent of their sales to charity. Meanwhile, Coop has a wider variety of brands and higher prices, focusing on organic and sustainable products; it’s considered a bit more posh. Very broadly speaking, Migros is like Trader Joe’s, while Coop is more like Whole Foods.

Bluetooth technology — which wirelessly connect devices — was named for Harald Bluetooth, a tenth-century Scandinavian king who “connected” the Danish and Norwegian peoples. Even the symbol for Bluetooth comes from Viking runes: It’s the letters H and B, combined.

In Sicily — and in many other cultures — it’s considered very important for children to know about their deceased ancestors. On special occasions, they may even receive a present from a departed great-aunt or grandpa. (When you think about it, this is no less “creepy” — and certainly more touching — than gifts from the Easter Bunny or Tooth Fairy.)

All over Europe, you stumble upon seemingly random statues… and they always come with a story. In Waterville, a castaway beach town on Ireland’s Ring of Kerry, stands a statue of Charlie Chaplin — who enjoyed the time he spent living the good life here. In central Budapest, you’ll find Peter Falk (the Columbo actor had Hungarian roots) as well as Ronald Reagan and George H. W. Bush (whose Cold War policies helped topple Hungary’s communist regime). You’ll find statues of the great Irish writer James Joyce in both Pula, Croatia, and Trieste, Italy — he lived in each city while writing his masterpiece Ulysses. And a park in Ronda, Spain, features busts of Orson Welles and Ernest Hemingway — two early-20th-century American greats who both fell in love with Spanish culture.

At Spain’s prestigious University of Salamanca, Fray Luis de León (1527-1591) challenged the Church’s control over the word of God by translating part of the Bible into Castilian. The Inquisition arrested, jailed, and tortured him for five years. Upon being released, he returned to the university and began his first lecture with, “As we were saying…” Today, he remains a symbol of the intellectual independence of academia in the face of changing political mores.

In the Slovenian capital of Ljubljana, you’ll find a strange monument, shaped like the top half of a letter Ć buried in the ground. When Slovenia declared independence in 1991, its population included tens of thousands of people from other parts of Yugoslavia. While most Yugoslav languages have two versions of this letter — Ć and Č — Slovene uses only Č. And so, eager to distance itself from Yugoslavia, Slovenia standardized spellings by replacing Ć with Č. Think of the many names ending in -ić — which now had to be spelled, instead, with -ič. Slovenia had 25,671 “Ć people” (including more than 5,000 children) who were “erased” by the breakup of Yugoslavia — stateless, stripped of governmental services, unable to travel, living in fear of expulsion… not because they moved, but because the borders did. Over time, as Slovenia matured as a nation and the Yugoslav Wars found resolution, the vast majority of these people gained their citizenship — and reclaimed their rightful Ć.

It’s remarkable when a particular place, at a particular moment, becomes a magnet for hugely influential people. If you walked into a coffee house in Vienna in early 1913, there’s a possibility you’d run into Sigmund Freud, Marshal Tito, Adolf Hitler, Josef Stalin, and Leon Trotsky.  Also notable: the Golden Age of ancient Athens; Florence circa 1500; Philadelphia in the 1770s; Victorian Age London; Paris and Harlem in the 1920s; and Silicon Valley at the turn of the 21st century.

Many German parking garages have specially designated parking spots for women, called Frauenparkplätze — generally in well-lit areas close to the entrance. While intended to make women feel safer in a big, dark garage, they are often criticized by German feminists, who consider them condescending (especially because they’re often wider than standard parking places, perhaps based on a stereotype that women are inferior drivers; and because they are typically located next to disabled spaces).

It’s often said that the uprisings that ended communism in Eastern Europe — which culminated in the autumn of 1989 — moved at starkly different paces: In Poland, it took 10 years; in Hungary, 10 moths; in East Germany, 10 weeks; and in Czechoslovakia, 10 days. Whie this requires a bit of fudging, it’s mostly accurate: The 1980 Solidarity protests in Gdańsk, led by Lech Wałesa, kicked off nearly a decade of slow reforms; throughout the summer of 1989, Hungary opened its borders little by little; by early that fall, protests began to sweep across East German cities; and the Velvet Revolution of Czechoslovakia played out over about a week and half, with increasingly large peaceful protests.

To this list, you could add “10 hours” for East Berlin. When the Berlin Wall came down, it happened overnight, as the result of a miscommunication. On November 9, 1989 — in response to those “10 weeks” of protests — the East German politburo issued a statement about their intention to gradually ease border controls, then left town for the weekend. Upon reading the ambiguously worded new policy in front of TV cameras, a flustered spokesman gave the impression that these changes were to happen “immediately.” East Berliners began to show up at border checkpoints in droves. At about 11:30 p.m., an overwhelmed guard threw open the gates. And once open, the Berlin Wall never closed again.

Around the year 1000, Moorish scientist Abu al-Zahrawi wrote a surgical encyclopedia, called Al-Tasrif, that was used throughout Europe for 700 years. He was one of many Muslim doctors and surgeons who advanced the practice of medicine in Al-Andalus (today Andalucía) — at a time when so much of Europe was suffering through its “Dark Ages.” Another example: Muhammad al-Gafeghi, today honored by a statue in Córdoba, was an ophthalmologist who performed successful cataract surgeries in the first half of the 12th century.

Europeans have many stereotypes about Americans: We wear tennis shoes, logo T-shirts, and baseball caps. We talk too loud. And… we drink too much water? Yes, among our many other foibles, Europeans perceive Americans as being bizarrely obsessed with (over-) hydrating. This may be based partly on American visitors requesting — and expecting — big glasses of tap water in restaurants. But it appears to be rooted in reality: Polling suggests that American adults drink, on average, 70 percent more than their European and British counterparts (1.7 liters per day vs. about 1 liter per day). And authorities in the USA and the EU have very different “recommended daily amounts” of water consumption: In the US, it’s 3.7 liters for men and 2.7 liters for women; in Europe, it’s about one-third less: 2.5 liters for men and 2 liters for women.

Two starkly different women are celebrated throughout the Albanian world ­— from Tirana to Prishtinë ­— honored by murals, statues, and street names: Mother Theresa, who was born Anjezë Gonxhe Bojaxhiu in Skopje (today’s Macedonia)… and pop star Dua Lipa, a Londoner with Kosovo Albanian heritage.

The early people of Denmark were entranced by bogs. At the dawn of the Iron Age, bogs were the source of ore that could be used to create all manner of tools and weapons. This mysterious and sacred liminal space, existing somewhere between land and water, was believed to be where the gods resided. Precious items (including vast collections of weapons plundered from defeated enemies), animals (up to and including horses), and even human beings were sacrificed to the thick peat of the bogs. Fortunately for present-day archaeologists, this preserved these artifacts perfectly.

Believe it… or not!

Do you have any favorite European factoids to share?

If you enjoy these sorts of insights, you should know that most of these appear, in some form or another, in our Rick Steves guidebooks. Any source can list names and dates; we always strive to provide real insight to help you get your arms around the place you’re visiting, in a more intimate way.

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Balkans Travel Tips

Are you thinking of traveling to the Balkans? I have some tips for you!

Last September, I set out on a trip to fulfill a lifelong travel dream: To explore the Balkans, from top to bottom, weaving together eight European capitals overland. My “Balkan Odyssey” — from the Alps to the Aegean, and from Lake Bled in Slovenia to Lake Ohrid in North Macedonia — was the trip of a lifetime.

Now that I’m back, I recently presented a Monday Night Travel report about that unforgettable journey. You can watch it here.

Putting this talk together was a complete delight. It reminded me of how the Balkans is  a fascinating, gorgeous, friendly, and wonderfully undiscovered and affordable corner of Europe. But the relatively few American visitors translates to a lack of solid travel information. I’ve prepared this post as a complement to my presentation, to share my itinerary guidance, favorite local resources, and other tips for traveling in the Balkans.

General Tips and Logistics

In our age of “overtourism” and soaring prices, the Balkans may just be Europe’s best-kept secret. However, you can’t paint the entire region with a single, broad brush. Croatia and Slovenia are in a category all their own: With their famous beaches and mountains — and being well-established in the EU, Schengen open-borders zone, and Eurozone (both countries use the euro currency) — they are far more “mainstream,” crowded, and expensive. My recent trip, and my Monday Night Travel talk, focus on the other six countries, which are less known, less crowded, and less expensive: Bosnia-Herzegovina, Serbia, Montenegro, Kosovo, North Macedonia, and Albania.

Here are a few general tips for traveling in the Balkans:

Sleeping: I used a wide variety of lodgings, ranging from simple, traditional guesthouses; to big, roomy, multi-room apartments (via Airbnb); to high-end boutique hotels. I rarely spent more than $100 a night, and often closer to $50. (Croatia, Slovenia, and coastal Montenegro, prices are at least double, and often much more at the famous coastal resorts.)

Eating: The Balkans may be Europe’s very best “budget foodie” destination. The local cuisine is rustic but utterly delicious. While each country has its own specialties, the Balkan region has similar elements, which may feel similar to what you think of as “Turkish” or “Greek” cuisine (since most of these areas spent centuries under Ottoman control). The handiest street food is burek, a savory phyllo-dough pastry typically filled with meat, cheese, or spinach. I begin each meal with a šopska salata — chopped cucumbers and tomatoes with a soft, salty cheese grated on top. Grilled meats are hugely popular, including minced-meat ćevapi (small link-like shape), pljeskavica (patty shape), and ćufte (meatball). These are often served with raw onions, the spreadable cheese called kajmak, and a flatbread called lepinje. The fanciest meal you can have is meat, potatoes, and other veggies slow-roasted under a metal baking lid called a peka or a sač. The region has many flavorful spreads, including ajvar (roasted red pepper and eggplant) and others that are similar to hummus or garlicky tzatziki. And every meal ends with a honey-drenched phyllo dough dessert — from baklava to kadaifi, and many more. The Balkans have a taste for unfiltered coffee (which you might think of as “Turkish coffee”), as well as variations on the firewater raki. Prices are low: A quick bite on the go rarely tops $5, and a sit-down meal might be $15-20 per person, including drinks. (As with other prices, double it — or more — in Slovenia, Croatia, and coastal Montenegro.)

Transportation: This is a real challenge, when planning a multi-country itinerary. Generally there are very good public-transit options within a country, but things become more complicated when you cross a border between two different, independent transit systems. Buses and trains are cheap but can be slow, with gaps in the schedule.

Driving: Renting a car is a tempting option, and gives you maximum flexibility, but two factors deserve careful consideration: First, while driving in places like Slovenia, Croatia, and much of Bosnia is roughly on par, difficulty-wise, with most of Europe (slick highways, well-marked roads, reasonable traffic), things get more challenging as you travel south. Albania, in particular, can be daunting for timid drivers. Country roads generally have light traffic, but there are lots of speed bumps; even small towns can come with loads of congestion (due to a lack of bypass roads); and fellow drivers can be, shall we say, erratic. And in towns and cities, all bets are off: Traffic laws are widely ignored, and lanes in historic town centers can be astonishingly narrow. In general, you’ll need to be a confident and capable driver, and make a point to drive defensively. Keep your head on a swivel and go with the flow.

International Driving: The other consideration for renting a car is the headache of trying to link up a multi-country itinerary. An “open-jaw” rental (picking up in one country, and dropping off in another) is convenient but often not possible, and always expensive. (I paid an extra $400 fee — about one-third the cost of my entire rental — to pick up in Skopje and drop off in Athens.) Returning to your starting point to drop off your car saves this fee, but between the mountainous landscape and roads of variable quality in this region, the miles don’t always come easy. Confirm with your rental agency that you’re allowed to drive in each and every country on your itinerary, which may come with a small extra cost (I paid an additional $10/day). You will need to have the “green card” (proof of insurance — essentially the car’s “passport”) and paperwork from the rental company that you’re allowed to cross. (Of the four borders I drove my car through, I was asked for this once.)

Hire a Driver: To fill the gaps — or even, potentially, for the entire trip — consider splurging on a private driver offering door-to-door service. While this can be expensive (figure at least $200/day, likely more), it makes things much easier, and it’s especially convenient if you’d like to stop to do some sightseeing along the way. I did this twice — between Sarajevo and Belgrade, with a stop at Srebrenica; and on the very long journey from Kotor, Montenegro, to Skopje, North Macedonia, to pick up my rental car — and I found it worth the expense to make the rest of my trip possible.

Borders: While crossing a border can be time-consuming, depending on traffic, it’s actually quite straightforward: Just wait in line, hand over your passport for a few seconds, and then often proceed to the next checkpoint to repeat the routine…and you’re on your way. Of the approximately 10 borders I crossed on this trip, I waited anywhere from 10 minutes to an hour or so. (Avoid very busy borders if you can, such as the one on the coastal road between Montenegro and Albania; in-the-know locals take the inland route instead, especially during peak vacation months.) Be sure to have your passport handy, along with your car’s “green card” (see above). Personally, I never felt in any way pressured to pay a bribe; given that the biggest delay was the line of cars in front of me, this wouldn’t have helped anyway.

Safety: I can only speak to this as a hardy male traveler. But my experience is that I feel at least as safe in any and all of these countries as I do anywhere in Europe. (You could make a very strong case that, from a personal safety standpoint, you’re much safer in Prishtinë or Belgrade than in Paris or Barcelona.) As anywhere, petty crime (from pickpockets to car theft) can be an issue, so keep your wits about you and secure your belongings. The US State Department has issued some advisories about a few of these countries (see the current list here). While worth knowing about and understanding, personally I take these advisories with a grain of salt. In recent months, Albania and North Macedonia have popped up on this list… as have Belgium, Denmark, and Spain. If there’s any heightened “risk” in these countries, it’s a history of political instability, which has the potential of flaring up from time to time; simply follow the news and be prepared to adapt your plans, in the unlikely event that troublesome protests or isolated scuffles pop up along your route.

Itinerary Ideas

With so many places to visit, and a wide variety of ways to connect them all together, there’s no one perfect Balkan itinerary. First, narrow down which countries you want to see. Then lace them together, with a sober reality check on how hard it might be to connect the dots (see the transportation quirks, above).

If you’re focusing on the more known, “mainstream” parts of the Balkans — Slovenia, Croatia, and a taste of Bosnia and Montenegro — consider this recommended itinerary. (This is very similar to our Best of the Adriatic in 14 Days Tour — a perfect way to see these popular destinations without having to do the planning yourself.)

However, the focus of my trip (and my Monday Night Travel talk) is getting off the beaten path. Specifically, my goal was visiting the eight Western Balkans capitals overland, with some interesting small-town and nature stops in between. For inspiration purposes, here’s how I connected those dots, in about three weeks.

I started my journey in Ljubljana, which wins my vote for the most charming, livable, and purely enjoyable small city in Europe. (With more time, you can side-trip to just about anything in Slovenia — from Lake Bled to the Julian Alps to the caves of the Karst).

From Ljubljana, it’s an easy train or bus trip to the Croatian capital of Zagreb. While Croatia’s coastline gets most of the tourist attention, Zagreb is a very enjoyable city, with lush parks, a charming old town, and excellent museums. You could linger in Croatia (see the suggested itinerary above). But in my case, I was eager to carry on deeper into the Balkans — so the capital was my only Croatian stop.

It’s a long day’s drive (or a fun and fascinating couple day’s road trip) from Zagreb through Bosnia-Herzegovina to Sarajevo. Worthwhile stops along the way include Banja Luka, Bosnia’s leading Serb city; the historic and extremely scenic town of Jajce, built upon waterfalls; and the fortified burg of Travnik.

Enjoy Sarajevo — really dig into what may be the Balkans’ single most beautiful, historic, interesting, moving, and purely enjoyable city. Consider side-tripping to the smaller town of Mostar (with its famous Old Bridge) and/or the poignant and powerful Yugoslav Wars genocide memorial at Srebrenica.

From there, it’s on to the Serbian capital, Belgrade, to dig into that bulky and fascinating metropolis. This is a great place to wander the people-jammed promenade to Kalemegdan (the park overlooking the confluence of the Sava and the Danube); visit the stunning interior of Sveti Sava; soak in some Yugo-history at the Museum of Yugoslavia, with Tito’s tomb; and try to finagle a visit to Tito’s famous Blue Train.

Speaking of trains: To head south, I opted to hop on the 10-hour scenic train through Serbia, then winding down through soaring Montenegrin mountains to Podgorica. (The train continues another 2 hours, all the way to Bar on the coast; for the full details on this very scenic train line, see this excellent article from the Man in Seat 61.)

Podgorica (formerly “Titograd”), Montenegro’s capital, has lots of Brutalist architecture; a tidy grid of planned streets, parks, and wide sidewalks; and the stunning Christ’s Resurrection church. From here, it’s a short drive to the Bay of Kotor, with its stunning wall of mountains enclosing a fjord and the fortified town of Kotor.

The next link in this itinerary — onward to Kosovo, via Albania — was the toughest part for me to figure out; I opted to hire a driver to make things easier.

Once in Kosovo, I enjoyed the capital of Prishtinë (with its “Newborn” monument, more Brutalist masterpieces, and delightful urban buzz); the historic Ottoman town of Prizren (with mosques, a hilltop fortress, and a classic stone bridge); and the rugged Accursed Mountains, which ruffle across three countries.

Also in Kosovo, I made a point to visit some of the important Serb landmarks within Kosovo, including three historic monasteries (Gračanica, Peć, and Visoki Dečani) and Gazimestan, the tower overlooking the historically charged battlefield of Kosovo Polje.

From Kosovo, it’s a quick drive south into North Macedonia and its capital, Skopje, with its mind-bending variety of “kitsch” from the Skopje 2014 initiative: grandiose buildings, countless statues and monuments, and broad squares… all of which are already falling into disrepair. Personally, I was more charmed by the bustling bazaar, across the river, which is one of the best in the Balkans.

After a quick stop in Tetovo to see the stunning Colorful Mosque, I lingered at Lake Ohrid — one of the world’s oldest and deepest lakes, along the border between North Macedonia and Albania. Its moody waters, historic churches (including the famous St. Jovan Kaneo), and pleasant resort-town bustle were a nice break between cities.

Then it was onward to Albania, which has recently been on the rise as a “budget beach break” destination.

I began in the capital city, Tiranë, which I found surprisingly cheerful and fresh-feeling, with enjoyable parks, generous squares, towering skyscrapers, and interesting museums (especially ones interrogating the legacy of the brutal communist dictator, Enver Hoxha).

Then I headed to the country’s fine mountain towns, each a warren of narrow, cobbled lanes huddled below a mighty fortress. Berat, the “city of a thousand windows,” was charming, but the real star is Gjirokastër, with its twisty and steep lanes weaving through its historic bazaar, and stunning views to the surrounding mountains.

From here, I side-tripped to a couple of those newly famous, up-and-coming beach resorts (about an hour’s drive away): Big, sprawling, concrete Sarandë; and smaller, dreamier Ksamil. Both had nice sandy beaches that were inviting on a sunny day. But the very crowded beaches, variable standard of accommodations, and noticeably lagging infrastructure made it clear that Albania’s tourism industry is still a work in progress. (Sadly, greedy hoteliers raised prices dramatically in anticipation of a busy 2024, which kept budget-minded travelers away and badly hampered the burgeoning tourism industry.) Nearby are the ancient ruins of Butrint.

Especially if you’re determined to really settle in and linger on the beach, you could flip this plan — sleep in Ksamil or Sarandë, and side-trip to Gjirokastër — but given the speedy nature of my trip, I was glad to circle back to settle in for another night at Gjirokastër, to soak in its charming atmosphere.

From here, I crossed the Greek border, and headed on to Meteora and Athens, to drop off my rental car and carry on to the islands. But if you had ample time — another week or two — you could make your trip a loop and take the coastal route home: Back up along the Albanian coast, around Montenegro’s Bay of Kotor, then island-hop up Croatia’s Dalmatian Coast to Slovenia, where you began. Phew!

I’ll stress again that this is an ambitious, fast-paced plan, designed to briefly touch down in as many places as possible. But this spine may inspire to you select which part(s) of the Balkans most intrigue you, and do a deeper dive. Consider splitting it up over several trips.

Resources

For Croatia, Slovenia, and the highlights of Bosnia-Herzegovina (Sarajevo, Mostar) and Montenegro (Bay of Kotor), all you need is our Rick Steves Croatia and Slovenia guidebook.

If carrying on through the other six countries, top-quality print information is limited. I found Lonely Planet’s Western Balkans guidebook somewhat useful as a starting point for trip planning, but their on-the-ground coverage is sparse and, for my taste, their opinions are too generic and muddled to be useful in prioritizing stops.

For a deeper dive into each country, Bradt has the most generous coverage of these lands, with dedicated guidebooks on Kosovo; North Macedonia; and Albania. While insightful and useful at times, personally I found these a little too dense and dry for my once-over-lightly trip.

Much better than guidebooks, to really get local insight on these places, I recommend investing in hiring local guides. In most of these cities, you can spend a few hours with a great local guide for around $50 (again, double that — or more — for Croatia, Slovenia, and Montenegro). I found guides in a variety of ways, whether through personal recommendations from my friends in the region or by scouring online reviews until I found a guide or company that matched my travel philosophy. While I had a couple of duds, most of the guides I used were top-quality; I’ve noted some favorites below.

The single best resource I found for this trip was the Sarajevo-based tour company called Funky Tours. Thoughtfully run by Ema, they offer a variety of tools for Balkans-bound travelers, ranging from day trips out of Sarajevo (including an outstanding visit to Srebrenica); to multi-day package tours; to a consulting service for helping you sort out the details of your independent trip; to fully custom study tours, where you tell them what you’re looking for, and they take care of the rest. Based on the exceptional quality of their advice and contacts, I recommend them most highly if you’re looking to invest in some expert help in putting together your dream Balkans trip — especially if you’re heading to the southern part of this region, where clear resources are harder to come by.

And finally, below I’ve listed a country-by-country grab-bag of the resources and other leads I personally found most useful in each place. This is just the tip of the iceberg; my sense is that there are wonderful guides, tour operators, hotels, and contacts all over the Balkans, but it can be challenging to find just the right ones for your trip. (Note: While some of the local guides have email addresses or even websites, many of them communicate primarily through messaging on WhatsApp; in these cases, I’ve given their phone numbers below.) Use this list as a starting point, and if you have any personal favorites in this area, let me know in the Comments, below.

Croatia and Slovenia: All of my best tips and leads are in our Rick Steves Croatia and Slovenia guidebook.

Bosnia-Herzegovina: Our Rick Steves Croatia and Slovenia guidebook covers this area, as well, but I’ll call out a couple of favorite guides: In Sarajevo, Funky Tours (noted above) offer excellent side-trips, including a well-designed side-trip to Srebrenica. Amir Telibećirović is a local guide who’s been partnering with us in Sarajevo for years (teleamir@gmail.com). In Mostar, Alma Elezović is a great guide (aelezovic@gmail.com), and her husband Ermin is a driver for trips around Bosnia (elezovicermin@gmail.com). By the way, if visiting Srebrenica — or even if you’re just curious about that harrowing chapter of the Yugoslav Wars — watching the Oscar-winning 2020 film Quo Vadis, Aida? is a must.

Serbia: On my previous visit to Belgrade, I enjoyed a tour from Srdjan Ristić from Explore Belgrade. On this trip, Serbian Adventure Factory arranged an excellent city historical tour for me with Marija, as well as a visit to Tito’s Blue Train. For a splurge-by-local-standards dinner of upmarket “New Balkan” cuisine, I enjoyed dining at the restaurant called Iva. And the best gelato I have had in the Balkans (outside of Ljubljana) is Crna Ovca, with locations around Belgrade.

Montenegro: The highlights of this country are also covered in our Rick Steves Croatia and Slovenia guidebook. Our longtime trusted partner in the area is Stefan Đukanović of Miro and Sons; they do a variety of trips around the country. On this trip, in addition to a fun and insightful scenic joyride with Stefan, I enjoyed an insightful tour of Podgorica with his guide Rajan. Also in Podgorica, I had a wonderful  dinner at Konoba Lanterna, with generous portions of delicious traditional food.

Kosovo: I enjoyed staying at the Hotel Gračanica, just outside Prishtinë, near a historic Serb monastery; the reception staff is exceptionally helpful, and the in-house restaurant served one of the best meals I had in the Balkans. In Prishtinë, local guide Ilir gave me a great tour of his “Newborn” city (+383 49 407 769). Prishtinë had so many tempting cafés and restaurants, it was hard to pick; on my brief visit, I enjoyed coffee and cake at Newborn Brew, and had a fun, trendy dinner at the bookstore-themed Soma Book Station. In Prizren, I enjoyed a delicious, traditional dinner along the river near the classic old bridge at Shpija e Kalter.  And the Accursed Mountains — at the intersection of Kosovo, Montenegro, and Albania — is emerging as a popular hiking destination.

North Macedonia: In Skopje, I wandered about 15 minutes from the main square to the trendy area called Debar Maalo, with several traditional restaurants featuring nice outdoor seating (including a few interchangeable places on Gjorgji Peshkov street). A little closer to the center, the big, traditional Old City House Restaurant felt very touristy, but the food was good. I learned much about Lake Ohrid — and North Macedonia in general — from local guide Džino Patel (dzingispatel@gmail.com). In the town of Ohrid, I had a great meal at Kaj Kanevche — quite touristy but friendly and with good traditional food right on the water just below the famous Church of St. Jovan Kaneo. In town, Bro’s Burger Station offered a fun and tasty change of pace from traditional food, serving American-style burgers with a Balkan spin.

Albania: In Tiranë, I was grateful for the help of local guides Eni (+355 68 900 9560) and Gazi (+355 69 631 5858). The city’s main square surprised me with one of the best bookstores (including lots of English books) in the Balkans, Adrion. In Berat, I enjoyed a tour from Erilda Krasi of 1001 Albanian Adventures (+355 69 883 1536). In Gjirokastër, I loved my stay at Tatiana’s guesthouse, Argyropolis Boutique Hotel (you can find her on Booking.com). Also in Gjirokastër, I enjoyed a great dinner at the traditional restaurant called Odaja, with a tiny balcony overlooking the busy bazaar.

Other Video Resources

My “Balkan Odyssey” Monday Night Travel focuses on those lesser-traveled southern Balkan destinations. If you’re craving more focus on the more popular northern countries — especially Croatia and Slovenia — we’ve archived lots of great content on those.

Start by checking out my team-up with my Slovenian friend and fellow tour guide, Tina Hiti, when we co-hosted a Monday Night Travel-style rundown of Croatia, Slovenia, and neighboring lands (from our 2023 Festival of Travel).

We’ve also filmed three TV shows in this region: Croatia: Adriatic Delights — You can watch the original show, or  the Monday Night Travel “watch-along” with Tina Hiti; Dubrovnik and Balkan Side-Trips (including Bosnia-Herzegovina and Montenegro) —  Original show, or the Monday Night Travel “watch-along” with  me; and Best of Slovenia — Original show, or the Monday Night Travel “watch-along” with Sašo Golub.

Happy Travels! Sretan Put!

I hope this rundown of tips, itinerary ideas, and resources whets your appetite for planning a Balkan Odyssey of your own. While it’s a little more complicated to plan a trip here than to the (overrun, overpriced) biggies in other parts of Europe, your effort is more than rewarded with a wonderful travel experience. If you have any guidance from your own travels to add, please suggest them below in the Comments.

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10 European Discoveries for 2025 — Balkans Edition

As the new year dawns, it’s time to plan new travels. Each year around this time, I share 10 “Discoveries” — lesser-known, underappreciated corners of Europe that might deserve a look as your travel dreaming turns to travel planning. And this year, my Discoveries come with a special focus: the Balkans.

Wait… the Balkans? Those Balkans? Absolutely, yes. A few months ago, I set out on an epic road trip from the Julian Alps to the shores of the Aegean, from sunny coastlines to frigid mountaintops, and from Lake Bled to Lake Ohrid… hopscotching through the Catholic, Muslim, and Eastern Orthodox worlds while linking up seven different capitals. This year’s Discoveries showcase 10 locations in 10 countries, combining new-to-me finds and classic favorites.

But the Balkan focus isn’t just because of my recent travels. If there’s a prevailing travel theme for 2025, it’s big prices and bigger crowds. In addition to its astonishing cultural diversity, its stunning landscapes, and its thriving cities, the Balkans’ great appeal is its undiscovered-ness. (In many places, I never saw another American.) And, while inflation is affecting every place to varying degrees, these destinations remain strikingly affordable.

There’s a good chance you’ve never heard of some of these places. But that doesn’t mean they’re not worth a visit. Join me on a spin through the Balkans… and discover something new.

Gjirokastër, Albania

On my Balkan road trip, nothing tested my mettle behind the wheel like driving to my traditional guesthouse near the top of Gjirokastër — the most appealing of Albania’s many historic mountain towns, huddled on steep slopes below a protective citadel.

From the broad valley below, I twirled up through Gjirokastër’s labyrinthine old town, inhaling deeply as I squeezed up lanes barely as wide as my car. (I had booked a subcompact. They gave me an SUV.) Summiting town, I was greeted by cheerful Tatiana — my very own temporary Albanian auntie — who made me feel instantly at home in her cozy, traditional, spotless B&B.

Like so much of Albania (and the Balkans), the historic core of Gjirokastër feels Turkish: cobbled streets, stony slate-roofed homes, soaring minarets, and a thriving bazaar. From the main intersection, with lanes spiraling off in every direction, you have exactly two choices: uphill or downhill.

Conquering Gjirokastër’s castle — racking up a day’s worth of steps in a 20-minute vertical climb — I looked down over the city’s rooftops, lined up against a jagged, cloud-catching ridge of peaks across the way.

Later that night, I found the perfect traditional eatery, which had just one tiny table on a miniature porch cantilevered over the bazaar’s busy main drag. Digging into an affordable feast of rice balls, meatballs in yogurt, and an intensely sweet, honey-soaked orange cake, I observed the touristic hubbub just below me. Gjirokastër is gradually becoming known, thanks to its cultural heritage, stunning setting, and proximity to Albania’s increasingly famous Adriatic beaches.

And yet, the place still has an uncorrupted, authentic soul. After dinner, in a needless rush, I hustled past a humble bar with tables facing the bazaar’s main intersection. The bar’s owner slowed me with a generous smile as he all but insisted I take a seat. After charging me less than a buck for an open-your-own-bottle beer, he joined some friends at the next table and savored that priceless twilight view right along with me. It seemed he was less concerned about making money than he was ensuring that this serene view wouldn’t go to waste.

Prishtinë, Kosovo

“I’ll meet you at the Newborn Monument.”

So pinged a text from my local guide, Mentor, as I drove through swiftly developing outskirts toward the center of Europe’s newest capital city. At the monument consisting of the word NEWBORN, Mentor eagerly greeted me, ready to show off his burgeoning hometown.

Prishtinë embraces its newness. Repeatedly, I heard the brag that Kosovo — Europe’s youngest country (independent since 2008, and still not universally recognized) — also has one of its youngest populations, with about two-thirds of its citizens under 30 years old.

As I explored Prishtinë, I immediately appreciated its appealing urbanity, optimism, and sense of forward momentum. The main drag, recently closed to cars, is a delightful pedestrian mall lined with plywood food sheds and picnic tables. Even its “old” buildings — such as the wonderfully weird, wildly eye-catching National Library, opened in 1982 — feel fresh and innovative: a Brutalist masterpiece with bulbous domes, all wrapped in metallic netting.

At the same time, I also sensed a deep devotion to the past. The ethnic Albanians who make up more than 90 percent of Kosovo’s population are, it’s believed, descended from among the earliest known peoples to reside in Europe: the Illyrians, bewilderingly ancient even to the ancients. And Prishtinë, despite its apparent “newness,” has a very old soul.

As if to demonstrate this, Mentor led me away from the thriving downtown and up to the very top of the main drag (passing the shiny office-tower parliament) to reach the old Ottoman quarter. Passing a duo of soaring minarets — each one marking a lavishly decorated mosque full of locals taking part in evening prayer — we carried on through old Prishtinë’s meandering bazaar streets to a fabulously well-preserved old Turkish house. Mentor lovingly explained each centuries-old item, as if tenderly flipping through the yellowed pages of a precious chronicle.

This parallel devotion to both old and new struck me throughout Kosovo, where visitors divide their attention between the slick new development of a fledgling country, and evocatively antique Orthodox monasteries and Ottoman-era towns (like Prizren). It’s one of the reasons Kosovo, and Prishtinë in particular, got under my skin… much to my (pleasant) surprise.

Logarska Dolina and the Northern Valleys, Slovenia

Curling along a ridgetop road at what felt like the attic of the Alps — immersed in 360 degrees of spectacular green hills, yawning valleys, and cut-glass peaks, just a few minutes’ drive from Austria — I pulled up the gravel driveway of a simple farmhouse. Inside the screened-in porch, I met a family of three from Canada: mom, dad, and teenage daughter, all digging into plates of hearty food.

The farmer who owned the place appeared and agreed to bring me a plate, too. As we all chowed down on oversized, pork-filled dumplings, my lunchmates explained that their guidebook had directed them up into these rugged mountains, at the remote northern fringe of one of Europe’s most underrated countries… where they were having the time of their lives. The experience left both my belly and my soul full — making me happy that my work is having an impact on at least a few vacations.

Just down the road, a local tip detoured me up a side valley to another tourist farm, this one specializing in artisanal goat’s-milk ice cream infused with local Slovenian ingredients: anise and honey, tarragon, dried pears, fresh-curd strudel. As a gelato aficionado, I had very high hopes. They were exceeded. (Another discovery for that guidebook!)

After a long day of heavenly views and earthy flavors, I made my way back to yet another rustic farmhouse, where I was spending the night. The Lenar clan (Urša and her parents) set me up with a woody room where I could step out onto a silent balcony to bask in sweeping views across the valley. Each morning, I savored the traditional folk-art decor of the breakfast room, along with farm-fresh eggs, home-baked pastries, and Urša’s gentle, thoughtful lessons about this region’s distinct farming and forestry methods.

Logarska Dolina specializes in spectacular scenery, in rustic lives that revolve around traditions, and in a refreshing lack of fellow tourists (other than in-the-know Slovenes…and a few wayward Canadians). As Slovenia’s more famous mountain resorts — Lake Bled, Lake Bohinj, the Soča Valley — are becoming, to varying degrees, more crowded, Logarska Dolina is a reminder that even a small country is never exhausted of its beckoning hideaways.

Belgrade, Serbia

Creeping closer and closer in rush-hour gridlock, I observed how the Serbian capital fills its long ridge with gray, uninspiring concrete. Traffic here is as heavy as it is unforgiving. Lush parks, genteel boulevards, and ornate facades are in short supply. The sidewalks are narrow and shabby and forever dribbled by air-conditioning units grafted onto ramshackle apartment blocks that stretch high into the sky, blotting out the sun.

Finally reaching my lodgings, dropping off my bag, and heading out to explore, I joined the people-parade on the main walking street, Knez Mihalova. And suddenly I remembered: Once you’re immersed in the urban jungle of Belgrade, the city abounds with charming details, intriguing detours, and an exuberant humanity. On this balmy evening, the entire city was out promenading… slowly making their way toward Kalemegdan Park, which fills a point surrounding Belgrade Fortress overlooking the confluence of the Danube and the Sava.

Sightseers find plenty to do here. Sveti Sava, one of the largest Orthodox churches in Christendom, is gobsmackingly stunning inside — shimmering with gilded icons and glittering chandeliers. Just up the street is the former home of inventor Nikola Tesla, now a museum. The Yugo-nostalgic can pay their respects at Marshal Tito’s grave and tour the fascinating, adjacent museum of Yugoslavia. Or simply prowl the cobbles of the traditional quarter, Skadarlija, buzzing with dueling Balkan folk troupes and interchangeable menus of delicious “Serbian national cuisine.”

Departing Belgrade, observing its blight shrink behind me, I thought about how few places provide a starker contrast between that first, distant impression… and the slow, satisfying revelation of experiencing it from within.

Istrian Interior, Croatia

Many years ago, when we were first brainstorming the itinerary for our Rick Steves Best of the Adriatic tour, we knew we needed a couple of nights in Istria — the wedge-shaped peninsula dangling from the northwest corner of Croatia, next to Italy. Initially I figured that stop must be in Rovinj, arguably Croatia’s prettiest coastal town. But then someone suggested that, instead, we should sleep deep in the Istrian interior. Why not settle into an atmospheric hill town with bucolic views and world-class restaurants, still just a short drive from Istria’s coastal delights?

It was one of those Eureka! moments that, instantly, just made sense. And it still does.

While Croatia is, deservedly, famous for its coastline, I always find myself looking forward to my time in the Istrian interior. There’s nothing like hitting the road for a giddy loop through this stunning, user-friendly region, with its cypress-lined country lanes, stony hill towns capping vineyard-draped hills, trendy boutique wineries and other foodie finds, and dark oak forests embedded with precious truffles. It feels like joyriding through a schlocky painting of Tuscany — but real!

And then, of course, there’s the food: Istria is one of Europe’s most abundant producers of truffles. These pungent tubers are grated like parmesan over noodles or steak. And you’ll also find them in cheese, salami, olive oil, tapenade, pâté, frittata, soufflé, and even ice cream.

Settling into one of my favorite Croatian eateries, in the hill town of Motovun, I perused the menu and made my selection. But then, the owner appeared tableside and turned the page. “Ah, but did you see the white truffle menu? We have some of the first white truffles of the season.”

Well, in that case… don’t mind if I do!

Sibiu, Transylvania, Romania

On the night of my first visit to Sibiu, several years ago, the town was throwing its first-ever Oktoberfest party. The main square was alive with festivities: carnival rides, little booths slinging traditional food, and a gigantic beer tent, rollicking with happy Romanians hoisting frothy mugs while swaying in time to the imported German oompah band.

Cultural cross-pollination is a hallmark of the Balkans, and essential to truly understanding the region. But it’s not always easy. Just trying to explain the various cultures that have called Romania home — Roman legionnaires, Germanic (“Saxon”) traders, two different factions of Hungarians, and, oh yes, the Romanians — can glaze over the eyes even of the most curious history student.

That’s why I appreciate places like Sibiu, which embodies those complexities in an easy-to-appreciate package. It’s one of many historically Germanic towns in Transylvania, Romania’s thickly forested heartland. Those rolling foothills and cut-glass Carpathian peaks on the horizon are easy to mistake for the Alps.

After communism, like so many other Romanian communities, Sibiu was in a shambles. But it was rebuilt and brightly polished, thanks largely to a visionary mayor, Klaus Iohannis — the first ethnically German mayor anywhere in Romania since World War II. (The city’s transformation and prosperity vaulted Iohannis to national prominence; he was elected president in 2014, and still holds that office.)

Today, among Romanian towns, Sibiu feels classy, stable, and sure of itself. Exploring Sibiu’s cobbles — wandering between its three grand, interlocking squares, enlivened by stately municipal buildings, café tables, and giant, looming churches, then wandering down its main pedestrian drag to a tranquil park that marks the former moat — I kept catching myself thinking I was in Germany. And in a country that’s still struggling to get back on its feet, emulating one that’s already affluent, well-established, and tidy is a shrewd start.

Lake Ohrid, North Macedonia

For my stay at Lake Ohrid, I “splurged” (by Balkan standards) on an apartment with a deck overlooking the lake. Each time I slid open that giant glass door, subconsciously expecting to catch a whiff of the sea, I was surprised instead to smell the unmistakable dank of freshwater.

Nearly a thousand feet deep, and among the world’s oldest lakes, Ohrid feels primordial… elemental. Looking out over the sea-like deep, you notice how this vast, moody, dramatic lake is big enough to create its own weather system. From miles away, you can see brief, intense squalls ripping across the water’s surface toward you, alternating with shimmering sunbeams, bright blue skies, and cotton-candy clouds.

Ohrid floods a gorge between wooded mountains along the border between North Macedonia and Albania. The lake, and the historic town of the same name, are a popular resort for visitors from around the Balkans. Holiday-makers promenade along the wide path that runs along its shore, venturing out onto crumbling piers to be immersed in lakefront splendor. Or they hike just around the bluff above town to reach the iconic, Byzantine-style Orthodox church of St. Jovan Kaneo, clinging to its own little niche just over the water. From here, a steep and winding path leads up to a partially ruined fortress, along its crenellated wall, then to yet more beautiful Byzantine-style churches and twisting lanes that, eventually, meander back down to the lakefront.

All of those churches are also a reminder that Ohrid is not just for vacationers; it’s one of those places that feels infused with an almost mystical aura, which has attracted settlers and visitors for eons. Following the shoreline highway, you can pull over to explore the rebuilt stilt houses suspended over the Bay of Bones, or to visit yet another historic church, honoring one of the Byzantine missionaries (St. Naum) who converted the Slavs and created the Cyrillic alphabet.

Yes, “primordial” is a strange way to describe a destination. But that’s the word that kept coming to mind on the shores of this bewilderingly old, mysterious, and tranquil lake.

Veliko Tarnovo and Shipka Pass, Bulgaria

There’s an atmospheric lane in the heart of Veliko Tarnovo that’s lined with smiling craftspeople, eager to show off their traditional art. Silversmith Todor creates intricate filigree jewelry. Nina and her son create pottery with patterns dating back centuries. Miglena operates an old-fashioned loom. Rumi carves wooden items. And Rashko painstakingly paints icons. Folk art, still being executed with pride and precision by modern people, is a hallmark of the Balkans. And this “Craftspeople’s Street” is one of the most user-friendly places to experience it.

Artisanal handicrafts aside, Veliko Tarnovo — appropriately meaning “Great City of Land and Water” — is among the most dramatically situated settlements anywhere. The city’s homes cling to the steep slopes of a gorge carved by the meandering Yantra River. At one particularly scenic riverbend, a gigantic sword thrusts up into the sky, boldly proclaiming a centuries-old dynasty that still fills locals with pride. And the cliff-topping fortress, Tsarevets, rewards hikers with sweeping views over the city… and the opportunity for kids-at-heart to nock imaginary arrows while defending the substantial bastions.

Connecting Veliko Tarnovo to the rest of the country is perhaps Bulgaria’s most entertaining drive, over the Shipka Pass. Along here, you’ll pass through Tryavna, a touristy village that abounds with traditional Bulgarian National Revival-style homes; a lavish Orthodox church celebrating the 1877 battle that forced the Ottomans out of this region; and a rotting-from-the-inside-out communist conference hall that looks like a UFO crash-landed on a mountainside, called Buzludzha.

If Bulgaria is one of Europe’s most pleasantly surprising destinations, then Veliko Tarnovo is one of its very best surprises — and a highlight of perhaps our most underrated tour, the Best of Bulgaria.

Podgorica, Montenegro

“You are probably wondering why you came to Podgorica, widely regarded as the ugliest capital city in Europe.”

These were the first words my guide, Rajan, said when we met. I admired his candor about his hometown; it was refreshing, if a little startling. And it opened my mind to what he said next.

It’s true: Travelers who come to Podgorica (pronounced POD-goh-reet-suh) are not here for beauty. After World War II, the city — then called “Titograd,” after the Yugoslav leader — was built essentially from scratch around the modest footprint of an old Ottoman town at the meeting point of rivers, near the base of a towering mountain range. Titograd was a showcase of Brutalism, the heavy-handed, concrete-happy, form-follows-function style that prevailed in Yugoslavia’s postwar boom.

Brutalism is about as pretty as it sounds…and it hasn’t aged well. The night before I met Rajan, at the end of a 10-hour journey from Belgrade, my train pulled into the Podgorica station just after sunset. The walk to my hotel took me through a neighborhood of towering, bare-concrete apartment blocks, on crumbling sidewalks, past seas of bare dirt and green weeds that crowded out sparse tufts of parched-yellow grass. As a first impression, it was, in a word, brutal.

And yet, as Rajan showed me around by the light of day, I found myself entertaining a thought experiment: What if Podgorica’s burly Brutalism and stark “Ex-Yugo” aesthetic is not a bug…but a feature?

While lacking the graceful arches, stately pillars, and fanciful flourishes that tourists associate with Europe, Brutalism is the essence of functionality. Those Yugoslav nation-builders, like today’s urban planners, faced a desperate shortage of affordable housing. In fact, these days Brutalism is in vogue among young architecture students. Seeing Rajan’s city through his eyes, I found myself appreciating the tidy, grid-planned streets; the broad boulevards with wide, tree-lined sidewalks that encourage strolling; and the strategic juxtaposition of important buildings: parliament, president’s office, ministries, embassies, municipal offices, all efficiently lined up in tidy rows.

Psychologists talk about “radical acceptance.” Rajan, quite radically, accepts that his city is no Prague or Paris. But what it is, is beautiful in its own way. By the end of our time together, we were brainstorming a “Titograd Time Warp Tour” — to really lean into what’s special about Podgorica.

As travelers, we often make snap judgments based on an unflattering first impression…especially in places with a hard history, like the Balkans. Podgorica taught me to keep an open mind and appreciate each place on its own terms.

Talk about radical.

Anywhere, Bosnia-Herzegovina

There’s no doubt that Bosnia-Herzegovina is a “must” on any Balkan list. But where in Bosnia, exactly?

I have already featured the wonderful capital, Sarajevo, on a past Discoveries list. Should I mention Mostar, the convenient-if-touristy “Bosnia with training wheels” city that’s close to Croatia’s Dalmatian Coast? Jajce, the historic town scenically built literally upon a waterfall, where Yugoslavia was born during World War II? Srebrenica, with its wrenching memorial to innocent lives lost in the Yugoslav Wars? Perhaps some remote but charming smaller towns or cities, or amazing foodie finds, or the Bosnian people themselves — some of the kindest, most interesting, most welcoming anywhere?

On the other hand…why choose? If you’re thinking of going to Bosnia, anywhere in Bosnia, you can’t go wrong. In many ways, Bosnia is the quintessence of the Balkans: a ruggedly mountainous, verdant landscape carved by rivers and mountain streams; an epic history, with more than its share of highs and (especially) lows; deeply flavorful comfort food at bargain prices; a complex mix of Muslims, Catholics, and Orthodox, which has left each townscape a jumble of minarets, steeples, and domes; and remarkably affordable prices — making this arguably Europe’s single best destination in terms of cost-to-quality ratio.

Best of all, especially outside of Sarajevo and Mostar, Bosnia has an unmistakable “undiscovered” quality. I’ve been traveling here for two decades; in that time, those showcase cities have become firmly planted on the tourist trail — but those tourists come mainly from the Muslim world, attracted by the promise of an accessible taste of Europe that’s also culturally familiar. (Sharing Bosnia with these fellow travelers is, in itself, a fascinating experience for a non-Muslim visitor from America.) And yet, if you get beyond Sarajevo and Mostar, you’ll likely discover you’re just about the only tourist, from anywhere.

Croatia and Slovenia are certainly the most accessible (and well-known) slice of the Balkans for first-time visitors. But If I had to nominate just one place to get a taste of this region — accessibly, affordably, unforgettably — it would have to be Bosnia-Herzegovina… anywhere.

I realize that some of these Balkan Discoveries might be a hard sell for someone seeking a more, shall we say, “conventional” itinerary. I had great trips in 2024, as well, to Venice, Amsterdam, Germany’s heartland, and the Greek Islands — all still marvelous choices. But as crowds and prices rise to unsustainable peaks in those mainline destinations, off-the-beaten-path alternatives seem more appealing than ever. And you won’t find much that’s more “off the beaten path” than the Balkans.

The Balkans are a big place. What tourists there are, are concentrated in a few very small areas. Whether it’s a remote alpine valley, a giant moody lake, a thriving-if-ramshackle capital city, a historic town that’s improbably built upon an unforgiving landscape, or a Discovery all your own, this region warrants exploration.

Be sure to share your own Discoveries in the Comments.

You can also look back at my Discoveries from 2024, 2023, 2021, 2020, 2019, and 2018… all still great choices.

If you’d like to hear more about my recent “Balkan Odyssey” — and more stories and photos from all of the above places, and more — join me on February 17 on Monday Night Travel (at 6 pm Pacific, or 9 pm Eastern). It’s entirely free — just sign up ahead, when the class is officially announced in a few weeks.

If you’d like to travel along with me in 2025, be sure to follow me on Facebook and Instagram.

And consider checking out my travel memoir, The Temporary European: Lessons and Confessions from a Professional Traveler.

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Celebrating Women’s History Month

March is Women’s History Month, and March 8 is International Women’s Day. So let’s talk about women’s history in the context of European travel.

As a (male) guidebook writer, I’m keenly aware that women are, so often, underrepresented when telling the story of Europe.

On a recent research trip, I received a welcome reminder of this when I posted on Facebook about the Protestant Cemetery in Rome, and told the stories of some of the fascinating men buried there. A Facebook account called Herstorical Monuments pointed out that many even-more-fascinating women are also interred at that cemetery, and suggested I look into one in particular: Sarah Parker Remond (1826–1894), a Black woman born free in Salem, Massachusetts, who traveled to England to gather support for the abolition of slavery and eventually became a physician in Florence, Italy. I appreciated the nudge, and Remond is now mentioned in our Rick Steves Rome guidebook.

As I’ve worked on our guidebooks across Europe since then, I’ve kept this important mission in mind. The stories of great women can be difficult to track down — all too often, you have to work to uncover them. But if you travel with this goal in mind, you realize that Europe’s history has been shaped by many exemplary women.

For example, in Glasgow, I dug deeper into the story of Margaret Macdonald Mackintosh (1864-1933). While known primarily as the “wife of Charles Rennie Mackintosh,” Margaret was a talented artist in her own right — collaborating with her husband on many of his best-known works, often contributing their defining features. And she did not just influence her husband. One of the most famous works of Austrian artist Gustav Klimt, the Beethoven Frieze, bears a striking resemblance to a work of Margaret Macdonald’s that Klimt had seen at a show in Vienna.

In Budapest, I learned the story of Hannah Szenes (1921-1944), a Jewish woman who became part of an elite paratrooper unit during World War II. Szenes dropped behind enemy lines, where she was captured and tortured, refused to give up her comrades, and was ultimately executed by the Nazis. In addition to being  a war hero, Szenes was also a poet; one of her poems — called “Eli, Eli” (or “A Walk to Caesarea”) — provided the lyrics to a beloved song that’s sung around the world in remembrance of the Holocaust. (You can read Szenes’ full story in our Budapest guidebook.)

In the world of science, few figures loom larger than Madame Curie — born in Warsaw as Maria Skłodowska (1867-1934). She traveled to study in Paris, where she met her husband, Pierre. They were the first to identify and explain the phenomenon of radioactivity, and they discovered two new elements: Polonium (which Marie named after her native land) and Radium. They were awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics; later, Marie won a second Nobel Prize in Chemistry, making her one of just two scientists who’ve been awarded Nobels in two different disciplines. After Pierre died, Marie took over his professorship at the Sorbonne and continued their research; among other accomplishments, she founded the Radium Institute, which still carries out important cancer research. (Her full story is told in our Central Europe guidebook.)

And in Dublin, on a visit to the sobering Kilmainham Gaol, the tour guide passionately told the story of Constance Markievicz (1868-1927), an Irish woman who took up arms during the Easter Rising. As one of the rebellion’s leaders, she was convicted and sentenced to death, but that sentence was later changed to life in prison, solely because she was a woman. (A regretful Markievicz said, “I do wish your lot had the decency to shoot me.”) Later released, she was elected the first-ever female member of the British House of Commons; soon after, she became Minister of Labor — the second woman in all of Europe to hold a cabinet position.

Often, women change history collectively and anonymously. For example, in the tiny fjordside village of Siglufjörður, at the northern tip of Iceland, the Herring Era Museum explains how the abundant shoals that were caught and processed here powered Iceland’s economy through the early 20th century. The hard work of cutting and salting the herring was done by women, who worked 20- or even 30-hour shifts. These workers were known as “herring girls” — a term that today’s local women have embraced with a Rosie the Riveter verve. Make no mistake: The “herring girls” were the muscle behind Iceland’s economy during a critical period, arguably empowering it to become fully independent from Denmark.

And in Derry, Northern Ireland,  a wonderful mural honors the thousands of women who worked sewing machines at Derry’s shirt-making factories (the biggest was Tillie & Hendersons). These original “Derry Girls” powered the economy; often served as the primary breadwinner for their family; and held the fabric of the town’s society together.

Probably my favorite often-overlooked great woman of history should rightly be the patron saint of solo women travelers. I stumbled upon her at, of all places, a souvenir shop in the Slovenian capital of Ljubljana. Perusing a stack of coffee mugs decorated with the faces of great Slovenes, I scanned the familiar (male) names — Plečnik, Prešeren, Trubar — and came across one that was unfamiliar: Alma Karlin.

I asked the clerk for more information. “Oh, yes, Alma,” she said, as if talking about a dear old friend. “She was a great traveler and an amazing woman! Went all over the world by herself.”

Needless to say, I bought the mug. And I went back to my hotel and did some research on this fascinating human being for my Slovenia guidebook. And so, in honor of International Women’s Day, here’s the complete story of Alma Karlin:

Alma Karlin (1889-1950): Slovenia’s Greatest Traveler?

Slovenia is a land of great travelers. And perhaps the greatest was Alma Karlin, considered the first European woman to travel around the globe independently (with no outside financial support). Karlin was also a polyglot, ethnologist, iconoclast, prolific writer — and iconic Slovenian woman.

Karlin was born in 1889 in the city of Celje, then the Austro-Hungarian burg of Cilli. Her father, a retired military officer, once sparked young Alma’s imagination by telling her that if she left home toward the west and just kept going, eventually she’d wind up right back where she started. But Karlin had a challenging childhood, with a drooping eye and a slumping shoulder, which her mother attempted to correct in painful and humiliating ways.

After her father’s death, Karlin escaped her overbearing mother by studying in both London and Paris, then fled to Sweden and Norway during World War I. Karlin slowly mastered what eventually amounted to more than 10 different languages, and also discovered a passion for writing and traveling. Returning home after the war, she taught language classes until she had saved enough money for a ’round-the-world journey.

Karlin departed Celje in November 1919, carrying a single suitcase containing a few items of clothing, a typewriter, and a 10-language dictionary she had written herself. She headed west, loosely following the route her father had outlined: first to South America, then to North America, and eventually to Asia, Australia, and Oceania. Finally, in 1928, at the request of her ailing mother, Karlin returned home to Yugoslavia. Back in Celje, Karlin entered a deep depression (possibly resulting from malaria) and never left home again. But that did not mean she remained unhappy: Karlin met and fell in love with the German painter Thea Schreiber Gamelin, who eventually moved to Celje so they could live together.

Karlin had already amassed many lifetimes’ worth of experiences in those eight years on the road. Over the next two decades, she wrote extensively about her journeys (starting with her travelogue The Lonely Journey, in 1929), as well as novels, short stories, and plays, eventually gaining an international following. Her works include closely observed details and tales of her own misadventures, written with wit and honesty. She also became fascinated with spirituality and mysticism — having been exposed to many different faiths in her journeys.

Originally Karlin wrote in German — which was her first language — but later, in protest of Nazi Germany, she switched to other languages. When the Nazis occupied this part of Slovenia, they banned Karlin’s books, arrested her, and sentenced her to a concentration camp; only Thea’s intervention saved her. Karlin spent the rest of the war, in failing health, living either under house arrest in Celje or in exile. She died in 1950 and is buried next to her beloved Thea in the Svetina village cemetery just outside Celje.

While Karlin has been until now a footnote in Slovenian history, interest in her travels and her work is finally catching up. Hopefully, as her status as the proto-“solo woman traveler” becomes better known, more of her writings will be translated into English. In the meantime, if you’d like to learn more about Karlin, you’ll find an exhibit about her at the Regional Museum in Celje. And, quite fittingly, a statue of Karlin toting her suitcase greets arriving travelers in front of the Celje train station.

Who is your favorite unheralded woman in the story of Europe? And also: Who’s your favorite solo woman traveler?