Istanbul

If buildings could talk, Hagia Sophia would swagger through Istanbul's Sultanahmet district, puff on a cigarette and say, "Sit down, kid, I've seen empires rise and fall." Born as a basilica under Byzantine Emperor Justinian's ego-driven ambitions back in the 6th century, it was later co-opted into a mosque after the Ottomans stormed in-trading frescoes for minarets-and now, after some bureaucratic ping-pong, it stands as a museum-turned-mosque that defies labels. Aim for an early morning or late afternoon visit to dodge the biggest crowds (though expect a constant stream of selfie sticks wielded with suspicious enthusiasm), and consider booking online a day or two ahead to avoid queues rivaling Istanbul traffic jams. Budget-wise, entry is mercifully free these days, but carrying a scarf or wrap will keep you from the indignity of donning one of those questionable loaner shawls. Come armed with patience, an appreciation for architectural schizophrenia, and a camera with a lens wide enough to capture gravity-defying domes and bafflingly intricate mosaics side by side with austere Islamic calligraphy. Sure, you've seen churches, mosques, and museums-but rarely all in the same place, elbowing for your awe and attention. And isn't that confusion exactly why we travel? Even if history gives you a headache, Hagia Sophia delivers a story worth telling awkwardly at dinner parties for years to come.

There's a delightful absurdity about standing atop the windy mound of ancient Troy near Çanakkale, squinting suspiciously at a giant wooden horse that clearly screams "replica." Yes, dear traveler, here at the archaeological version of a layer cake (nine historical layers, to be precise), Homer meets Hollywood kitsch in a surreal mash-up that would make even Achilles raise an amused eyebrow. Aim to arrive either early in the morning or late afternoon to dodge the busloads of selfie-stick-wielding visitors and catch that cinematic golden-hour glow across these age-old ruins. Book at least a week ahead-there's no point journeying thousands of years into the past only to be thwarted by modern-day crowds. Bring sturdy shoes, bottled water, sunscreen, and just enough cash for entry fees and a souvenir fridge magnet-around $20 USD covers it. Sure, skeptics will sniff that the site is more imagination than structure, but this is precisely the charm: wandering among stone walls whispered to be Priam's palace or Helen's balcony, even if all you really see is rubble and rampant roadside commercialization, makes you feel gloriously connected to both myth and humanity's endless hunger for a good story.