Fourteen cities.
Each its own weekend.

01 Marrakesh. The send-off. Pink medina walls, the Atlas at the doorstep, riads with courtyards you didn’t expect. 02 Barcelona. The serious city. Cerdà’s grid, modernista boulevards, the metro running until five. 03 Lisbon. The Atlantic capital. Seven hills, tiled facades, the last hour of sun. Match the pace. 04 Marbella. The Andalusian coast. Whitewashed villages, the Sierra Blanca rising behind, handled correctly. 05 Ibiza. Punishes half-commitment. Pine cliffs, the UNESCO walled hilltown above, the nocturnal strip below. 06 Mykonos. The dressed island. Cycladic geometry, cobalt water, Nammos at lunch, Scorpios for sunset. 07 Amsterdam. The considered weekend. A seventeenth-century city of canals; a kitchen scene Europe has been quietly underrating. 08 Prague. Gothic by night. Gothic spires, Baroque domes, the world’s best beer at half the price. 09 Budapest. The thermal city. Two cities, one river. Geothermal water under every district; the morning-after at Gellért. 10 Krakow. The walkable one. Europe’s largest medieval square. Limestone, vodka, Kazimierz after midnight. 11 Copenhagen. The harbour city. Copper spires, a harbour clean enough to swim in, a sauna by the water the morning after. 12 Stockholm. The long light. Fourteen islands, copper roofs, the archipelago by boat. Stureplan until five. 13 Berlin. The long weekend. A 1902 bathhouse, a ballroom since 1913, dinners that start at nine. Europe’s most serious nightlife, sold to no one. 14 Mallorca. The summer island. Palma’s cathedral on the sea wall, coves to the west, the Tramuntana behind.