GRASMERE, ENGLAND — As the train we boarded at London’s Euston Station encroaches on England’s enchanting Lake District, we realize the scenery framed in our carriage window is what inspired local hero William Wordsworth to write his Lyrical Ballads.

SANT CUGAT, CATALONIA — The narrow, corkscrew highway I’m nervously navigating is known as the Via Romanesque (Road) and it zigzags through the Pyrenees, dipping dramatically into the bosom of the great mountain range before rising again as high as the pointed peaks.

BILBAO, BASQUE COUNTRY, SPAIN - Rubén Varela is up bright and early to greet guests staying at the Hotel Miró, a chic little property that sits directly across the street from this city’s most famous landmark, the Guggenheim Museum.

VITORIA-GASTEIZ, BASQUE COUNTRY - I’m told to don a hard hat before entering the 11th century Santa María Cathedral, and cautioned not to hit my head on the scaffolding and supports helping to prevent the crumbling structure from falling on my head.

BILBAO, BASQUE COUNTRY, SPAIN - Esther Boulandier skips across the reception area of this city’s renowned Guggenheim Museum with the boundless energy of a child let loose in a candy store.

SARK, ENGLAND — The rain had stopped, which renewed my enthusiasm for exploring tiny Sark, an island which is part of the Bailiwick of Guernsey. Smallest of the Channel Islands and only accessible by boat, Sark is unique in that it is a fiefdom granted to the Seigneurie of St Ouen in Jersey way back in 1565, with the proviso that he keep the island free from pirates.

BILBAO, BASQUE COUNTRY, SPAIN — I turn a corner in the Getxo district of this lovely Basque city and am stopped in my tracks by what looks like a giant Erector Set version of London’s Tower Bridge.

CRETE, GREECE — On a terrace overlooking the moonlit Sea of Crete, a man strokes a bow across a delicate, pear-shaped lyra, deftly coaxing a song from its strings. Accompanied by his deep baritone, the ballad is borne on a breeze that carries with it the scent of wood smoke and flowers, perfuming the night.

ANDERMATT, SWITZERLAND — From my seat aboard the Glacier Express, I feel like I’m looking at an endless series of Giovanni Segantini paintings.

Zürich - Out of the shadows of a darkened Old Town street walks a man wearing a black cape and tricorne. His face is gaunt, his skin a ghostly white. In one hand he carries a lamp. In the other, a long staff with a spear and axe affixed at the top.