Vatican Museums, Sistine Chapel & St Peters.

Vatican Museums, Sistine Chapel & St. Peter’s Basilica

Rome: Where Heaven Was Painted in Silence

The walls here don’t simply hold art —
they hold centuries of belief, brilliance, and power woven into every brushstroke, every stone.

You enter the Vatican Museums not as a tourist, but as a guest —
invited into a world where marble halls stretch like time itself, and corridors unfold like chapters of a story too vast to finish.

With a Local Specialist, you move through galleries filled with treasures the world was never meant to forget.
Tapestries ripple with motion.
Statues hold poses they’ve kept for two thousand years.
The air is hushed, but not silent —
it carries the breath of artists, popes, philosophers, and pilgrims who once stood exactly where you are.

And then — the Sistine Chapel.

You tilt your head back, and the ceiling takes your breath before you even realise you’ve been holding it.
Michelangelo’s masterpiece isn’t just painted — it’s proclaimed.
The Creation of Adam, the Last Judgement —
they rise above you in silence, but they thunder all the same.

No photograph, no description, no memory ever quite captures the awe of standing beneath it.
You don’t just see the chapel.
You feel it — every detail, every inch, a conversation between man and the divine.

And still, the story isn’t finished.

Because just beyond, St. Peter’s Basilica awaits —
massive, majestic, alive with light and reverence.
Its dome stretches toward heaven.
Its altars shine with gold and history.
And at its heart, Bernini’s bronze baldachin rises above the tomb of a fisherman whose name became a church.

You walk its marble aisles, touch its cool stone walls, and stand beneath its soaring dome —
not to understand it all, but simply to stand in wonder.

This isn’t just a visit.
It’s a passage —
through faith, through art, through centuries that still speak if you’re willing to listen.

Because here, in the smallest country on earth,
you encounter something impossibly vast.

99 EUR

Hidden Rome, Piazzas and Fountains

Rome: Where Every Step Is a Story

There are cities that age.
And then there’s Rome — a city that refuses to.
You don’t just see it. You step into it.

The stone under your shoes is worn smooth by emperors, poets, and lovers. The air hums with stories that were old before your great-grandparents were born.

You wander through the old Ghetto area, where piazzas open like pockets of light between shadowed lanes. The Turtle Fountain glimmers with bronze figures, delicate and playful, a whisper of Baroque grace. Just beyond, the Theatre of Marcellus rises in weathered stone — half ruin, half survivor — its arches echoing Rome’s appetite for spectacle. Here, history doesn’t sit behind glass. It leans against you as you walk by.

You step into the Pantheon, where the weight of two thousand years dissolves in a single shaft of light. The oculus above pours the sky straight onto the marble floor, shifting with the hours, as if the heavens themselves are keeping time. Voices soften under the perfect dome, and every footstep feels like part of something choreographed long before you arrived. Here, eternity isn’t an idea. It’s architecture.

And between it all — the alleys.
The cracked walls dripping ivy.
The smell of coffee and old stone.
The lives lived half inside and half outside, where a Vespa might whip past and a Vesuvian laugh might ring out from a balcony above.

You end at Piazza Navona — not a square, but a stage.
The fountains spit and glitter. Painters crowd the corners. Shadows stretch across worn cobblestones. You can sit here, if you like, order a glass of wine, and pretend you’re nobody at all. Or that you’re part of something ancient and unbroken.

In Rome, it’s easy to forget yourself.
It’s even easier to find yourself in the echoes

49 EUR

Dinner in The Tuscan Hills

An enchanting evening under the Tuscan stars

Twilight settles over the Tuscan hills. You arrive at I Tre Pini, where long tables are arranged beneath ancient pine trees, their branches intertwined with glowing lanterns. Candles flicker alongside baskets of rustic bread and bottles of local Chianti, casting a warm golden glow. The air is rich with the aroma of rosemary, grilled meats, and sun-ripened olives – the essence of authentic Tuscan home cooking. Laughter rings out as toasts are raised; in this charming hillside villa, you instantly feel like part of a big Tuscan family.

The feast unfolds in a joyful parade of regional specialties. Course after course of Tuscan favorites appear: handmade pastas with rich sauce, farm-fresh vegetables drizzled in golden olive oil, and slow-roasted meats infused with herbs. Each dish is paired with a generous pour of wine, and your glass never goes empty. Under the open sky, you savor every bite and sip, surrounded by silhouettes of cypress and olive groves. There is no rush here – only the easy pace of Italian dining, where tradition is savored and time seems to stand still.

As night deepens, music sparkles to life in the gentle breeze. A live ensemble begins to play beloved Italian melodies, their notes dancing among the treetops and stars. An opera singer strolls between tables, serenading you with a timeless aria that raises goosebumps. Soon, you find yourself clapping to the rhythm; some guests even rise to dance, twirling together under the fairy lights and constellations. Joy and warmth overflow in this celebration of la dolce vita – a timeless Tuscan evening filled with great food, flowing wine, and music that stirs your soul under a canopy of stars

78 EUR

Michelangelo's 'David' & Accademia

Stone That Breathes.

There are masterpieces you look at — and there are masterpieces that look back at you.
Florence is the latter.
And in the heart of it, behind quiet stone and modest walls, stands one of the most arresting encounters in all of Europe: Michelangelo’s David.

The Accademia doesn’t shout. It whispers. You enter not with fanfare, but through a hushed corridor where even footsteps seem to lower their voice. And yet, there’s a pull — invisible, magnetic — drawing you forward. Past unfinished giants, Michelangelo’s Prisoners caught forever between block and becoming, muscles straining against stone like thoughts trying to form.

Then you see him.

At the end of the hall, beneath a soft dome of light, David waits.
Not the boy with the slingshot you think you know.
But a colossus of tension and calm, of perfect anatomy and defiant stillness.
Nerves alive under marble skin. Veins like whispers. A gaze that sees beyond Goliath, beyond fear, beyond time.

You don’t just look at David. You orbit him.
Step by slow step, the sculpture shifts — from heroic to human, from monument to miracle. Every angle holds another revelation. The curve of the spine, the twist of the neck, the concentration in the brow. You begin to understand why Michelangelo didn’t carve marble. He released it.

And for a moment, Florence belongs to you.

Later, you exit into the sunlight of Via Ricasoli — blinking, quiet, changed.
The city hums around you. Gelaterias and bicycles and church bells marking the hour.
But you carry something now.
A stillness. A grandeur. A reminder that once, in a quiet room in Florence, you stood in the presence of something eternal.

62 EUR       

Gondolas and the Grand Canal

The Water Carries More Than Reflections.

There are cities you walk through — and there are cities you glide through like a secret.

Venice is the second kind.

The Grand Canal, the spine of the old republic, still moves with the weight of centuries. Palazzos lean into the water, their marble facades cracked but proud, telling stories of when Venice was the richest, boldest city in Europe — a place that wrote its name across the maps of the world in ink, gold, and blood.

And the only way to understand it — really feel it — is from the water.

You board the speedboat, a sleek 1950s dream polished to a high shine, and suddenly you’re no longer just a visitor. You’re living a scene out of a life most people only see in movies. Bond, Clooney, the silent glances of a black-and-white film — it’s all in the air as you carve through the Grand Canal, spray kicking up at your sides, the palaces sliding past like mirages.

For a half-hour, Venice belongs to you.

Then the engine cuts, and the rhythm changes.

You step into a gondola — not for the photo, not for the cliché — but to slip quietly into the real veins of the city.

Down back canals so narrow the buildings seem to breathe against your shoulders. Past open windows where music and life leak into the water. Past arches sagging with age, past bridges worn thin by footsteps that stopped counting centuries ago.

Here, Venice drops its mask. No crowds, no noise — just the echo of the oar, the sigh of the water, the sense that if you stayed perfectly still, the past might reach out and touch you.

Later, with free time near St. Mark’s, the night opens up — a different Venice again, one you can wander as a dreamer or a king.

93 EUR

Lagoon Cruise with Lunch at Burano Island

The Lagoon Beyond Venice

Most people never leave Venice.

They see the crowded squares, the polished canals, the masks in the shop windows — and they think they know the city.

They don’t.

Beyond Saint Mark’s, the lagoon stretches wide and raw, dotted with islands that each carry their own story.

Mazzorbo, where vines twist low to the ground, fighting salt and wind to produce wine tough enough to survive centuries.

Sant’Erasmo, the vegetable garden of Venice, where artichokes — the pride of Livigno — grow fat and spiked under a restless sky.

San Francesco del Deserto, a monastery cut off by mist and prayer, where silence weighs heavier than water.

And then there’s Burano.

It rises like a dream from the flat blue — fishermen’s houses painted in colors so bright they punch through the fog.

Here, lace isn’t a tourist craft; it’s a living art, threaded by hands that remember harder times.

The canals are narrower, the voices louder, the life unmistakably real.

You’ll dock at Burano for more than just the view.

In a simple restaurant where locals gather, where the owners still fish the waters themselves, you’ll sit down to a seafood dinner pulled straight from the heart of the lagoon.

No menus. No pretense. Just whatever the water offered up that day — grilled, stewed, seasoned like the sea itself.

Here, away from the crowds, the lagoon doesn’t perform for anyone.

It feeds, it breathes, it endures — and if you’re lucky, for one evening, it lets you be part of its story.

86 EUR

Mount Stanserhorn & Lake Cruise
Switzerland: Where Innovation Meets Eternity

Some journeys move you forward.
This one lifts you — gently, silently — into the sky.

It begins with water.

A scenic cruise across Lake Lucerne, where the mountains lean in close and reflections ripple like dreams. The boat hums. The air is crisp. The journey unfolds with every glimmer of sunlight on the lake’s silver-blue surface.

And then — Stans.
A quiet village at the foot of something extraordinary.

From here, history and innovation join hands.
You board one of Switzerland’s oldest funicular railways, its wooden carriages climbing steadily through rolling meadows and evergreen woods.

At the halfway mark, the future takes over.

The world’s first open-top Cabrio cable car awaits — glass-sided, double-decked, and unlike anything else.
Step onto the rooftop deck and feel the wind in your hair as you glide toward the sky.
No walls. No barriers. Just air, light, and a view that opens like a secret.

At 1,900 metres, Mount Stanserhorn welcomes you with silence — the kind only altitude can offer.
The Alps stretch out like a painting too grand to frame.
You breathe a little deeper.
You stay a little longer.

There’s time to explore, time to pause, time to stand still and simply look.

This isn’t just a mountain visit.
It’s Swisstainable — a perfect balance of nature and progress, tradition and possibility.

And all the while, the land asks nothing of you.
Except that you remember how it made you feel.

127 CHF

Seine Cruise & Paris Icons

Paris: Where the City Glides By

Paris was never meant to be rushed.
She was meant to be admired — slowly, gracefully, from the water.

You board beneath the hush of twilight or the shimmer of golden afternoon,
and the Seine carries you — effortlessly, like a sigh.

This is not just a river.
It’s a mirror for the soul of Paris.

As the boat glides forward, the city reveals herself — not all at once, but in glances.

Bridges curve like iron lace.
The spires of Notre-Dame reach skyward, proud even in silence.
The Louvre, the Orsay, the Conciergerie — they pass like old friends in conversation.

And then — the Eiffel Tower.

She doesn’t just rise.
She arrives.

Framed by sky, gilded by light, she watches you pass with the calm confidence of a queen who knows you’ve come just to see her.

You sit back, sip something lovely, and let Paris do what she does best —
enchant.

Couples lean close. Laughter floats on the breeze. Cameras click, but nothing can quite capture the feeling of floating through the heart of this eternal city.

On land, Paris dazzles.
But on the water, she breathes.

And you — for one perfect hour — are part of her rhythm.

50 EUR

Versailles Palace & Gardens

France: Where Grandeur Was Born

Some places whisper history.
Versailles declares it — in gold, in marble, in every mirror that ever caught a king’s reflection.

You don’t just visit Versailles.
You enter it — through gates gilded like sunlight, into a world where power dressed in velvet and walked in silence across polished floors.

The palace doesn’t apologize for its beauty.
It overwhelms with it.

Room by room, the walls bloom with frescoes and firelight.
You pass through the Hall of Mirrors, where chandeliers hang like frozen music and your reflection shares space with ghosts of monarchs and ministers.

Every detail is a performance.
Every corridor, a corridor of power.

But beyond the opulence, a different kind of wonder waits — in the Gardens.

They stretch wide and ordered, like a dream drawn in geometry.
Fountains dance in the sun. Groves hide secrets. Sculptures rest in the stillness of centuries.
This is where kings strolled and orchestras once played under open sky.

You walk where Marie Antoinette once wandered, where revolution once stirred just beyond the gates.
And still, it is beautiful.
Still, it is Versailles.

The grandeur isn’t in the gold.
It’s in the audacity — to create something so magnificent, it dares time to try and forget it.

85 EUR

Moulin Rouge Cabaret & Dinner

Paris After Dark, Dressed in Feathers and Champagne

Beneath the spinning red windmill in Montmartre, the night hums with expectation. This isn’t just a show — it’s Paris letting down her hair, casting off the day’s refinement and slipping into sequins.

The Moulin Rouge is legend wrapped in velvet. For over a century, it’s been the city’s beating heart after dark — where dancers defy gravity, costumes defy imagination, and champagne flows like applause.

You’ll dine beneath chandeliers on classic French cuisine — rich, indulgent, every bite a reminder that this is a city where pleasure is an art form. Your glass is never empty, your senses never still.

Then, as the lights dim and the curtain lifts, the room transforms. Feathers, sparkles, bare skin and bold color whirl past in a flurry of high-kicks and heartbeats. The “Féerie” revue unfolds — dazzling, outrageous, and unapologetically Parisian.

But the real magic isn’t just onstage. It’s in the atmosphere — electric, a little forbidden, steeped in the ghosts of bohemians, poets, and dreamers who once called this quartier home.

At the Moulin Rouge, Paris doesn’t whisper — she roars, laughs, and dances until the last note fades into the night.

It’s elegance with an edge. A little wild. A little wicked. Utterly unforgettable.

€215