The City of San Marino

The Most Serene Republic of San Marino has been minding her own business on top of a mountain since the year 301, which makes her the world's oldest republic and Europe's best long game: while empires rose, annexed and dissolved around her, she kept her three towers, her own laws and her flag the color of sky. The whole country is visible from the crest — which may be the secret: nothing sneaks up on San Marino.

The sensible traveller arrives by the funivia from Borgo Maggiore — the cable car does in two minutes what armies never managed —, walks the witches' pass along the crest from Guaita to Cesta with the cliff falling away on one side and, on clear days, the Adriatic shining forty kilometers east; collects the passport stamp at the tourist office like a solemn souvenir; and stays past six, when the day-trippers drain downhill and the republic returns to her nine thousand citizens.

The Guide's honesty: yes, the lanes are lined with shops selling everything from perfume to replica crossbows — the republic has always lived by her wits: climb one street and the stone quiet returns —; the crest wind is real even in July: bring a layer; and the stamp in your passport is unofficial but the pride is not. Small is not the opposite of great; San Marino has spent seventeen centuries proving it.