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If it hadn’t been for a sudden train delay in Vinaròs, Spain, we never would have found Morella. It wasn’t on our itinerary. In fact, we hadn’t even heard of it. After waiting several hours in an overcrowded train station, surrounded by bleary-eyed twenty-somethings returning from the party island of Ibiza, we realized we had two choices: spend the night on the tiled floor of a transport hub that smelled vaguely of beer and sunburn, or find another way forward. While my son retreated into a book, my husband scanned the horizon like he might will a train into existence. I sat cross-legged on the floor, teetering between optimism and mild despair. I pulled out my old-school Spain travel guide. I wasn’t expecting miracles, just an alternative to what was rapidly becoming a low point in our five-week European adventure. That’s when I found it. A small entry tucked between better-known destinations: Morella. A walled hilltop town, medieval in appearance, steeped in military history, and according to the guidebook, host to a unique local festival held only once every six years. I checked the date, and as luck would have it, this was the year. I nudged my husband. “What if we just… rented a car and went to Morella?” I pointed to the page like I was revealing a winning lottery number. “There’s even a car rental desk here at the station. Two, actually.” Even if the trains resumed (they wouldn’t), no train went to Morella. If we wanted to get there, it had to be by road. We took that as a sign. Road Trip to Morella: Spain’s Hidden Medieval Gem Keys in hand, backpacks in the boot, and an actual paper map in my lap, we set off, having never driven in Spain before and hoping the car’s clutch wouldn’t be our undoing. Our first challenge came at the toll booth. Feeling falsely emboldened, we chose the automated lane. Unfortunately, it didn’t speak English. We didn’t speak Spanish. It asked us something we didn’t understand, and the only thing we could offer in response was panic. We backed up awkwardly, waved the locals around us, and shuffled over to a booth with a human inside. Between gestures, our guidebook map, and a shared tolerance for awkward grins, we communicated our destination. The toll agent nodded, took our coins, and lifted the gate. We were off! As we left the coast and entered Spain’s dry, rugged interior, the landscape shifted from parched to parched-and-hilly. For over an hour, we wound our way through quiet, sun-bleached terrain. Occasionally, we’d pass a farmhouse or a sheep. It was, by every measure, the road less travelled. Then, just as our son asked for the fourth time how much longer it would be, we rounded a bend and there it was. Morella, Spain First Impressions of Morella, Spain Morella. Perched high on a hill like a crown, flanked by soft valleys and jagged outcrops, it looked less like a town and more like a medieval film set untouched by modernity. The castle ruins caught the late-afternoon sun like a beacon. Everything—the sandstone walls, the warm-toned rooftops, the sheer drop of the cliffside—glowed with the kind of light you can’t photograph well but will remember forever. We were giddy. It was more than promising; it was perfect. We found a parking spot just outside the old-town gate and hauled our bags into the village. The town was quiet. Surprisingly quiet. Perhaps it was the hour or the day of the week. We had no reservation but managed to find a room at a small hotel where no one spoke English, and our collective Spanish hovered somewhere between “tapas” and “gracias.” Still, we managed. We got directions, mostly through mime and repetition, and went out in search of food. As we made our way down the main street, something struck us. The sidewalks, which ran under the buildings' overhanging roofs, were barricaded from the road by thick wooden planks. It gave the place an odd, Wild West feel, as if at any moment, a saloon brawl or shootout might erupt. We made a note of it, but only in passing. At the time, it seemed like quirky small-town infrastructure. That would change later. The town itself was charming. Local bakeries, small tapas bars, and shops selling woollen goods and wine all had a distinctively Spanish feel, but none of the polish or pretense of a place used to catering to tourists. In fact, we got the distinct impression that we were the only tourists in town. It didn’t feel secret. It felt untouched. Finding Paella in Morella, Spain Finding Paella and Local Flavours in Morella Our first meal in Morella was found down a narrow alleyway just off the main street. The kind of place with no English menus and no apologies for it. The chalkboard listed items we could only half-translate: “pollo,” “arroz,” “verdures.” So we pointed, ordered one dish for the three of us, and hoped for the best. What arrived was not just better than expected; it was a feast. A massive, silver-rimmed paella dish, still steaming, filled with perfectly seasoned chicken, smoky rice, and just enough vegetables to convince ourselves it counted as a balanced meal. It was the kind of meal you don’t so much eat as surrender to. We devoured it. No polite small talk. No bites held back. When we finally looked up, dazed and glowing with post-paella contentment, the streets outside were hushed. Lights glowed faintly in doorways, and for a town that was apparently about to unleash flaming bulls, it seemed almost absurdly peaceful. With full bellies and a long unexpected travel day now behind us, we decided to head off to bed and rest up for what Morella had to offer us tomorrow. Exploring Morella Castle and Ancient History The next morning, with our nerves rested and the town still fresh to our eyes, we set off to explore the castle that had been looming over us since our arrival. My husband, ever the history enthusiast, looked like a kid en route to a medieval candy store. Our son, still not quite over the paella coma, trudged along behind us. At one point, he climbed a low wall, announced he was a knight defending his kingdom, and promptly got bored. It was hard to tell if he was more interested in the history or in getting back to lunch. The castle at Morella is exactly what you'd hope for in a Spanish hilltop fortress: old, dramatic, and clinging to the edge of a cliff like it’s refusing to retire. Built on a chunk of rock that’s been considered prime real estate since the Neolithic era, it’s been occupied by just about everyone: Greeks, Romans, Visigoths, Moors, Christians. Think of it as a centuries-long game of military Airbnb. Strategically, it makes sense. You can see everything from up there—the valleys, the surrounding hills, probably even your neighbour’s dinner if you squint. While various armies fought to control it over the centuries, nowadays it's mostly claimed by tourists in sensible footwear and puffed-out dads pointing at battlements. We climbed the uneven stairs, explored weathered stone rooms, and read signs we only half-understood. The view from the top was worth every step: the entire town stretched out below us like a movie set, the surrounding countryside rolling on forever. I could see why everyone wanted to conquer it. I also now understood why no one wants to walk back down without a snack break. Afterwards, we wandered back into the village, poked around shops, and noted the bullring, still very much in use, though thankfully not that day. We embraced the idea of a siesta before returning to the same little alleyway restaurant for what quickly became our signature order: chicken paella. Same server. Same bliss. The Flaming Bull Festival in Morella (Bou Embolat) And that’s when the real spectacle began. As we sat back, content once more with our meal, I remembered those odd wooden barricades from the day before. They no longer seemed like quirky infrastructure but more like a warning, the kind you only recognize too late. Then the sound hit us: drums, horns, music rolling down the narrow streets, shaking the quiet air awake. The town had stirred, and so did our curiosity. As we made our way to the main street, the bands grew louder, echoing down the narrow stone street. Families climbed the barricades, settling in with the casualness of people who’d done this their whole lives. At first, it all seemed harmless. The men in white and red rolled out their wheelbarrow bull, a rough wooden contraption with curved horns. Children squealed as they were chased, giggling and darting between the barricades. Then came the older kids, the bull’s horns now fitted with sparklers that spat light and smoke. It was charming in a slightly pyromaniacal way. “That must be it,” I said. “Their version of the running of the bulls. Cute.” We relaxed. We even chuckled. And then the horn blast came. Loud. Guttural. The crowd surged as if hit by a shockwave. Suddenly, everyone knew something we didn’t. The first real bull charged into view. Massive, fast, its horns rigged with some kind of sheathed contraption that flared with balls of fire. The flames spat and roared with every shake of its head, lighting up the night. And behind it came another! The heat rolled off them as they thundered past, so close you could smell the singed hair. Meanwhile, the locals leaned in casually, as though this were no more alarming than waiting for a bus. The street was barely wide enough for a car, and here they were, tons of flaming muscle, charging within arm’s reach. I grabbed the wooden barricade with one hand and my son with the other as the bulls tore past, hooves striking sparks on the cobblestones. The crowd screamed, cheered, and leaned dangerously close. This wasn’t cute. And it definitely wasn’t controlled. We might have survived unscathed had one bull not doubled back. Instead of heading for the ring at the end of the street, it slipped through a gap in the barricades and reappeared on the sidewalk—our sidewalk. Instinct took over. In one motion, I shoved my son sideways, trying to push him out of the bull’s path, just as someone behind yanked me backwards through an opening. The bull thundered past, flames licking the night, and for a few terrifying seconds, I had no idea where my husband or son were. When I spotted them—my son wide-eyed across the street, my husband hustling from another barricade—the relief lasted all of two seconds. Because the bull was coming back again! Spanish Hospitality Chaos, Barricades, and Balcony Hospitality We scrambled up the nearest crowded barricade, clawing for any handhold. In my panic, I grabbed what I thought was a support post, only to discover it was a local man’s anatomy! He yelped, I screamed, and somehow he shifted aside on the overcrowded barricade to make room for us. To this day, I’m thankful my Spanish wasn’t good enough to translate what he told his friends about what just happened. We climbed off the barricade, but just when we thought we were out of danger, another bull came careening down the street. We spotted a ladder leading up to a balcony. We climbed, assuming it was public, only to find ourselves on someone’s private balcony. But instead of shooing us out, the family welcomed us, pressing food and drink into our hands as if we were distant cousins who’d just dropped by mid-stampede. From our perch, we watched more bulls charge down the street, the barricades rattling, the flames glowing against the stone walls. By the time we climbed back down, still buzzing with adrenaline, the streets were quiet again. We ducked into a bar to decompress. That’s when my son turned to me and asked, “Mum, why did you push me in front of the bull with flaming horns?” “What? I pushed you out of the way!” “Well, that may have been your intention,” he said with a grin, “but I came eye-to-eye with a flame-throwing bull, so… that’s a moment I won’t soon forget.” It’s his favourite version of the story. Mine is that I saved him. The truth, as always, is somewhere in the chaos. Back in our hotel room, none of us said much. My husband lay silently staring at the ceiling, my son kept replaying the moment in slow motion, and I sat there Googling “bull festivals Spain: how often do people die?” “Well,” my son finally said, “that was… something.” And that was the understatement of the trip. What is the Sexenni Festival in Morella? Only later, over coffee in a quiet corner of the village the next day, did we finally ask the obvious question: What exactly had we just witnessed? As it turns out, Morella’s flaming bull spectacle isn’t some one-off village stunt or eccentric summer tradition. It’s part of something much bigger. Every six years, the town holds the Sexenni de Morella, a nine-day festival to honour the Virgin of Vallivana, believed to have spared the town from plague back in the 1600s. In gratitude, Morella vowed to mark the occasion every sixth year with pageantry, processions, dancing guilds, and yes, bulls with literal fire on their heads. The event we’d stumbled into, called the bou embolat, is part of that centuries-old promise. Whether it’s cultural pride, divine obligation, or just a particularly intense form of local entertainment, it’s taken very seriously. And here we were, clueless Canadians, dodging flaming livestock like it was just another Tuesday night. Morella vs. The Rest of Spain: Why This Detour Stands Out In the days that followed, we continued on with our trip, finally making it to Valencia, then on to Seville with its orange-blossom air and shaded plazas. We followed this with a visit to Gibraltar, where we were unceremoniously chased by monkeys on the Rock like it was some sort of wildlife-themed slapstick sketch. From there, we wandered through the medieval maze of Toledo, El Greco’s old stomping grounds, and a hilltop town that almost gave Morella a run for its money before eventually making our way to Paris and then into Germany to visit family. Over five weeks, we covered a lot of ground. We ate a lot of bread. We argued about directions. We got better at packing and worse at resisting pastry. But even with all that, nothing quite matched the absurd, accidental brilliance of Morella. It hadn’t been planned. It hadn’t even been in the realm of “maybe.” If the trains hadn’t stalled that day, if we hadn’t been stuck in that hot little train station full of hungover backpackers, if I hadn’t flipped open a guidebook out of desperation, we never would’ve known that Morella existed. Let alone that we’d be there, just hours later, climbing medieval barricades and dodging bulls with flaming horns like it was the most natural thing in the world. And to think, if that train had arrived on time, our story would have been about nothing more memorable than sweaty backpacks and missed connections. Medieval towns of Spain Final Thoughts: When Travel Detours Become the Story Morella wasn’t just a detour. It was the story of the trip. The one that comes up whenever someone asks, “What’s the wildest thing that’s ever happened to you while travelling?” It’s the one we still tell with dramatic hand gestures and overlapping interruptions around dinner tables, long after the photos have been buried in old phones and half-filled albums. It’s the one my son never tires of retelling, especially the part where his mother heroically shoved him into the path of a charging bull on fire. Travel rarely goes exactly to plan. And thank God for that. Because the truth is, most of the best moments don’t happen when everything goes right. They happen when the train doesn’t come, and you’re forced to do something unexpected. Something mildly reckless. Something that might involve rental cars and toll booths and, if you're particularly lucky, flaming bulls. Morella gave us that story. And we didn’t even see it coming. I’ve revisited our Morella misadventure for Travel Notes from Seat 12A, with the benefit of hindsight and a son who has never allowed me to forget the important parts. Read The Day I Apparently Threw My Son to the Bulls. Your turn... I’ve told you mine, flaming bulls and all. Now it’s your turn: what supposed disasters ended up as the best stories in your own travels? Leave in the comments below.

How to get there, what to see at Hierapolis and why Pamukkale deserves more than a hurried photo stop. White travertine terraces and thermal pools at Pamukkale, Türkiye. This article contains affiliate links. If you book through one of them, I may earn a small commission at no additional cost to you. I only recommend experiences I’ve taken myself or genuinely believe will be useful to other travellers. Our visit took place several years ago, so I’ve checked current access information and linked to official sources wherever conditions may change. Pamukkale was one of the places I was most excited to see on our first trip through Türkiye. I had seen pictures of pale blue thermal pools spilling across a hillside that looked as though it had been covered in snow. The whole thing appeared slightly unreal. We planned to stay for a few days rather than treat it as a quick stop. That turned out to be the right decision. Pamukkale is hot, exposed and popular. If you arrive in the middle of a summer afternoon expecting cool water, empty pools and a gentle stroll, the place may offer a fairly brisk correction. Here’s how to get there, what to see and how much time you actually need. Pamukkale at a glance: Allow at least four to five hours at the site. Two nights gives you one unhurried day and helps you avoid planning around a return bus. Visit in spring or autumn when possible, and treat Hierapolis as half the experience. Why Pamukkale is worth the journey Pamukkale is worth visiting for the combination of the travertine terraces and the ruins of Hierapolis. Thermal springs, ancient spa culture, Roman ruins and a sprawling necropolis all occupy the same improbable hillside. The natural and archaeological parts of the site aren’t separate attractions. Together, they explain why people have been coming here for the thermal water for thousands of years. Pamukkale and Hierapolis have been recognized together as a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1988. Seeing both properly requires more than the hour many tightly scheduled tours appear willing to grant them. Where is Pamukkale? Pamukkale is in Denizli Province in southwestern Türkiye, approximately 18 kilometres from the city of Denizli. Denizli is the main transportation hub. Most independent travellers arrive there by bus or train before continuing to Pamukkale village. The village of Pamukkale sits directly beneath the archaeological site and is small enough to walk around. The site itself, however, is much larger than it looks from below. How to get to Pamukkale We travelled from Kuşadası by small bus. Most routes pass through Denizli. From Denizli: Take a local minibus, known as a dolmuş, or a taxi from the bus or train station to Pamukkale village. The journey usually takes around 20 to 30 minutes. From İzmir: Travel by train or intercity bus to Denizli, then continue to Pamukkale by dolmuş or taxi. From Selçuk or Kuşadası: Choose between an intercity bus, rental car or guided day tour. Driving generally takes around two and a half to three hours each way. If you’re combining Pamukkale with Ephesus (also highly recommended), Selçuk or Kuşadası and don’t want to coordinate buses and transfers, a guided tour is the simplest option. Before booking, check that the itinerary includes both Hierapolis and the terraces and allows enough time to see them properly. If, like me, you prefer to work out your own travel plans, Rome2Rio is a useful place to start. It shows possible train, bus, ferry, flight and driving routes in one place. I use it to decide which route makes sense, then confirm the schedule and book directly with the transportation provider. How long should you stay in Pamukkale? I recommend spending two nights in Pamukkale. You don’t need two full days of sightseeing. The second night simply lets you visit at a sensible hour instead of building the day around transportation. That gives you one full day at the site and lets you visit earlier or later than most day-trip groups. You can explore without timing the entire day around a departing bus. One night can work if you arrive early or leave later the following day. If you only have a few hours, prioritize the travertines and the Roman theatre. We stayed for three days, including one quiet day around town and the hotel pool. The slower pace was welcome. The hotel itself provided several experiences we hadn’t booked, but that story belongs elsewhere. Pamukkale’s white terraces overing looking the village in Denizli Province. Walking on the Pamukkale terraces Pamukkale means “Cotton Castle” in Turkish, which makes sense when you see the hillside rising above the village. The terraces were formed by calcium-rich thermal water flowing across the slope and leaving deposits behind. Over time, those deposits created the shelves, channels and shallow pools visible today. Visitor access is limited to designated areas to protect the formations. Don’t expect every pool seen online to be open, full of water or available for bathing. You must remove your shoes before stepping onto the designated travertine route. Fair warning: the surface isn’t smooth, so expect something resembling a deep-tissue foot massage. We rolled up our pants and walked barefoot through the shallow pools and streams. The water was warmer than we expected, which was worth knowing during a Turkish heat wave. Bring a small bag for your shoes and belongings so your hands stay free, and take your time on the wet, ridged surface. Walking barefoot through the travertine pools at Pamukkale. Don’t miss Hierapolis I’m slightly embarrassed to admit that before we visited Pamukkale, I thought it was just the terraces. Then we reached the top and found an entire ancient city. Not a few stones and an optimistic information board. Hierapolis includes a Roman theatre, temples, gates, baths, ancient streets and an extensive necropolis. The city was founded in the second century BC and developed around the thermal springs. People came here to bathe, receive treatment and enjoy the benefits of what became an important Roman spa centre. The Roman theatre The theatre was the highlight of Hierapolis for me. Much of the seating and part of the stage building remain, making it easy to understand how the structure once functioned without requiring a diagram or an advanced degree in Roman architecture. It sits away from the travertines, so allow enough time to reach it. The climb and summer heat require some effort, but the theatre is worth it. he Roman theatre in the ancient city of Hierapolis above Pamukkale. The Northern Necropolis The necropolis stretches for roughly two kilometres and contains tombs, sarcophagi and funerary monuments from different periods. It’s fascinating, but it adds a considerable amount of walking. If your time or energy is limited, see the theatre and central ruins before deciding how far to continue. There is very little shade across Hierapolis. The ancient Romans made many important contributions to civilization, but the covered moving walkway was not one of them. Should you swim in the Antique Pool? The Antique Pool, often called Cleopatra’s Pool, contains warm thermal water and submerged stone columns. It sits inside the archaeological site. When we visited, it was crowded and incredibly hot. After several hours walking through warm water and sun-baked ruins, getting into another heated pool had lost some of its charm. We chose not to swim. Do I regret that decision now? Yes. But at least I have an excuse to go back. If bathing among ancient remains appeals to you, allow extra time and bring a swimsuit. If your priorities are elsewhere, you won’t have missed the essential Pamukkale experience by skipping it. If you’d prefer to explore with a guide while keeping the option of swimming in the Antique Pool, the Thermal Pamukkale Tour From Pamukkale – Small Group combines the major sites with time to visit the pool. Check the current inclusions and any additional pool admission fee before booking. The pool has periodically closed for restoration. Check its current status on the official Hierapolis-Pamukkale listing before your visit. When is the best time to visit Pamukkale? Spring and autumn offer the most comfortable conditions for exploring the site. Summer can be extremely hot. When we visited, the temperature was over 40°C. The pale formations also reflect the sunlight with impressive enthusiasm. If you visit during warmer months, go early or later in the day. Bring more water than you think you’ll need, along with sunscreen, sunglasses and a proper hat. Opening hours and evening access can vary by season. Check the official Turkish museum website shortly before visiting rather than relying on hours copied into an article several summers ago. Which entrance should you use? Pamukkale has three commonly used entrances: the town entrance, north entrance and south entrance. The town entrance begins near the bottom of the travertines and requires walking barefoot uphill towards Hierapolis. The upper entrances provide more direct access to the archaeological area. Your best choice depends on where you’re staying, your transportation and how much uphill walking you want to do. Ask your accommodation which entrance currently makes the most sense and arrange a taxi if you want to start at the top and finish closer to the village. Practical tips for visiting Pamukkale Wear supportive walking shoes for Hierapolis and shoes that are easy to remove at the terraces. Carry a small bag for your footwear. Bring plenty of water, sunscreen, sunglasses and a hat. Pack a swimsuit, small towel and waterproof phone pouch if you plan to enter the thermal water. Allow at least four to five hours for the main sites. Is Pamukkale worth a spot on your itinerary? If Pamukkale fits naturally into your western Türkiye route, it’s worth two nights and one complete day of exploring. Go early, carry water and keep walking once the pools are behind you. The site makes much more sense when Hierapolis is treated as half the experience rather than an optional extra. If a Turkish hamam is also part of your trip, read my guide to what to expect at a Turkish hamam before someone in a bathing wrap begins communicating entirely through pointing. For the story of the broken air conditioner, two oscillating fans and the hotel breakfast we still talk about, read The Pamukkale Hotel Where Fawlty Towers Met Ratatouille.

Mineral springs, grand colonnades, forest walks and a treatment menu that takes a rather literal approach to wellness. Colourful historic buildings lining the Teplá River in Karlovy Vary, Czechia This post contains affiliate links. If you book through one of them, I may earn a commission at no additional cost to you. It helps support Tailor Made Travels and the stories shared here. Karlovy Vary may not be a name familiar to many North American travellers. Some may remember it as Karlsbad, but whatever name you use, this historic European spa town deserves considerably more attention than it gets. Karlovy Vary was built around natural mineral springs and the rather serious business of taking the cure. Set inside a forested river valley, it offers pastel architecture, grand colonnades, woodland walks and one of the more unusual wellness traditions you’re likely to encounter in Czechia. Here, the mineral water comes with temperatures, recommended uses and peculiar porcelain cups designed for drinking it while walking. The entire town seems organized around the business of getting better, although nobody promised the cure would taste good. We spent two nights in Karlovy Vary, which gave us enough time to explore the historic centre, ride the funicular into the forest and discover that Czech spa treatments use considerably more alarming vocabulary than their Canadian counterparts. Is Karlovy Vary worth visiting? Yes, especially if you enjoy places that feel completely different from the rest of your itinerary. Karlovy Vary is compact enough to explore without turning your day into an endurance event, but there’s enough to justify staying for two nights. You can follow the river through the historic centre, taste the mineral water, ride the funicular into the forest and investigate a treatment menu containing words such as pelotherm, pneumopuncture and four-chamber galvanization. The centre is easy to walk, although the steep hills surrounding it occasionally remind you that “spa town” doesn’t necessarily mean “effortless town.” Comfortable shoes remain one of Europe’s least glamorous but most reliable travel investments. What makes Karlovy Vary memorable isn’t one particular building or attraction. It’s the feeling that the town is still living inside its history rather than displaying it behind glass. What makes Karlovy Vary a historic spa town? Historic spa architecture in Karlovy Vary’s riverside centre It took me a while to understand that Karlovy Vary wasn’t simply a town with an impressive number of spas. The entire place had been designed around the business of getting better. The colonnades sheltered people as they moved between mineral springs. Walking routes led through the surrounding forests. Hotels, gardens and social spaces gave visitors somewhere to spend the considerable amount of time remaining between treatments. Even the porcelain spa cups began to make more sense. Their narrow spouts allow people to sip hot mineral water while walking, turning something medicinal into a remarkably civilized public activity. They also make everyone look as though they’ve joined a very elegant club whose admission requirements include digestive concerns. Karlovy Vary is part of the West Bohemian Spa Triangle with Mariánské Lázně and Františkovy Lázně. In 2021, all three were included among the eleven towns in seven countries designated collectively as the Great Spa Towns of Europe UNESCO World Heritage Site. Visitors collecting mineral water beneath a colonnade in Karlovy Vary The designation recognizes more than attractive buildings and grand hotels. These towns developed around natural mineral springs and helped shape European ideas about medicine, leisure and spa culture. The colonnades, parks, treatment buildings and forest paths were all part of taking the cure. That history is still visible throughout Karlovy Vary. People continue to walk between the springs with their porcelain cups, although today you can experience the town’s spa traditions without committing to several weeks of medically supervised water drinking and woodland walks. Fortunately, the walking continues. After tasting the water, it seemed wise to keep moving. Best things to do in Karlovy Vary Begin with a walk along the Teplá River through the historic centre. The pastel buildings, grand hotels and elaborate colonnades give you plenty to look at without requiring a military-grade sightseeing schedule. The Teplá River running through the historic centre of Karlovy Vary Stop beneath the colonnades, buy one of the peculiar porcelain spa cups and sample the mineral water. Apparently, water can be medicinal or delicious, but expecting both may be placing an unreasonable burden on the water. Try a small amount unless you’re following a medically supervised drinking cure. The mineral content isn’t merely there for atmosphere. Have tea at Grandhotel Pupp, where our order arrived on a trolley and briefly allowed us to impersonate people accustomed to this sort of thing. You don’t need to be staying at the hotel to visit its café and admire the surroundings. Spa hotel Grandhotel Pupp in Karlovy Vary From near Grandhotel Pupp, take the funicular to Diana Lookout in the forest above town. We travelled uphill while facing downhill, giving the impression that we were reversing into the forest without having made any obvious navigational error. The Diana Observation Tower provides a proper view of how tightly Karlovy Vary fits into its valley. Check the official Diana website for current operating hours and fares. Rather than taking the funicular back down, we followed one of the marked forest trails into town. This gave us the view without the uphill portion of the wellness program, which struck me as an entirely sensible arrangement. View of Karlovy Vary from Diana Lookout Finally, look through the treatment menu at your hotel. At Spa Resort Sanssouci, where we stayed, the options included pelotherm, pneumopuncture and four-chamber galvanization. Karlovy Vary’s approach to wellness is considerably more medical than the familiar North American spa model. If there’s a particular treatment you’d like to try, investigate it before arriving and book ahead. It turns out spa etiquette changes quite a bit once you cross a border. If a Turkish bath is also on your travel list, my guide to what to expect at a Turkish hamam explains what happens, what to wear and which questions to ask before you step into the steam. Where to stay in Karlovy Vary Where you stay will shape your experience, particularly in a town built into a steep valley. Hotel Imperial is the grand hillside landmark we initially mistook for a castle. It suits travellers looking for old-world atmosphere and broad views over the valley. Spa Resort Sanssouci offers the full spa-hotel experience, including an extensive treatment program. Its design felt preserved from the 1950s or 1960s, but the staff were excellent and the slightly time-warped surroundings became part of the experience. Grandhotel Pupp places you inside one of Karlovy Vary’s best-known historic hotels at the end of the main spa district. It’s the most luxurious of the three and the obvious choice if your travel plans require more chandeliers. Whichever hotel you choose, check its exact location on the map. A property described as “close to the centre” may still be directly above it. How many days do you need in Karlovy Vary? I recommend spending two nights in Karlovy Vary. That gives you one full day to explore the historic centre, colonnades and mineral springs, ride the funicular and walk through the forest without turning the visit into a clipboard exercise. One night would provide a quick introduction, but a day trip wouldn’t leave much time to settle into the town’s slower rhythm. Karlovy Vary makes considerably more sense once you stop rushing through it. Getting to Karlovy Vary Karlovy Vary works well as part of a road trip through western Czechia, particularly if you want to explore beyond Prague. Karlovy Vary works well as part of a road trip through western Czechia, particularly if you want to explore beyond Prague. Before collecting the keys, read my practical guide to renting and driving a car in Czechia. Travelling by car allowed us to fit the town into a wider itinerary and stop where we wanted along the way. You can compare rental-car options through Discover Cars. You can also travel from Prague by bus or train. Direct buses are generally the quicker option, with services offered by RegioJet and FlixBus. Trains are operated by České dráhy, Czechia’s national railway. Check current routes and journey times before booking. The train’s scenic ambitions generally come with a longer travel time. Practical tips for visiting Karlovy Vary Wear comfortable shoes. The riverside centre is gentle, but hotels and viewpoints may involve steep hills. Buy a spa cup if you want to participate in the mineral-water ritual. It will also become a useful conversation piece of questionable beauty once you get home. Sip the mineral water in small amounts unless you’re following professional medical advice. Check the funicular schedule before walking to the station. Book ahead if there’s a particular spa treatment you want to try. Leave some empty space in your itinerary. Karlovy Vary works better as a place to experience than a list to complete. Is Karlovy Vary worth adding to your Czechia itinerary? Ornate architectural details on a Karlovy Vary colonnade Karlovy Vary is worth at least two nights, particularly if you enjoy places where the experience matters more than collecting attractions. It also fits naturally into a 10-day Czechia road trip beyond Prague. We came expecting an elegant European spa town. We found prescribed drinking water, forest trails, a hotel that looked like a castle and a treatment menu with considerably more alarming vocabulary than anticipated. It was beautiful, slightly baffling and unlike anywhere else we visited in Czechia. Prague may be the city that brings most travellers to the country, but Karlovy Vary is the sort of place that gives the trip its personality. And really, how often do you get to return home claiming that the local drinking water came with both a temperature and medical ambitions? For the story of the peculiar spa hotel, the treatments we failed to book in time, and how an innocent spa break brought us dangerously close to electricity and bathwater, subscribe to Travel Notes from Seat 12A. The practical advice is here. The part where we didn’t entirely know what we were doing is in the story.