Explore the rivers, lakes and shorelines of 10 favorite places in Europe, below; follow in the footsteps of Carl Linnaeus in Swedish Lapland; dine along the Adriatic coast between Venice and Trieste; and find a serene hotel with a water view. And share your own favorite watery European spot with us on Facebook.

ENGLAND Brighton Pier, Brighton

Perhaps you’ve wondered what it was like to ride a bicycle off a windswept English pier in the early 20th century. If so, check out “Flying the Foam and Some Fancy Diving.” The 1906 silent film, shot in Brighton, England, makes use of “reverse motion.” After dropping into the sea, the cyclist appears to rise magically from it.

The film, and the innocence of its special effects, perfectly capture the bygone charm of England’s pleasure piers, which in the late 19th century helped promote seaside holidays to an increasingly well-off citizenry. Brighton — once called Old Ocean’s Bauble and compared to Biarritz, France, and now nicknamed London-on-Sea — has been home to several famous piers. Today the Brighton Palace Pier, opened in 1899, is Britain’s most popular.

The Palace Pier embraces its colorful history as wholeheartedly as it does its formidable stockpiles of kitsch, and visitors — as at Coney Island, or in parts of Las Vegas — are advised to do the same. For those whose constitutions have aged out of “dodgems” (bumper cars) and the “Wild River” ride (on the edge of a pier, its slogan is “Let’s Get Wet!”), the main attractions may be culinary.

There is seafood: prawns, mussels, cockles, crab, whelks, and fish and chips. (The chef Heston Blumenthal named the pier’s Palm Court restaurant the “spiritual home” of the dish.) There is candy floss (cotton candy) and Brighton Rock (the local version of a traditional hard candy; it’s also the title of a Queen song and a Graham Greene novel). I’m particularly fond of breakfast at Victoria’s Bar — a cozy place to chat with regulars and warm up on rainy weekdays.

This far from land — the pier is around 1,700 feet long — your umbrella doesn’t stand a chance. But don’t forget your camera. The pier’s distinctive lines, if not the temporary tattoos on offer (“No pain! Honest opinions! No regrets!”), have appeared in photo shoots for Vogue and Marie Claire (a previous Brighton pier was painted by both Constable and Turner).

Like me, you might love the pier best at night. And if its crowded promenade, pulsing music and nearly 70,000 light bulbs overwhelm, step to the side and press your waist against the elegant wrought-iron railing. Look out over the dark sea, where reflections of the pier’s storied past and bright present are easy to spot on the waves, and then head back to the party.

MARK VANHOENACKER

CROATIA Plitvice Lakes National Park

I have worked as a travel writer in the Western Balkans — one of Europe’s most geographically stunning corners — for two decades. Still, for me, few places in the region can compete with Plitvice Lakes National Park in Croatia.

Established in 1949 and named a Unesco World Heritage site in 1979, this chain of 16 lakes, 80 miles south of Zagreb, is the crown jewel of the country’s oldest and largest national park. Click on nearly any blog referring to the Balkans and you will find a cascade of posts from every season, describing the roaring falls and interlocked turquoise lakes crisscrossed with boardwalks and surrounded by beech and spruce forests.

The park, nearly 115 square miles, sits atop a giant cave-riddled karst field in the rolling hills of the Dinaric Alps. This sievelike topography provides a unique canvas for hydrologic artistry. Rivers and streams rush above and beneath the earth’s surface. They bob and weave through porous limestone carrying calcium carbonate sediment that creates the millenniums-old travertine barriers responsible for Plitvice’s Upper and Lower Lakes and waterfalls, which foster more than 1,200 plant species, 161 bird species, brown bears, lynx, deer, otters and wolves.

For many Croats, however, the park’s importance is more than just physical. Near the border with Bosnia and Herzegovina, Plitvice is a symbolic and strategic fulcrum at the crux of the country’s boomerang shape, with one arm thrust east to the Pannonian Plain and the other south along the Adriatic coast. “For centuries, the lakes literally sat on the front lines of history,” said Vjeran Pavlakovic, a history professor at the University of Rijeka in Croatia. “But even as regimes and borders changed, there was always respect paid to the fragility of this one-of-a-kind ecosystem. Very few places in the world can claim that.”

Daily buses run from Zagreb to Plitvice (about $14 one way). Make sure to visit the 255-foot Veliki Slap, the highest waterfall, and then walk up the stone stairs next to the falls for a panorama of the Lower Lakes. For travelers interested in guided experiences, contact VMD Adventure Travel, which is based in Zagreb.

ALEX CREVAR

The Netherlands Utrecht

Amsterdam has been my home for more than 10 years, and I am always a little disappointed when traveling to other Dutch towns to find that everything’s a bit the same: Same quaint two- and three-story tilted, brick-and-timber houses lined up along picturesque canals, same town center organized around a central church and square; same main shopping street with the same collection of chain stores where everyone promenades on Saturdays.

But Utrecht, about 35 miles from Amsterdam, doesn’t feel like a cookie-cutter Dutch town, and that can largely be attributed to its canals, which have a different look and feel from canals elsewhere in the Netherlands. Notably, these canals have wharves, which means boats can glide right up to the side of the canal and dock (which isn’t quite so easy in Amsterdam, for example, where you can only disembark from a canal boat at one of several established docks, or else you have to pull up to the canal wall and tremulously climb a ladder).

Created in medieval times, this system of waterways was used for trade and transport of cargo, and the wharves led on to cellars used for storage. Today, they have been adapted to serve as houses, restaurants and cafes. When springtime comes, the wharves become terraces where everyone seems to promenade or dine in the sun, next to the lively water traffic that you watch pass by right in front of you: kayaks, rafts and even the occasional Venitian-style gondola.

My family of five made it an outing on a recent Sunday, when the blossoms of the Japanese ornamental cherry trees were in full bloom with luscious pink flowers, and the weeping willows were a pale spring green. We stopped for lunch along the Oudegracht (old canal) at a place called the Colour Kitchen, which runs a program to teach low-income youth how to become chefs, and serves abundantly vibrant dishes. From there, we watched kayakers paddling down the serene canal and groups of visitors gliding by in their sloops.

It seemed like we were joining the entire city — including the students who attend the local university — for a Sunday jaunt. There must have been thousands of people at the establishments along the water, on the mezzanine and orchestra levels, making this one of the liveliest terrace cultures in Europe.

NINA SIEGAL

France Parc des Buttes-Chaumont in Paris

Confession: I’ve lived in Paris for 12 years, but I’ve never braved the crowds (or ticket prices) to scale the Eiffel Tower and admire the cityscape from high above the Seine. Instead, when I feel like hovering over a body of water and enjoying knockout views with the help of Gustave Eiffel, I cross the long, elevated footbridge he designed for Paris’s most enchanting park: Parc des Buttes-Chaumont.

Like the Eiffel Tower, the park, a 25-hectare (around 61 acres) green space in northeast Paris, was created for a Universal Exposition, in 1867. Like the celebrated icon, the former quarry turned park required Pharaonic labors to complete. Some 1,000 workers spent years dynamiting rocks, removing boulders, deploying soil and digging a water basin while creating vast ersatz cliffs, grottoes and cascades from concrete and other materials. Eiffel designed the metal-and-wood bridge that spans the artificial lake and leads to the marquee attraction: a jagged mountainous island topped by a Roman-style temple. Stone tunnels and stairways groove the fairy-tale landscape, and classical-style sculptures and sinewy green lampposts dot the grass. Small wonder that André Breton and Louis Aragon, the early 20th-century pioneers of Surrealism, rhapsodized about this urban oasis.

“Here is the apartment of dreams,” Aragon wrote. “A gorge of artificial rock, a passage at the bottom of a vale, a stream rushing to a waterfall at its end.”

Just before the park’s 150th birthday — it opened on April 1, 1867 — I circled the lake and followed the paths toward Eiffel’s brainchild, which was rebuilt some decades ago. The whole population of the multiethnic 19th Arrondissement seemed to be sprawled along the waterside, equipped with books or baguettes.

Almost every area of the park offers a view of the lake and island. Framed by the arch of a stone tunnel, they appear somber and mysterious. Viewed from the lush hillside, they surge through the surrounding urban landscape in a dramatic burst. Looming below the high footbridge, they take on a sublime vastness.

Climbing the island’s switchback paths, I found myself in the small circular temple, modeled on the Temple of Vesta in Rome. The city was at my feet. Beyond the patchwork sprawl of boulevards and rooftops, the Sacré-Coeur Basilica was visible in the distance. Next to me, an Arab woman photographed her children against the scenic backdrop, while a Frenchman in a black skullcap gazed out from the railing. For the moment, we were all worshiping the same thing: Paris.

SETH SHERWOOD

GREECE Eftalou Hot Springs and Golden Beach, Lesbos

Dipping a toe into the Eftalou hot springs on the northern tip of Lesbos island can take what seems like an eternity. Channeled into a superb communal bathhouse at the edge of the azure Aegean Sea, the thermal waters that well up are so sultry — between 109 and 115 degrees Fahrenheit — that visitors tend to slip into the enveloping heat inch by inch.

Greeks have frequented this spot for centuries to soak up the therapeutic properties of the waters, which are rich with radium, chloride, sodium and other minerals said to ease arthritis and rheumatism. While Lesbos, as a volcanic island, has a number of natural thermal springs, Eftalou holds a unique perch next to a tranquil pebble beach with wind-sculpted lava formations.

Visiting is easy from the nearby town of Molyvos, adorned with pretty stone houses set into the side of a steep hill and crowned by an old Genovese castle. After walking or taking a bus to the entrance to Eftalou, a path leads to a domed, whitewashed building where the communal hot bath is next to a more modern facility, where visitors can rent private bath tubs.

Eftalou’s ritualistic endurance challenge involves soaking for a few minutes, or as long as you can stand it, then plunging directly into the bracing waters of the Aegean, and heading back to the thermal pool. The relaxation sets in after a few rounds, deepened by floating in the salty sea and looking across the horizon toward the purple mountains of Turkey, or gazing upward at the impossibly blue sky.

When you’re done pampering yourself, it’s a short walk around a bend toward curving Golden Beach, where the waves might lull you into a peaceful nap, if you don’t give into the urge to snorkel. The nearby Eftalou Taverna serves excellent fried, stuffed zucchini flowers and fresh seafood. There you can sit as the orange sun sinks into the Aegean, and the lava rocks formed at the birth of the island cast shadows on the warm beach.

LIZ ALDERMAN

Germany Elbe River in Hamburg

Despite being 70 or so miles from the sea, Hamburg is very much defined by its relationship with water: The huge Alster lake lies at its heart, and nearly 2,500 bridges crisscross the city’s network of canals and rivers.

But it is the great Elbe River that is the lifeblood of this old Hanseatic port, with container ships and cruise liners coming inland from the North Sea, making it the principal maritime gateway to Germany.

A few miles downriver from the city center, a 20-minute ride on the No. 62 ferry, lies the old fishing village of Övelgönne, with its long sandy beach. A cluster of umbrellas at the western end marks the location of two neighboring beach bars, Ahoi Strandkiosk and the Strandperle.

Strandperle is the older, larger and more charming of the two — its name means “beach pearl,” and there is indeed something precious about it. Here, you can while away a few hours drinking the local Astra beer, a Weissweinschorle (white wine spritzer), or the native Fritz Kola. The food is tasty — decent burgers, salad and currywurst for 10 to 15 euros ($11 to $16), served in easygoing fashion.

The beach is relaxing in the way all beaches are — sand under your feet, sun bouncing off the water, a busy tranquillity — but it is the view across the river that really sets it apart. You can watch huge vessels glide up and down the river, and it’s impossible not to find yourself wondering which far-off port they set sail from, or what mysterious cargo they carry.

Eventually one of these vessels will dock directly opposite the beach. Watching the cranes, with their vaguely equine form, go to work, hoisting the containers is utterly mesmerizing, a large-scale mechanical choreography unfolding before you.

There is something resolutely German about the spectacle — the juxtaposition of beach and industry, the hum of playful relaxation on one side of the river and the thrum of modern commerce on the other, balanced in delightful synchronicity.

DAVIN O’DWYER

NORWAY Fjords Near Bergen

Fjords can be found in many places — Alaska, the Amalfi Coast or any place where receding glaciers carved a deep valley that subsequently filled with seawater. But these geological phenomena are most closely associated with Norway, and not just because the origin of the word is from Old Norse. Some of the longest, deepest fjords in the world are along the country’s western coast, which maintains a near-mythic status among certain travelers.

My premier fjord tour, several years ago, was peppered with hokey fabricated “sights,” like a middle-of-nowhere waterfall — impressive by itself — where actors dressed as forest trolls materialized from the mist and proceeded to dance to the thundering theme of Edvard Grieg’s “In the Hall of the Mountain King.”

I chose a less flashy tour last fall, when I boarded a catamaran in Bergen, Norway’s western second city, with my friend Meredith, who was visiting Scandinavia for the first time.

“You have to see a fjord when you’re in Norway,” I had said before we sailed north toward Osterfjorden, an icy drizzle pelting our faces. This three-hour cruise also had some predetermined stops: to admire a pack of tame mountain goats, a trickle of a waterfall and an old one-room schoolhouse that students once reached by rowboat. But the soundtrack was mellower: silence to accompany the landscape as the boat glided through the waterway framed by tall cliffs, leaving a gentle wake rippling through the inky water.

Our environs were as isolated — read: no cell service — as they were impressive. Contact was soon lost with Meredith, too, as she succumbed to jet lag. Alone, I retreated to the aft deck and watched the passing landscape, shifting but unchanging. The occasional village beside the water — no visible road in or out, just a few wooden houses clustered together as if seeking collective warmth against the chill — seemed to be a vision of Norway past. Here, in the boat’s gentle lull, a calmness enveloped the static scene. And as with every fjord that had come before, time retreated, leaving in its place a meditative experience — nature’s mindfulness master class — available to anyone willing to undertake the journey.

INGRID K. WILLIAMS

Czech Republic Vltava River in Prague

Prague is justifiably celebrated for its buildings, with hundreds of nonpareil constructions illustrating more than 10 centuries of amazing architecture. But in recent years, the Czech capital has embraced its natural beauty as well, especially the Vltava, which slides through the city like a serpent.

One of the first big moves was the 2010 start of the weekend farmers’ market, commonly called Naplavka, on the Rasinovo Nabrezi embankment south of Old Town. The growing popularity of cycling, jogging and rollerblading among residents, combined with the city’s unexpected turn as the European Capital of Sport in 2016, has drawn even more people to the river, especially in the Troja district north of the center. There, spectators can watch Olympic-level kayakers and rafting teams brave the white-water rapids of the Troja channel, site of the ICF Canoe Slalom World Cup races June 16 to 18, or even sign up for kayaking or rafting lessons themselves.

Part of the popular A2 bike trail that spans the city, the Troja embankment is bustling with bikers, runners and in-line skaters on any sunny afternoon, to say nothing of the pedestrians heading to the nearby Prague Zoo. Heading south, strollers can cross the scenic Trojska Lavka footbridge over the Vltava to Cisarsky Ostrov and on to Stromovka, a park that was founded as a game preserve in the 13th century. For evening fun, Troja’s Galerie Trojsky Kun puts on open-air blues, country and jazz concerts.

Closer to the center, new waterfront attractions include Lod Pivovar, a recently opened microbrewery on an anchored boat next to Stefanikuv Most bridge, as well as a ferry line crossing the Vltava between the Karlin and Holesovice neighborhoods by way of Stvanice island.

Many travelers probably won’t notice that the music playing during the landing in Prague aboard most Czech Airlines flights is none other than the Czech composer Bedrich Smetana’s symphonic poem “Vltava.” But if you experience Prague like a local, you’re likely to take home many wonderful memories of the beautiful river itself.

EVAN RAIL

ITALY Cinque Terre

The anticipation is important. When I take first-time visitors to the Cinque Terre, I always have a plan, and the plan is to hike. Starting in Monterosso, we climb into the hills, up one narrow stone staircase after another, following the path across bridges and through lemon groves until sweat beads at our temples and shirts plaster to our backs. Energy flags, the ascent seems endless, but suddenly, there is the view: the seaside village of Vernazza with its curving harbor and jumble of pastel buildings the size of Legos from this height, perched in a spot where nature intended nothing but towering cliffs dropping into the Mediterranean.

Longtime residents of this region, on Italy’s northwestern coast, love to debate the merits of the Cinque Terre’s many trails. The main footpath, the Sentiero Azzurro, is often deemed too crowded, though it’s for good reason: The impact of this particular vista, a gut-punch of natural beauty, never fails to impress. Even after more than 10 years of hiking this trail (my sleepy inland town is only 10 miles away), I still reach for my camera every time.

Later, after a long descent, the trail eventually culminates in Vernazza, where there are few signs of the landslides that nearly wiped out the village and neighboring Monterosso in 2011. Before that disaster, the harbor was the perfect posthike swimming hole. On calm summer days, turquoise water would lap over smooth stones that were cool and slippery beneath hot feet as you waded into the sea. This is the dreamy scene that my friend Elizabeth snapped six years ago, then enlarged and hung up in her Chicago home — a memory of a sweltering August afternoon that she now recounts to her young sons.

Today, the reinforced harbor has more concrete than natural stone. But the same panorama, seen from aboard the ferry as it departs from the quay, is just as memorable. Then Vernazza recedes from view, again a tiny puzzle piece in the cinematic Cinque Terre coast.

INGRID K. WILLIAMS

SPAIN Centro Botín in Santander

On the rugged Cantabrian coast of Spain, Santander blends aspects of a gracious old-money seaside resort with the hurly-burly of a bustling port. It is soon to become a major art center as well. Twenty years after the Guggenheim Bilbao, some 60 miles east, rewrote the global guidebook of cultural and architectural tourism, the Centro Botín, an art center designed by the architect Renzo Piano, is opening.

Perched over the water’s edge near the city’s old commercial wharf, Centro Botín is the first building in Spain designed by Mr. Piano. Commissioned by the Botín Foundation, which is run by the family that controls Spain’s biggest bank, Banco Santander, the building features two elevated structures clad in 270,000 shimmery ceramic discs meant to reflect the changing light and colors of the bay and sky.

Inaugural exhibitions are devoted to the German contemporary artist Carsten Höller, drawings by Goya and selections from the foundation’s collection. Fernando Caruncho, a landscape designer, has revamped the neighboring Pereda Gardens, and the center’s restaurant will be led by the chef Jesús Sánchez.

Centro Botín is not the only reason to visit Santander, which stretches along one side of an expansive bay in which sailboats, cruise ships, ferries and freighters navigate. The mouth of the bay is guarded on one side by the Magdalena Palace, which once served as a summer residence for Spanish kings. On the other side is El Puntal, a huge sandbar that, when it is sunny out, draws residents in pleasure boats and water taxis.

What Spain’s northern coast may lack in sunshine, it makes up for in outstanding seafood. Opposite the Pereda Gardens are streets lined with tapas bars and taverns where you can join the locals at Cos, La Candela, El Italiano or the old-school Bar del Puerto. And if you want to dress like a local just pop into Godofredo for slickers, boots and waterproof everything.

ANDREW FERREN