High above the old harbor, the New Fortress of Corfu looms like a stony reminder that Venice never did anything halfway when it came to defense. After the Ottomans came knocking in 1537, it became clear that the Old Fortress wasn’t enough. So in 1577, the Venetians rolled up their sleeves, flattened entire neighborhoods, and raised this new citadel on the hill of Saint Mark. By 1645, the work was largely done, and what emerged was a masterclass in military engineering-bastions, moats, and underground passages all stitched into the fabric of Corfu’s skyline.

The fortress is built on two levels, each with its own perks. The lower level holds a three-story building and a pentagonal bastion, strung together with arched halls, staircases, and labyrinth-like ramps. Baroque gates and a long, dry moat added extra muscle. Higher up, the bastions of Skarponas and Epta Anemoi command the town and sea, reached by way of the aptly named Bell Castle. Later centuries left their fingerprints too-the 18th-century Venetians fortified the western hills, the French shored up Vidos Islet, and the British, practical as ever, added their barracks.

For adventurers, the payoff is layered. You can wander through its shadowy tunnels, touch the thick stone walls, and read the Venetian lion carved in relief since 1728, all while imagining the fortress as the shield it once was. Or, climb to the higher bastions and let the view unfold-the tiled rooftops of Corfu Town, the sweep of the sea, and the Old Fortress standing watch in the distance.

Today, the former barracks host art exhibitions and cultural events. The New Fortress, in its mix of grit, history, and unexpected beauty, shows how Corfu has always been more crossroads than outpost.

Imagine stepping into a 19th-century Corfiot mansion where the walls quite literally have something to say-that’s Casa Parlante. This Venetian-style house museum sits in the Old Town, not far from Liston and Spianada Square, and it whisks you straight into the refined world of Corfu’s aristocracy during the British protectorate. Furniture, portraits, and heirlooms set the scene, but the twist is how the place “talks.” With animatronics, sounds, and even scents, the mansion feels less like a static exhibit and more like a home mid-conversation.

As you move through the rooms, you’ll cross paths with the count and countess, their children, and the staff, all frozen in moments of daily routine yet curiously alive. You might hear a waltz seeping through the walls, smell dishes simmering in the kitchen, or find yourself in the middle of an afternoon tea that looks convincingly underway. Every chamber doubles as a slice of noble life, complete with rocking chairs that creak, music that lingers, and details that give the sense you’ve caught the household by surprise.

The Talking House doesn’t feel like a typical museum; it’s closer to walking through a living play where history is staged with a wink. It turns the aristocratic past into something tangible, not only to observe but to experience, making a centuries-old lifestyle both memorable and oddly familiar.

Liston's name is up for debate. Depends who you ask. Scholars will point to the Venetian lista-a term for a grand promenade. Locals with a taste for legend prefer the tale of a literal “list” of aristocrats who alone were allowed to strut along here before Corfu joined Greece in 1864. Whichever story you choose, the walkway has been Corfu’s living room ever since.

The French put their stamp on the place between 1807 and 1814, shaping the arcades to mirror Paris’s Rivoli street. With its neoclassical arches stretched along the edge of the Spianada, the Liston gave Corfu a dose of cosmopolitan flair. Today, those same arches frame cafés that never seem to empty, their terraces packed with conversations and clinking cups.

Geography keeps the Liston at the heart of it all. It links Spianada Square to the Old Town, just steps from the Old Fortress, the Palace of Saint Michael and Saint George, and Saint Spyridon’s Church. At Easter, the arcades glow purple with lanterns, processions wind past, and locals toss clay pots from balconies in a thunderous ritual that rattles the air. On quieter days, you might hear folk music, watch a cricket match on the lawn, or stumble into a street exhibition.

And then there’s the simple pleasure: sipping coffee under the shade, nibbling kumquat sweets, or raising an eyebrow at the polished chaos of traffic and cricket sharing the same square. The Liston is a performance that never ends, starring whoever happens to be passing through, which today, happens to include you.

Spianada Square in Corfu, whose name comes from the Italian spianare, meaning “to flatten,” lives up to its name-though not in spirit. It spreads out as the largest square in the Balkans, a broad stage where centuries of history have left their mark. The Venetians began the story in the 16th century, clearing away houses to create an open zone of defense for the Old Fortress. Later came the French, with their taste for order and neat urban planning, followed by the British, who sprinkled in their own additions. The result is a patchwork of empires, still visible in stone, gardens, and arcades.

At the heart of the square stands the Peristyle of Maitland, a circle of twenty Ionic columns raised in 1817 by General George Whitmore. It rests on top of what was once a water cistern, though the locals still call it the “Sterna.” Monuments dot the area like footnotes in marble-among them the statue of Count von der Schulenburg, remembered for repelling the Turks in 1716. In the “Boschetto” garden, fountains and busts of figures such as poet Konstantinos Theotokis and author Gerald Durrell soften the grandeur with quieter, more personal notes.

One side of Spianada is framed by the Liston Arcade, a French-era creation from 1807 inspired by Paris’s Rivoli street. Today its arcades shelter cafés whose tables are among the most coveted in Corfu. Not far off rises the Palace of Saint Michael and Saint George, a British-built neoclassical landmark from 1824, now housing the Museum of Asian Art. Together, they turn the square into a living open-air gallery of European design.

But Spianada is no museum piece. Cricket matches-an odd British legacy-still play out on its lawn, while Easter parades, concerts, and festivals keep the square buzzing with life. It is Corfu’s civic heart, where military history, imperial flair, and everyday social life continue to mingle in the open air.

A jagged rock rising from the sea, crowned with walls that have seen more as many cannons as boats floating in the sea. That’s Corfu’s Old Fortress, first fortified back in the 6th century AD when locals, tired of getting knocked around by Ostrogoth raids, hauled themselves onto this peninsula for safety. The Byzantines took over the project in the 12th century, adding towers on two peaks and giving the place its dual identity as Old Castle and New Castle.

Then came the Venetians, and with them, big ideas. From 1386 to 1797, they carved the Contrafossa canal, severing the fortress from the town and turning it into a floating citadel. They stacked on bastions, underground passages, and towers robust enough to stare down three separate Ottoman sieges. The last, in 1716, dragged on for seven weeks until Count von der Schulenburg and his defenders forced the Ottomans packing. But the fortress wasn’t invincible-two years later, a lightning strike hit the powder magazine and blew the place sky-high, Venetian commander included.

Roll forward to the British in the 19th century, who added their own flair with a lighthouse and military barracks. Later chapters got grim: Italian bombs in 1923, and under Nazi occupation, the fortress became a holding prison for Corfu’s Jews before deportation-a story that ended in tragedy for most.

And yet, the fortress endures. Today it’s home to the Public Library of Corfu and the Ionian University’s Music Research Lab, and its courtyards double as stages for concerts and exhibitions. Wander the bastions, slip through shadowy tunnels, or just climb high for sweeping views over Corfu Town’s terracotta rooftops, the Ionian shimmer, and Albania’s distant peaks. Part monument, part cultural playground, the Old Fortress is history with a pulse.