Legacy of the earthquake that nearly wiped Lisbon off the face of the Earth.

A full figure 4th century incorruptible saint lies in a glass coffin in Croatia.

Gargoyle head that brings good luck.

Though they've since been renamed, these two streets hint at Dublin's darker days.

The gorgeous library at Trinity College is home to remarkable treasures of Irish identity.

An Irish church where an 800-year-old mummy is reaching out of his coffin as if to shake hands.

A museum that cashes in on its infamous little people while teaching you a thing or two about the Irish fey.

This permanent collection of preserved bodies taken from Irish bogs is one of the leading authorities on such morbid mummies.

One of Ireland's most infamous prisons for rebels including men, women and children.

The Boston square dedicated to the dark poet who was born nearby.

A beautiful Victorian-era cemetery, complete with a miniature village.

Amid the sprawling Defense Intelligence Agency Headquarters is one of Washington's least accessible museums.

The institution is sitting on a goldmine of 21,000 paints, varnishes, pigments, and primers preserved for posterity.

Cold War intelligence agents monitored communist embassies from an attic in a former pigeon coop.

A historic estate packed with George Washington's heirlooms, and its own nuclear bunker.

Fittingly, America's museum of architecture is itself a magnificently designed old building.

During the Industrial Revolution this “Temple of Invention” was full of intricate miniature machines and gadgets.

There's a 12-foot-tall replica of the Washington Monument hidden under a manhole nearby.

A dark, dank room in subterranean Manhattan was the site of a ghastly murder.

A wunderkammer of curious objects and intriguing art nestled within a hub of ancient Roman sites.

An ancient Egyptian obelisk is now used to commemorate fallen Italian soldiers.

The Italian revolutionary's legendary wife is portrayed on horseback waving a gun and holding her child in this memorial on the Janiculum.

An unremarkable wooden wheel built into the side of one of Rome's oldest hospitals was part of a policy to reduce infant exposure.

Plaques on its facade commemorate the Tiber's most destructive deluges.