Liechtenstein, the world’s sixth smallest nation, landlocked between Austria and Switzerland, barely 25 kilometres from end to end. It’s impressive at first sight – valleys filled with seemingly limitless shades of green, hillsides spotted with rust-coloured homes, farmland disappearing into sub-alpine forests, capped by ragged peaks, brilliant in the morning light to the west, and silhouetted against the azure sky to the east. Had I been travelling alone, I would have taken to some of those famous alpine hiking trails.
We were on a weekend getaway from the military base in Germany, late in the 1980s, arriving by car in Vaduz, the capital city, through Austria. For a European capital city, it was surprisingly small, with only about 5,000 residents. The country itself only had a population of about 35,000, smaller than most of the cities I’d lived in Canada. But Vaduz was busy with tourists, making it look more populous.
We stopped at a cafeteria-style diner to grab a coffee and pastry. I only noticed the prices after we had poured our coffee into our disposable cups at the self-serve station. I was making a private’s salary at the time and gasped at the hit I would take to my pocket book. It was double what we had paid for a full breakfast the day before in Austria. I ate my pastry slowly, savouring every mouthful, making it last.
We strolled through Vaduz with coffee cups in hand, admiring the houses, some with outer walls covered in leafy vines, gardens blooming with colour, every balcony spilling over with flowered plants. Ever present was Vaduz Castle, high on the hill, which I didn’t know much about. These were the days before the Internet, when information was not easily obtained by a few clicks on an iPhone. We gained knowledge through books, tourist pamphlets, and by simply talking to people.
My friendly companion, fluent in German, greeted some locals – Guten morgen. She asked about their garden – annuals, planted this spring. Can one visit the Vaduz Castle? No, the Princely Family still lives there. They like their privacy. Have you ever seen Prince Franz Joseph II in person? Yes, once, long, long ago, when he was at a ceremony in Vaduz. But he is old now. I don’t think he comes down to the city anymore.
Our coffees finished, and our long walk completed, we wondered if we should find accommodation for the night. We inquired, but no, far too expensive for our limited budget. We drove back to Austria and spent the night in Bregenz, with a view of the Bodensee, at a fraction of the cost of a hotel in Vaduz.
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It would be another thirty years before I set foot on Liechtenstein soil again, this time arriving by foot across a bridge from Switzerland, during my walk along the Rhine from source to sea. Not all that much had changed in the country since then – I noticed a new museum of arts, the Kunstmuseum Liechtenstein, that I hadn’t noticed before. I would have liked to visit, but I was smelly, not having showered since the start of my walk many days before. And of course, Liechtenstein had a new prince, Hans-Adam II. His father, Franz Joseph II, had died in 1989, shortly after my last visit.
The morning skies were cloudy, heavy with moisture, and I had no decent view of the mountains. Rain was in the forecast. The Vaduz Castle, however, peeked through the mist from time to time. I remember being impressed with the Castle as a young man. Counts and countesses, dukes and princes, it all seemed so romantic back then, when I had first stepped outside the boundaries of my home country.
But now I had aged and been to many places, and the Vaduz Castle, still occupied by the Princely Family and not open to the public, no longer held mystery for me. In fact, I found it annoying. Just the idea of unelected people living in largely-publicly-financed castles, high in the hills overlooking the common folk, well, it just felt so overly arrogant. I realize that’s a me problem. Just let me stew in my own bitterness for a moment.
We must give the Princely Family credit, however. After the Second World War, they pulled Liechtenstein out of near bankruptcy and turned it into a powerhouse of prosperity, where it now has the highest gross domestic product per capita of any country of the world, except possibly for Monaco. It depends who you ask.
I grab a coffee and chat with a German hiker, who wants to tackle a difficult trail. But he is bummed out by the weather and likely won’t have a view. I comment on the price of the coffee, which I find just as outrageous as it was thirty years ago, but which I pay anyway. Coffee in Switzerland is just as expensive, so it’s either here or there. The hiker agrees that prices are steep. He, himself, will not stay in a hotel; he wants to sleep in the hills to save money.
I’m not sure of my facts, but I tell him that I think the prices are high because Liechtenstein’s wealth is the result of its being a tax haven for billionaires and people with questionable and illegal incomes. He wasn’t sure, but said that he thought the biggest industry was manufacturing, not finance. Manufacturing? How can factory workers afford to even drink coffee in this country? He says they probably don’t. They are like the Swiss, almost never eating in restaurants, always eating at home; restaurants are only for the tourists and the wealthy. I was doubtful, but maybe.
Our conversation drifted to talk of mountain trails. I told him of my goal to walk the length of the Rhine River. And he told me about his bucket list of 100 significant trails in Switzerland and Liechtenstein that he was plugging away at and was about halfway through. He travels from his home in Konstanz on weekends during the hiking season. What will he do when he completes his 100 hikes? He laughs. I don’t know. Probably move to Bavaria and make a new list.