CRF: The Best Of Liechtenstein

"CRF" is not a crime show you've never heard of, it stands for "Cutting Room Floor." It's been more than a year since we returned from Europe, and we've started to get seriously nostalgic.  To give us all an extra travel fix, we're posting some of our favorite photos that never made it onto the blog.  Here are our favorite unpublished memories and pictures of Liechtenstein - a tiny, odd, forgotten place.

These Swiss browns with Switzerland in the backdrop were photographed from a berggasthaus just like the ones we'd hiked to in the Appenzell Mountains.  We were carrying Swiss francs in our wallets at the time and trying to speak Swiss German.  Surprise! Du bist nicht in der Schweiz!
Liechtenstein might not look like much on a map, it doesn't have its own language or currency, but we left The Principality with a real sense that we'd visited a country all its own.  Sure, there are more registered businesses than there are citizens, but this tiny country's identity as an unlikely survivor rings truer than its status as a tax haven.

Not to say you're left to forget that Liechtenstein has the highest GDP per person in the world, the world's lowest external debt and Europe's wealthiest ruler.  It feels moneyed in the capital, Vaduz, even if it also feels like a farm town.
Their National Museum had one of the finest Natural History exhibits we've ever seen, anywhere.  Their Kunstmuseum is world-class and their ski museum and stamp collections are as cluttered and quirky as can be.  The public spaces are filled with art.  If there was a roundabout, it had a sculpture at its center.  The capital's center plaza was sleek and modern, though very tiny.

The food was... expensive and alpine.  There were some great local specialties at the Bauernmarkt, Weinfest Trieson, Sommernachtsfest and at "Oldie Night," but we otherwise had little success eating well.  We did cook some great forellen und rösti, and had plenty of camping picnics, but white asparagus toasts in aspic aren't our idea of inspiring, even if they did come with a squirt of mayonnaise and a bit of pickle.

The heat at the end of August, dusty with the last cuts of hay, drove us to the water.  The Rhine is too swift and sharp-bottomed to swim in, but there were plenty of pools.

Liechtenstein isn't tiny tiny, by microstate standards.  At 61.78 square miles, it's about three hundred and sixty three times larger than Vatican City - but that's like comparing grapes and poppy seeds.  In terms of micro-ness, it's closest to San Marino, though Liechtenstein's still over two and a half times larger.

Still, it's the third smallest place we visited on the trip, and every larger country felt a LOT larger.  You can walk across Liechtenstein in a day.  Luxembourg, which many people confuse with Liechtenstein, is sixteen times larger, and has a functioning train system.

This greenhouse was situated alongside our walking path from campsite to capital.  The walk took less than an hour and covered more than a quarter of the country's length.

But that's on the flats along the Rhine river valley.  Along the Austrian border on the other side of the country - locally referred to as the "Oberland" - Liechtenstein is mountainous and harder to get around.  We spent a sunny day hiking the ski resort of Malbun and watching a falconry show, and another few days on a long, trans-nation hike.  The peaks here are part of the Western Rhaetian Alps. Cowbells clanked on the summer breeze.

One of the trip's wierd animal experiences was at "BIRKA Bird Paradise," a zoo-like aviary that we never really figured out.  There were plenty of parrots and chickens, but who the heck knows why they were there?
In some ways, Liechtenstein feels a bit like a roadstop along the expanse of our trip.  We visited just after returning from a trip back home - we flew back into Ljubljana airport, where we'd left our car, and drove up into the Austrian Alps feeling excited and full of energy.  Two weeks later, we left Liechtenstein bemused and restless, driving on to France and broader horizons.  What had we seen?  What had we done?  Walked, looked at postage stamps, wandered around a garden, gotten confused, felt hemmed-in - and seen some strange birds.  It's not that it wasn't pleasant, it's just that we wanted to get back on the road.

There's a romantic myth about Europe: that it's filled with tiny kingdoms, where princes and kings and queens sit in their castles, ignored by the rest of the world.  Two and a half centuries ago, before Napoleon and the fall of the Holy Roman Empire, there really were little duchies and comtés scattered amongst and beside the major countries - in Germany alone there were around 300 sovereign states.
Today, almost all of those little kingdoms are gone, and you'll find only three micro-states ruled by royal families: Luxembourg (which isn't really that micro), Monaco (which can hardly be called a forgotten kingdom) and Liechtenstein.  In a lot of ways, this little place is a unique throwback.

Approaching Vaduz, a traveler passes through farms and orderly vineyards.  The mountains rise to one side, very green and lush in the late summer, but topped by glaciers and distant rocks. There's a quaint little castle just above town, where a real prince lives.  A few Victorian-Gothic steeples rise above the beech treetops.  It looks, from afar, just like the capital of a fairytale, middle-european, lost-principality should look.
Of course, close up, it's full of Toyota dealerships, pizza places, bank buildings and shopping complexes.  Theres too much traffic and not enough places to park.  If modern concrete is your thing, maybe you'll like it. If you want to visit a peaceful principality town, though, avoid the capital.  You can stay anywhere else in the country and still drive to Vaduz in twenty minutes, if you feel like it.  Better yet, take the bus.
This picture was taken at dusk from a third story window of the one old Inn still left in town, Gasthof Löwen.  The timber-framed building has literally been walled in by roads and development.  On the last night in the country, we went to sleep under the eaves, listening to the grumbling roundabout outside in the night, dreaming of bigger places to explore.

To see all of our posts about Liechtenstein, just click here.

Things Liechtensteinische People Like

Corvettes. In a country filled with classic automobiles, Corvettes stood out as a favorite. Especially since we were there in the last days of summer (a.k.a. convertible weather), the wheeled trophies were out and about. Porsche speedsters, Jaguars, Ferraris, Thunderbirds all made appearances on the road- but the Corvette was king. In close second - Land Rovers.
Summerstages. The number of concerts and parties had a lot to do with the fact that each town in Liechtenstein has a meeting hall and a small square. Even still, stages were erected all over for even more entertainment venue options. Every place we went, a crew was either putting up a stage or taking one down.
Blue Protective Netting. When we saw fields of blue rolling down hills in the distance, we thought that maybe they were lavender or a type of flower. It was a brilliant sight against the vibrant green backdrops and robin's egg sky. Then, Merlin realized that it was actually netting used to protect vineyards from birds. Plastic or not, it's a beautiful addition to the scenery.
Little Shingles. A number of houses were sided with these tiny, scalloped, wooden shingles. They reminded me of fish scales or the hair on Lionel Richie's clay head in the music video for "Hello" - but mainly fish scales.

Calling Things "Princely." Mövenpick ice cream was advertised as "Princely Chocolates," the tourist brochure was called "Princely Moments," and so on and so forth. I like to think that the prince didn't actually mandate this. They also really like using crowns and crown imagery, hence the photo of this piece of Liechtenstein chocolate.

The Liechtensteinische Berggasthaus Experience

We fell in love with a certain kind of mountain inn while walking in the Appenzell region of Switzerland. The "berggasthaus" is a kind of hiker's refuge. Typically found alongside hiking trails in remote corners of the mountains, they offer food, drink and places to sleep - in an unpredictable range of quality.

Above the mountains town of Steg, Berggasthaus Sücka (indicated with an arrow), was the first place we stayed on our recent two-night trek through Liechtenstein's high country. It was closer to a small hotel than a hut, and was only a fifteen minute walk uphill from the parking lot.

The food at these mountain guesthouses is usually pretty heavy. Meant to satisfy tired hikers, the menus often read like a long collection of greasy starches. Spaghetti, spätzle, rice dishes and
rösti are accompanied by schnitzels and wursts, soups and omelets. Having recently made rösti, we told ourselves that it wasn't necessary to order any - somehow it was ordered anyway. This is one of Sücka's four versions, with mushrooms, onion and a fried egg. A long day's hike north, above the town of Planken, Gafadurahütte is a much more intimate and scaled-down lodging place. Run by the Liechtenstein Alpine Club, it has no private rooms and almost no amenities. It's very pleasant, though, and we were more than happy to come upon it on a misty evening, bone tired and ready to sit down.
Gafadurahütte sleeps about twelve-sixteen people, though individual places aren't well defined; perhaps more trekkers could squeeze in if it was found necessary. There's just the one room, two long bunks along one wall and two slightly smaller ones by the other. On the night we slept there, we happened to be the only guests. The comforter covers and pillowcases were freshly laundered and the "mattress" was comfortable. Not that it would have mattered much. I would have been asleep by eight had I been sprawled out on the floor.
It got cold at night, and all of the dinner guests eventually left the picnic tables on the patio and squeezed into the little dining room. A fire had been lit in a big, tiled woodstove in the corner, and the room eventually became sauna-like. The close quarters and the beer gave the space an increasingly convivial atmosphere, and conversations began jumping from table to table. We dined on pumpkin soup, followed by a huge salad (for Rebecca) and a stewed mess of lamb's belly and sauerkraut (for me).

Oldie Night and Two Fests

When the electronic board that usually reads "Welcome to Vaduz" changed its message to say "Oldie Night, August 20, 20:00" we knew we had that evening's plans settled. The small square outside city hall, where the farmer's market took place a week later, was transformed into a beer garden/discotheque/summer party. We had dinner at an outdoor cafe table across from the tent beforehand and watched as dolled up women and men with firm handshakes met up to begin the festivities together. The crowd was mostly post-collegiate and up, with a few youngsters brought along by parents.
We'd both assumed live music would be involved, but I figured "oldie" meant big band or Elvis or early Beach Boys the latest. Merlin had the less American-centric idea of polka and folk music. It wound up being 70s, 80s and early 90s material ranging from Abba to Sade, performed by a series of cover bands. We stayed through two sets and while the first group was great, the second was on fire. People danced and clapped and the energy was contagious. You really can't go wrong with a free concert that includes a 10 instrument band, more than one disco ball, a wurst grill and beer in big, plastic cups.
In Liechtenstein, there's been no shortage of concerts and fests. Each town is posted with fliers for the upcoming happenings, which makes it easy for transients like us to feel in-the-know. Some event names are more straightforward than others. 'Chiliheads 2011' intrigued us until we found out it was a chili eating contest with a cover charge. 'Weinfest Trieson' was more our speed. It was originally to take place outside the church in Trieson, but the rain moved it into the town's meeting hall (something we learned, once again, from an electronic board on the roadside).
What made this fest particularly exciting was that we'd camped in Trieson for over a week and now had a chance to feel a part of the community. Right through the doorway were the numbered wine bottles and people standing around tall, round tables tasting them. Some people didn't bother with purchasing tastes and simply went to the other bar for a beer or glass of whatever wine was open. This boy hung out at the third bar, the one for desserts, chatting up three teenaged girls in charge. Our plum tart was delicious, as were our three tastes of white wine from Trieson (and a fourth taste of red, thrown in for free by the man who produced it).
Communal tables and live music can pretty much be expected at Liechtensteinische fetes. Two men played some ditties on their accordion and lap guitar while a larger, folk costumed group set up onstage. When their set was done, the couple of musicians went outside for a smoke, each with an opened bottle of wine in their hands. Payment for the gig? It was a warm familiar - familial, even - atmosphere in which one could easily have spent the entire afternoon, but which made us somewhat crestfallen about our inability to make casual conversation.
Sommernachtsfest in Eschen was advertised by a pretty white and green flyer which boasted live music, food and drink. We don't know much German, but we at least got that far. It also had a ticket fee, which convinced us that it must be awesome. We purchased tickets from a nice lady behind a grocery store bakery counter and made a reservation at an inn so that we'd be nearby at the end of the night (though a free taxi was included in the cover, we think). Three police officers stood outside the meeting hall, mint-filled welcome drinks sat on a table by coat check and people in fancy clothes made us feel under-dressed. "What is Sommernachtsfest exactly?" we asked someone our age who was working the event. "It's just like a town party. There is a band and food and a bar inside for shots."
It felt like walking into an auditorium for prom at a school you didn't attend. Better yet, a school at which you're a foreign exchange student. One woman twirled the long red straw in her Hugo (said welcome drink) waiting for a date that never came. Groups of similarly attired adults sat together while more dressed down couples sat alone. We hovered near the bar with its happy, smiling bartendress and little bowls of pretzels. It was like a classier Oldie Night, with white tablecloths and votive candles on the communal tables, waiters taking your order for beer and wurst and a playlist that was more KD Lang than Kool and the Gang. Again, we wished we could chit chat with someone, but were content enough with being flies on the wall for one more night. We didn't dance or mingle - or do shots - at any of the fests, but left each later than expected and downright giddy. Liechtensteiners know how to throw a party.

The Oberland

This blog has mostly concentrated, so far, on the part of Liechtenstein where most people live and where it's easy to get around. There's a whole different side to the country, though. This is, after all, the only country that lies entirely within the Alps. Towering above the western Rhine valley, where the farms and major towns are, is the Liechtenstein highland, or "Oberland" - a microprovince of rugged slopes and thousands of cowbells, where men wear feathers in their caps and the streams begin with snowmelt.
Up here, it's a little easier to get a handle on the size and shape of the nation. At just over sixty square miles, Liechtenstein is certainly tiny. Most of this area isn't flat, though, and away from the lowlands the country feels much bigger.

From the edge of the mountains, looking to the west, the major towns of Schaan (the collection of buildings in the nearest foreground of the picture above), Vaduz (the capital), Triesen and Balzers lie in a narrow strip of flat land along the river. The Rhine is heavily banked here, and proceeds through the valley in gentle, man-made angles. Across the water, Switzerland's own peaks shoot up and Swiss towns and factories crowd along the flatland.
Looking to the east, the unbroken mass of Austrian Alps stretches for hundreds of miles. Liechtenstein seems to "face" away from this no-mans land, being mostly arranged downhill of a ridge of mountains that runs roughly parallel to the river. It is only from the higher peaks that you can peer over the Austrian border, into emptier and more remote space.
The bulk of Liechtenstein's mountainous land seems - at first glance - suitable for nothing more than rock climbing or paragliding. But a vast network of trails slithers through the gaps and passes, allowing hikers to reach far into the upper valleys. Here, an amazingly untouched culture of dairy farmers herd their Brown Swiss on meadows that reach as high as 7,500 feet above sea level. These are summer pastures, unusable in the winter, and they are filled (though not in the picture above) with wildflowers. One joy - watching the herdsmen walk at elevation with quick, efficient steps that propel them up and down the hills with surprising velocity.
There are a few towns in the Oberland: Triesenberg is the largest, and stretches over much of the visible slope above the valley; Planken is small and sunny; Malbun is a ski town. Steg, a preserved village laid out in a traditional square, lies just around a valley bend from the low country. The houses all have their own patch of meadow for hay or grazing, and the land around them is protected from development - there is a fear that the frantic construction by the river will eventually engulf much of the upper parts of Liechtenstein as the population expands.

In Malbun, nestled in the remotest occupied sliver of grass, skiing is the big draw. In summer, things quiet down, but one lift still runs, servicing a high gasthaus and restaurant. We heard American voices on that patio and didn't linger for long.

The views are spectacular, though, and the sound of cowbells echoes in the high bowl. It's said that Prince Charles learned to ski at this resort while visiting the royal Liechtenstein family. The slopes must be beautiful in the dead of winter, with all the avalanche fencing and snowmaking equipment covered up - it must feel like the end of the earth, snuggled into the snowy mountains of a tiny country.

Having mentioned cowbells so many times, it seems appropriate to give you an idea of what they sound like. From the window of the hiker's refuge, Gafadurahütte, at 4,700 feet, we couldn't make out much of the misty mountains or valley, but the sound of grazing animals was clear and beautiful.

Bauernmarkt

Well, the heat wave has ended. We awoke to a downpour and 50 degree temperature, plus extreme winds that were not kind to our poor, rattled tent. The once-a-month farmer's market (bauernmarkt) in Vaduz was scheduled for today and we were a little worried that it may be canceled. Luckily, not only was it in full swing when we arrived, the rain only upped the sense of community.
People huddled together and sloshed around in galoshes as a quartet played cheery, classical music in the corner. A breakfast buffet was set up along the back wall of the windowed tent. Through it, a anachronistic backdrop of snow-capped mountains made us feel momentarily delusional. Of course, it makes sense that rain down here means snow up there. It only made us happier to cling to the bauernmarkt's warmth and ignore the world outside for a moment.
We felt like part of the community, recognizing a face here and there. There's the woman from the Hofkellerei, standing behind the Hofkellerei table - there's that incredibly tall man from the Demmel Kaffee. He roasted coffee beans on a fire, handed us a few to munch on and complimented us on our newly gained tans. We bought some coffee and a piece of banana loaf from his table, knowing that the coffee roastery/cafe was one of the companies represented at the market that was definitely Liechtensteinische (and not Swiss).
Our second purchase was Swiss, but we weren't too hard on ourselves about it. This no-nonsense kid took time out from his croissant and comic book to sell us some semi-hard goat cheese. Cheese and sausage were the most plentiful goods for sale, but produce, oils and vinegars, wine, baked goods and a wooden brush vendor rounded out the offerings.
Of course, there was a man grilling sausages. This is a veal bratwurst and was pronounced "the best sausage of the trip" by Merlin. It was served in a Malbuner bag, which is a processed ham company based out of Liechtenstein, named after a town in Liechtenstein, but which uses meat from Switzerland (in case you were wondering).
Some people sat with a bottle of wine, others with full breakfast buffet plates; some grazed the free samples, other purchased bowls of asian soup which filled the air with a sweet soy and sesame oil scent. It was a lively, dry gathering under the bauernmarkt tent and we were glad to be part of it.

Castle Hunting: Burg Gutenberg

Of the two castles still standing in Liechtenstein, Burg Gutenberg is the slightly more accessible. While Schloss Vaduz is home to the ruling prince and is closed to the public, Gutenberg can be visited and sometimes even hosts concerts and festivals. Not that it’s ever open. The courtyard door was ajar when we arrived, but the buildings were all padlocked and shuttered. Gutenberg, despite being quite well preserved, doesn’t seem to be a focal point for the country’s tourism offices.
Located near the southern tip of Liechtenstein, rising on a little hill in the flat Rhine valley, the castle enjoys a strategic location at the meeting point between the high cliffs to the east and the river to the west. The point is more significant now, though, than it was in the past – Liechtenstein was something of a political afterthought for a good deal of its history, and the Rhine here isn’t very difficult to cross, meaning that this little area wouldn’t have been defended as a borderland.
The burg’s history suggests that it has been an important site for much longer than the principality has existed, though. The 70 meter high promontory has been in use since the Neolithic period, with some bronze-age finds in the area suggesting continuous occupancy. One segment of dry foundation dates from approximately 800 BC, and other sections were part of a defensible, roman-era church. The castle’s real beginnings, in a form that resemble it’s current shape, date from the late 12th century, and subsequent enlargements were made after the Swabian war of 1499.
The highest walls are at the rear of the structure, as part of the primary keep and residence. They were built up to protect the more gently sloping side of the hill. Lower down, Gutenberg’s walls are lower because they’re in a more defensible position atop the sheer rock. The early approach to the structure was made along an exposed track beneath the walls, where attacking forces would be required to travel a long distance within firing range from above before making contact with the battlements themselves.

Inside, the keep is almost equally well protected, meaning that it would take a second effort to break into the main building, even if the outer walls were broached. This courtyard was all that was accessible to us, and was decorated strangely by this vaguely Trojan statue.
A firing tower and blunt exterior wall at the rear of the defenses left little exposed. Most of the roofs, timber structures and other flammable parts of the burg were further in along the ridge, protected from fire and missiles. The compact size of the fortress meant that it could be held by only a few soldiers.
The castle is semi-surrounded by the small town of Balzers, which is the cultural and commercial anchor of southern Liechtenstein. On the day we were clomping through the village center in our hiking boots, a little farmer’s market was going on. For stamina: some coffee and a very moist, tasty apple muffin. At a picnic table in the shade, we were surrounded by a chatty group of women with full grocery bags.
Gutenberg is a fun castle to walk around because the view keeps changing. From some angles, the castle seems like a complex mess of walls and towers. Looked at from another perspective, it appears to be little more than an enlarged keep. The vineyards below it were fragrant with grapes, and our walk was kept tolerable by a stiff breeze - it was well over ninety degrees.

Gypsy Kitchens: Rösti In The Mountains

There’s nothing like cooking out on a warm August evening, when the light lingers just long enough to finish eating and the air cools to a neutral, delicious temperature. On one recent summer night, we made a feast that was probably twice as big as it should have been. The meal centered around a dish that we’ve been meaning to make, but have dreaded consuming. It’s called “rösti,” and it’s an essentially Liechtensteinische food.
Really, rösti is an alpine food, and it goes by as many names as there are mountain valleys, it seems. Some places call the stuff "deruny", others spell it "röschti" - in America, we might refer to it as “cheesy hashbrowns,” or something like that. Basically, rösti is fried potato with seasonings, often glued together with melted cheese. We decided to make the recipe more interesting and colorful with some other ingredients. At a public park in Triesen, Liechtenstein, we fried it over an open fire as part of a big cookout. To arrange around our potatoes on the plate, we grilled up some mushrooms, a trout, and a selection of wursts. Rebecca seasoned her fish simply with salt, pepper and a few chives and slices of lemon inside it’s chest. I just put the wurst over the coals and let it sit.
The park is nearby our campsite and is usually occupied at dinnertime by a few families and their grilling sausages. There’s a short zipline, a few swings, a little splashpool and an assortment of picnic tables and grills. A pile of firewood is provided by the town, and the fireplaces are open to any and everyone. We had a good time watching the kids play around us, and feeling as though we were part of a community.To make the rösti, we started with packaged rösti potatoes. They are conveniently stocked in every grocery store in Switzerland and Liechtenstien, and are little more than boiled and grated potatoes. We would have done the extra work in a kitchen, but decided against it given that we were cooking in the field. Some packaged rösti is pre-seasoned and oiled, but your home-cooked potatoes wont be. To one pound of boiled and grated potatoes, add about three tablespoons of olive oil, some salt, a teaspoon of sugar (or honey, our choice) and a bit of fresh pepper. It would be great to throw in some dill, parsley or paprika.The mixture could be complete here, but it can also be better. We added some carrots – a combined half pound of regular orange ones, a yellow variety and a purple type. Also, one red jalapeno pepper, two cloves of garlic and one julienned, medium-sized apple. The apple was inspired by another alpine region dish called “Älplermagronen”, which is basically pasta, potato and cheese. It’s often served with apple sauce, which we thought might go well with our dish. Not wanting to take the time to stew apples, we just added the fruit into our mix.

I should add that this isn't so much a recipe as it is a suggestion. The idea: don't stop at potatoes when frying up root vegetables. Turnip, fennel root or beets could also make a rösti-like dish better by providing some different flavor note. Our version turned out sweeter than traditional recipes. Beets would be sweeter still; fennel could transform it with a little bitterness.

It’s pretty easy once everything is grated – just sauté an onion in a large pan, then add the grated mess of roots and fruit. Cook it until the carrots (or other raw vegetables) are done, stirring occasionally. It helps to add a bit more oil to the pan in the beginning. Stir enough to allow everything to cook, but not too much that the potatoes can’t brown. After about twenty minutes, or when everything seems well cooked through, mash and smush everything into a large cake. Sprinkle a large handful of chives over the whole thing, then grate a hard, pungent cheese over the top. We used Appenzeller, which is a local specialty (though Swiss, not Liechtensteinische), but Gruyere works well and sharp cheddar would do in a pinch. Let your rösti cook for a few minutes more, until the cheese has melted down into the cracks.
Rösti is a dish that’s best appreciated at altitude after a long hike – we first had it in a Berggasthaus in Switzerland. Though Liechtenstein isn’t a particularly high country, it is steep, and this meal followed a long day of strenuous walking. The size (if not the density) of the meal probably has more to do with the allure of grilling, though. It's hard not to want to cook dozens of things when there's real fire involved.