Liechtenstein, 1986

It was the first trip Barbara and I ever took together. It was also my first ever trip out of the USA. Arriving in some place I had read about, seen pictures of, and thought of as exotic and/or mysterious was sensory overload, trying to take it all in, trying to fix a memory long term. In my head I’m sure I was going, “…there’s the Rhine, and Switzerland, and OMG there’s the Alps, and we’re in Liechtenstein, a Fairy Tale place…,” and as a more seasoned traveler now, I miss some of that naive wonderment. What I remember now is dreamlike. We had landed in Zurich, rented a car and headed in a random, easterly direction. We had a flight home scheduled two weeks later, from Milan. Everything between arrival and departure was ours to make up as we went along. The second day, we had crossed into Liechstenstein and around lunch time saw a roadside cafe/tavern. We stopped and were ushered to tables on a back deck, built hanging off the side of an Alp (not one of any particular distinction, as far as I know). It was cool and brisk, but warm sitting in the sun. As we ate lunch and had a beer, a soft whoosh sound was a hang glider spiraling, floating slowly past us, down from the highest altitudes into the Rhine valley. It was all perfect stillness. To try to suspend the moment we had a second beer. And there was no consideration of moving on. We asked for a room in the small hotel there. They were full, but called a friend down the street who rented a guest room and it was available. Looking out the room’s window the next morning, I’m sure I heard Sister Maria singing, “The hills are alive….”

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