Vaduz, Liechtenstein

With a long ride ahead of me I set off bright and early, picking my way down to the southern shore of Lake Zurich and following the road that hugged it, taking in the houses located with prime position on the sloping northern shore. Soon the buildings started to thin out and I was cycling through  valleys of green hills dotted with the odd lonely hut up on high, just above which the green gave way to white, craggy mountain peaks - an absolute treat for the eyes.

The going was flat but my legs just didn’t have it in them today, despite the day or two’s rest since my last big ride. The temperature had also dropped again. The gloves were out and for the first time I felt too cold in my trousers; icy legs don’t make for good cycling progress.

Pushing on, I reached a small town called Wangen with a tiny and authentic Italian family restaurant - exactly what was required. The warming bowl of pasta only revived me so much, however, and I really struggled to reach the goal I had set myself en-route, the rail hub of Ziegelbruecke, 35 miles east of Zurich. Finally making it there, as my reward I stocked up on bottles of Muller milkshake and Lindt chocolate in a supermarket and hopped on a train to cover the rest of the distance to the Swiss border, putting my feet up and appreciating the  gorgeous alpine views.

For somewhere that had really only been an afterthought - it was a case of “may as well go there, it’s on the way” - Switzerland had been a surprisingly rewarding place to visit. What had made a lasting impression more than anything else was how quietly content the people had seemed, even in the major cities. I’m guessing that residing in an affluent, clean and efficient land of valleys, lakes and mountains goes a long way to help cultivate such a mindset. The sole disappointment was that due to the poor weather I didn’t get a chance to get up into the mountains myself, although I imagine I will be back in the Alps at some point in the future, probably with a couple of planks strapped to my feet.

I would’ve loved to have biked into my next destination, but I was a spent force, so instead I sought out the the bus which crossed into the mythical little country of  Liechtenstein to its tiny capital, Vaduz.

Eyeing up some of the odd-looking locals on the bus, I wondered perhaps whether Liechtenstein - as the world’s largest exporter of dentures - should also consider going into the cosmetic surgery business as well, perhaps starting with some of its residents. They really did look like the type of people who had more than a few spare digits between them. I guess when your capital city has only four thousand people in it and little to no permanent intake of outsiders it’s going to be an uphill struggle for the gene pool.

The helpful girl at Tourist Information informed me the only hostel in the country was closed, which at least I had expected to be the case in Winter, and so she recommended the next best (i.e. cheapest) option, in the form of a guesthouse up at English Bed & Breakfast prices but with even less friendliness. Still, the rooms were nicely wood-panelled in a chalet style and I had my own telly showing the wondrous language-learning aid that is German television.

It’s a little known fact that there is a clause in the German Constitution decreeing that at any given point in time at least one German TV station must be showing dubbed re-runs of The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. At least, it seems that way sometimes. I flicked through the 53 channels, 37 of which were showing adverts, and soaked up the German goodness, feeling my comprehension of the language gradually returning.

Vaduz had pretty much shut down by nightfall, which led me to wonder whether it was perhaps twinned with somewhere in Normandy. But I found one place nearby called the Old Castle Inn which was still offering a cheapy day menu of filling Germanic food: a meaty soup for starters, a meat main course with a side dish of meat and a token sprig of green veg (cooked in meat), accompanied by the type of bread you could easily leave a tooth in (perhaps why the local denture industry was doing so well). I got the beady eye from a local at the bar, although he might very well have been looking somewhere else completely, as the poor fellow was boss-eyed. Anyway, he made no effort to form a mob, grab pitchforks and flaming torches and chase me out of the valley, so I felt safe to wander home that night and put my head down in my fourth country this trip.

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