I was seven months pregnant. Since that moment I had a hunch I might be expecting during a solo trip through Ljubljana and Bled Lake in Slovenia and Trieste in Italy, I made this quiet pact with myself to keep moving, to meet somewhere new every month. Solo in Strasbourg, France. Windblown and laughing in Skiathos, Greece. A long camping trip with my husband in Kressbronn Bodensee, Germany. Then Zurich, Lucerne, and Brontallo in Switzerland. Jesolo, Italy for the second time because sometimes your heart asks for repeats. And when I hit seven months pregnant, I found myself boarding a bus and checking out Liechtenstein alone. A tiny country, yes, but something in me wanted to know: is Liechtenstein worth visiting? Wedged between Switzerland and Austria, only 62 square miles and fewer than 40,000 people, yet alive with culture and alpine beauty. I’ve seen a fair bit of Europe already, but Liechtenstein hooked me in a way that felt like poetry. Perhaps it was the pregnancy hormones kicking in. But from castles sketched by daydreams to mountain trails that stole my breath and handed it back softer, I can say Liechtenstein’s a rare small gem.
When I say this place feels like a poem tucked into the Alps, I mean it. I came in autumn, the air was crisp enough to wake me up without coffee, and the vineyards below Vaduz Castle were glowing gold. Liechtenstein feels personal. Small enough that you can see the edges of it in a day, yet layered enough to keep you leaning in. Culture? Check. The National Museum and Kunstmuseum in Vaduz will keep you busy. Nature? Oh, yes. Malbun’s trails in the summer, its slopes in winter, and those sweeping valley views year-round. Accessibility? Easy. A 30-minute bus ride and you’re on the other side of the country, which I find equally endearing and fascinating as someone who grew up in the archipelago. It’s not cheap, but it’s not outlandish either. And it’s unique – not a box-ticking stop, but a place that feels like a secret you get to keep. I’d come back in any season, but autumn will always be the one that lives in my memory.
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ToggleKnowing Liechtenstein is small and mountainous, I picked Malbun to soak in the cows, the rolling hills, the storybook houses, and that sweeping view of the Rhine River. But really, for first-time visitors, there are only three areas that make sense. A tiny country, yes, but it gives you choices.
During my three-night stay, I always started and ended my day in Vaduz, the capital, and it quickly felt like a familiar friend. The town itself is quiet but not dull – art museums peek out from modern facades, and the Städtle is perfect for slow strolls. One afternoon by sheer luck, I found myself in the middle of a food festival, and to my surprise Nepalese food was a big deal here, with stalls steaming and fragrant. A woman at one of those stalls handed me churros as her good deed of the day, and I laughed, powdered sugar on my fingers, the Rhine River winding peacefully beyond the vineyards. Vaduz Castle sits above it all, keeping watch as the sun fades. Buses connect you everywhere, but Vaduz is where I’d return every evening, having a meal in the street food festival, watching lights twinkle in the hills and feeling grateful that I didn’t just treat it as a quick stop. It’s a capital that doesn’t demand your attention but earns it, slowly and softly, like a poem you read twice just to savor the words.
Malbun was my last stop, and it felt like stepping into a world that’s both quiet and alive. From my balcony, I could see the slope famous for its skiing in winter. And even in autumn, you could sense the place getting ready for the cold. The whole vista was turning, the greens giving way to ochres and golds, like the mountains were dressing themselves in autumn’s finest. There’s a crispness in the air up here that makes every breath feel new, and at night the stars crowd the sky so thickly it’s almost disorienting. Malbun is a village, but one with layers – a place where families gather around long tables after a day outdoors, where trails start at your doorstep, and where the rhythm of the day slows to match the turning seasons. I’d wake early, step onto that balcony, and just watch the morning mist lift off the hills, feeling like I’d been let in on a gentle secret. Malbun isn’t loud about its beauty; it lets you find it in your own time.
Triesenberg should be your next stop before heading higher up to Malbun, because it feels like a village caught between time and sky. It sits above Vaduz, and from nearly every point you get sweeping views of the Rhine River as it winds through the valley below. I wandered its quiet streets, letting my steps follow the gentle rhythm of cowbells in the distance. The houses here are simply captivating – old wooden facades, flower boxes overflowing, little details that make you stop and stare. There’s something deeply grounding about sitting on a terrace with a coffee, watching the late afternoon light soften over the rooftops. It’s not touristy; it feels like you’ve stepped into a living postcard, one where the pace of life is slower and your mind follows suit. Triesenberg is also practical – a midpoint that makes reaching Vaduz or Malbun easy, but gives you that sense of being tucked away, like you’ve found your own corner of the Alps. Every evening, as the sky bruised into sunset, I felt like I’d stumbled onto a secret that only belonged to me.
By the time I left Liechtenstein, I realized it had done that quiet thing some places do – it had made itself at home in my memory. I keep coming back to small moments: the way the light hit Vaduz Castle at dusk, the sound of boots crunching on Malbun snow, the first snow, the friendly nods from strangers on Triesenberg’s streets. This isn’t a place that shouts for your attention. It’s a place that hums softly, like a line of poetry you carry long after you’ve closed the book. And that’s why I tell anyone who asks – yes, it’s worth it. Worth the buses and the winding roads, worth the nights in small hotels, worth the time to slow down and let a tiny country show you how big it can feel.
Hi there, I’m Jona, originally from Cebu, Philippines, had live in Hanoi, Vietnam, and now currently based in Munich, Germany. This blog used to house thoughts on life and books, but eventually it morphed into a travel blog. For collaborations, projects, and other things, please email me at backpackingwithabook@gmail.com. For essays, creative nonfiction, and others, find me elsewhere.