Every guide book you’ll ever read about Luxembourg calls it a “country of fairytales” - hilly terrains, valleys full of castles, quaint old towns populated by absurdly prosperous people. And as if to top off the fairytale stereotype, Luxembourg’s Head of State happens to be a duke - a grand one at that. And the Grand Duke presides over his Grand Duchy in a grand castle with his Grand Ducal family. How very grand indeed.
At first sight, Luxembourg is stunningly pretty: the capital was built over a dramatic gorge, dividing the city into Ville Haute (high city) with its brand boulevards and squares and Ville Basse (low city) - packed of Irish pubs on tiny, winding streets.
I arrived on a cold sunny afternoon just as a faint fog was moving through the gorge. The combination of sunlight and fog over the gorge cast a golden shimmer over the city, and I stood for the longest time on a bridge over the gorge, staring at the sight before me, incredulous that anything could be so completely, holistically perfect.
But like all fairytales, the problem is precisely that they are too perfect. Past a certain age, you stop reading them, you stop believing in them. You start to prefer them in smaller doses, with a healthy portion of angst and conflict.
Perhaps cynicism is part of growing up.
My cynicism began at nightfall, when workers from investment banks and European Courts left town, and Luxembourg City came to a literal halt. Other than a few tourists hitting up pubs, Luxembourg was a complete ghost town, devoid entirely of character.
There are places you visit that you know you will return to simply because there ain’t enough time in the world to see it all and feel it all in one trip. And then, there are places that will only ever play a fleeting role in your life. But in a way, you are glad to have visited anyway, even if all you remember of it were those 20 minutes you stood on a bridge, mouth agape at a childhood fantasy materialising before your very eyes.
xx doots
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