Walk, Don't Run

I’ve already written—too much, maybe—about the dreary Sunday following my Saturday night run in Luxembourg, but here’s the part where it’s time to stop running … and walk.

Picture a June evening in Europe: a rain-washed city under a clearing sky, the sun shooting out gold from low on the horizon, the air fresh and cool but no longer sharp. A dark afternoon giving way to a promise. There is beauty in the world. There is hope.

We had abandoned a tour of Luxembourg City under a downpour, but the brightening aspect beckoned our return to the heart of the Old Town. Here we discovered the Place Clairefontaine, noted for its charm, and the Chemin de la Corniche, the long path overlooking the Alzette River ravine and the part of the city known as Grund. We rambled and marveled and took pictures and talked. We stared down at terraced gardens and over at skyscrapers looming at the city’s edge. We got acquainted with the Old Town at our own pace, unhurried, without a guide.

Earlier, I had looked forward to the two-hour tour with the guide from the tourist office. I’m not one to bash guided tours; I’ve been on too many good ones to discount them. But sometimes I feel like I’m being rushed or, worse, like I’m being told what to appreciate and enjoy. It can be a passionless experience, with no spontaneity and no personal connection to the locale.

On our walk along the Chemin, I didn’t always know what I was looking at—with no guide to point out all the sights considered by the general consensus to be significant—but I don’t know how long I might have retained any information from the tour, anyway. The walk I will always remember.

Place Clairfontaine



Along the Chemin; high rises on the Kirchberg Plateau (site of the hotel and the marathon start and finish) are visible in the distance







Looking down into Grund

The rock wall along the left is part of the Bock casemates, a maze of tunnels begun in the 17th century for defense

Gardens along the Alzette River

Looking toward Kirchberg again

Bridge over the ravine

In the village of Vianden, too, where we went to see a castle, we lingered and savored. Many times I’ve passed through villages that looked intriguing, like a storybook. The first time I went to Europe, in high school, and then again on study abroad in college, I caught glimpses of little towns as I traveled by bus to some prearranged location. On the one-day version of Norway in a Nutshell, I saw a white church spire rising in the distance as the train I rode careened down into a valley, and then we were hustling from the train onto the ferry to view a fjord from another moving conveyance.

When we arrived in Vianden, I thought we might see the castle and then go on to one more village. But Vianden was so fun, with its beautiful flowerboxes and tree-covered hillside and a river running through it, and then we rode a chairlift up to the top of the hill and took a forest path down to the castle … and we decided to give ourselves over to the joy of the day. Vianden resembled a storybook village, and we got to stay and read the first page.

Welcome to Vianden

The castle looms over the village

 

We rode the chairlift to the lodge visible on the hillside

From the lodge, we hiked down toward the castle ...

... through the forest

From the castle we could look back up at the lodge



Leaving the castle ...



.... we took a windy cobblestone street into the village

Could we stay at the Hotel Victor Hugo?

 

Signs show our route back; flowers ensure a sweet memory of Vianden