Travel Writing Sample: The Personal Narrative
King of the Castle in Luxembourg
By Nicholas J. Klenske
As a child I used to play a popular game called King of the Castle. If I recall correctly, the game involved a significant amount of pushing, shoving and maneuvering in order to heave yourself to the top of an imaginary castle- which was usually nothing more than a dusty pile of dirt. Once you made it to the top you were bestowed with the power to declare yourself king and sing the noble jingle, “I’m the King of the castle, you’re a dirty rascal.”
This silly song is stuck on the scratchy forty-five of my mind as I heave myself up to a real castle perched high in the forested Ardennes that surround Vianden, Luxembourg. The castle itself is a restoration of the original eleventh-century behemoth that was once the home of counts, the House of Luxembourg, and King William I of Orange.
Cresting the plateau and standing under a heavy shadow cast by a mildewed stone tower, I am greeted with a commanding view of Luxembourg- stretching its timber arms to embrace neighboring Germany, Belgium and France. Looking over the mountains and valleys just beginning to flirt with the idea of autumn, I think, “When I’m the king of the castle, this is where I want to rule.”
Unfortunately, I will never be the king of this castle as it seems Grand Duke Jean and Grand Duchess Maria Teresa are doing a fine job. In fact, Luxembourg is one of the only countries in Europe where continuing support for the Royal Family is seemingly universal.
And why not? For a country that looks like it could easily be flung off the map like an annoying little goober, things are surprisingly robust here. Financially, Luxembourg is the world’s wealthiest nation. Scenically, it has to be one of the world’s most pristine. Even its monotonously named capital sits atop a guarded plateau, romancing a valley crisscrossed with arched bridges and pierced by the points of pyramid church steeples.
“You ready to head back?,” Kara asks with a nudge, knowing she is pulling me away from an engaging conversation with myself. I take her hand and we begin our trek back towards the village.
Along the way we stop to order ice cream, in French, from a street-side vendor. We take a seat along a small stone veranda and watch several dogs playfully chase each other down the hill and a group of elderly Italian tourists slowly shuffle their way up. It’s late afternoon and the sun gracefully genuflects behind the horizon, casting a soft blanket of gold upon us. The surrounding hills take their evening smoke as the proprietors warm up the fireplaces of their tucked away homes, sending a potpourri scent of harvest spice into the air.
“You know, we’ve been in Europe for exactly two months.”
“I guess we have,” Kara replies. “Ca va?”
I take a moment to consider my answer. I am holding the hand of my love and speaking simplistic French while sitting within a castle’s shadow somewhere on the fringes of a Luxembourg autumn.
“I may not be the king of the castle,” I reply with a nod above. “But for now, I’m perfectly content with being the King of mine.”
More Information:
National Tourist Office: www.visitluxembourg.lu
Vianden Castle: www.castle-vianden.lu
Nicholas J. Klenske, formerly of Dubuque, is a freelance writer living in Brussels. His work has appeared in The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, New Haven Advocate and Renew Quarterly Magazine. Contact him through www.KlenskeInk.com.
By Nicholas J. Klenske
As a child I used to play a popular game called King of the Castle. If I recall correctly, the game involved a significant amount of pushing, shoving and maneuvering in order to heave yourself to the top of an imaginary castle- which was usually nothing more than a dusty pile of dirt. Once you made it to the top you were bestowed with the power to declare yourself king and sing the noble jingle, “I’m the King of the castle, you’re a dirty rascal.”
This silly song is stuck on the scratchy forty-five of my mind as I heave myself up to a real castle perched high in the forested Ardennes that surround Vianden, Luxembourg. The castle itself is a restoration of the original eleventh-century behemoth that was once the home of counts, the House of Luxembourg, and King William I of Orange.
Cresting the plateau and standing under a heavy shadow cast by a mildewed stone tower, I am greeted with a commanding view of Luxembourg- stretching its timber arms to embrace neighboring Germany, Belgium and France. Looking over the mountains and valleys just beginning to flirt with the idea of autumn, I think, “When I’m the king of the castle, this is where I want to rule.”
Unfortunately, I will never be the king of this castle as it seems Grand Duke Jean and Grand Duchess Maria Teresa are doing a fine job. In fact, Luxembourg is one of the only countries in Europe where continuing support for the Royal Family is seemingly universal.
And why not? For a country that looks like it could easily be flung off the map like an annoying little goober, things are surprisingly robust here. Financially, Luxembourg is the world’s wealthiest nation. Scenically, it has to be one of the world’s most pristine. Even its monotonously named capital sits atop a guarded plateau, romancing a valley crisscrossed with arched bridges and pierced by the points of pyramid church steeples.
“You ready to head back?,” Kara asks with a nudge, knowing she is pulling me away from an engaging conversation with myself. I take her hand and we begin our trek back towards the village.
Along the way we stop to order ice cream, in French, from a street-side vendor. We take a seat along a small stone veranda and watch several dogs playfully chase each other down the hill and a group of elderly Italian tourists slowly shuffle their way up. It’s late afternoon and the sun gracefully genuflects behind the horizon, casting a soft blanket of gold upon us. The surrounding hills take their evening smoke as the proprietors warm up the fireplaces of their tucked away homes, sending a potpourri scent of harvest spice into the air.
“You know, we’ve been in Europe for exactly two months.”
“I guess we have,” Kara replies. “Ca va?”
I take a moment to consider my answer. I am holding the hand of my love and speaking simplistic French while sitting within a castle’s shadow somewhere on the fringes of a Luxembourg autumn.
“I may not be the king of the castle,” I reply with a nod above. “But for now, I’m perfectly content with being the King of mine.”
More Information:
National Tourist Office: www.visitluxembourg.lu
Vianden Castle: www.castle-vianden.lu
Nicholas J. Klenske, formerly of Dubuque, is a freelance writer living in Brussels. His work has appeared in The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, New Haven Advocate and Renew Quarterly Magazine. Contact him through www.KlenskeInk.com.
Labels: Travel Writing
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