Some of the trees in our park were planted by my parents, decades ago, when they began their life’s work on this quiet rise above Vaduz some sixty years ago. Those trees are older than I am, and they have watched over this place far longer than any of us. Walking beneath them, you feel that history without anyone having to explain it.
Years later, we asked the renowned landscape architect Enzo Enea to reimagine the garden, not to replace what was here, but to honour it. He gave the old trees room to breathe, framed the views we had perhaps stopped noticing, and let the Adlernest settle into the green as if it had always belonged there. The result is a private park that needs no programme: the seasons do the storytelling. Hydrangeas in high summer, the first tender green in spring, copper and gold in autumn, and in every month the castle of Vaduz somewhere in the corner of your eye.
Guests often tell us the park is where they truly slow down: a bench in the shade, the Rhine Valley stretching out below, birdsong instead of notifications. It is, perhaps, the most beautiful room we have. And it has no walls.
