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A tiny country with two big symbols: we unpack why Luxembourg flies both a light-blue tricolor and a fierce red lion, and what each one really means. From medieval heraldry to river traffic on the Moselle, we trace how a civil ensign survived in a landlocked state and why the tricolor still fronts embassies while balconies and tattoos favor the lion. Along the way, we talk about color shades, Dutch influence, coat-of-arms logic, and the careful line a modern constitutional monarchy walks between dynastic memory and democratic identity.

We also open our bookshelves and get honest about the challenge of reading Luxembourg’s history in English. Emile Haag’s The Rise of Luxembourg stands as the rare, beautifully designed benchmark—even if the English edition is hard to find—while the French original remains available. For deeper dives in French or German, Gilbert Trausch’s landmark works and Michel Polfer’s concise surveys deliver clarity and credible sourcing. If you’re starting out in English, we flag approachable titles like Luxembourg America and The Clogshaped Duchy, with clear caveats about dryness, missing citations, and production quality. We share tips to dodge AI-generated “history” books and point to regional reads that make the borderland world come alive: Graham Robb’s The Discovery of France for everyday life and technology’s impact, and Simon Winder’s Lotharingia for a witty, sweeping portrait of the zone between French and German spheres—Luxembourg included.

By the end, you’ll see why the tricolor and the red lion aren’t rivals but a matched set: one speaks for the state, the other for the people. Find our complete reading list and links on our site, then tell us which flag you’d fly at home. If you enjoyed the show, subscribe, share it with a friend, and leave a quick review to help others discover Back to Luxembourg.

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A royal weekend can tell you everything about a country if you’re close enough to hear the crowd breathe. We landed in Luxembourg for the enthronement of Grand Duke Guillaume V and found the city transformed: barricades that opened, officers who guided, and a square packed with the largest crowd many locals could remember. Through a lucky chain of moments, we ended up near the RTL tents and within feet of the balcony, watching a young family laugh through cannon thunder and a nation cheer in several languages at once.

What stood out wasn’t just ceremony but tone and a concert that spanned opera, death metal, and pop with flawless technical craft despite rough weather. The Benelux presence underscored deep ties and a forward-looking message, while the day itself felt disarmingly human—fangirls, spontaneous greetings from the balcony, and the kind of public intimacy you don’t expect at state occasions.

Back home, we unpack what to bring back and why it matters. We scored paper flags with the royal monogram, tasted commemorative chocolates, and even found a cheeky “love is love” tourism keepsake that says a lot about modern Luxembourg. The standout keepsake might be a new graphic history of Luxembourg in English—smart, accurate, and accessible—perfect for anyone tracing roots or curiosity.

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A family story flips with a single message: “You’re not German—you’re Luxembourgish.” That twist leads us from dusty records and shifting borders to living cousins, board meetings in Minnesota, and a deeper question we can’t stop asking: what does citizenship mean when you hold it from afar? We share how dual nationality moved from a cool discovery to a humbling responsibility, and why we decided that connection shouldn’t stop at ancestry. If the passport is a door, the work is walking through it—learning the history, showing up for community, and paying attention to how people live in Luxembourg right now.

Then we head to the kitchen, where culture gets real. We bake Anne Faber’s rhubarb custard cake—crisp-edged crust, tart fruit, and a restrained sweetness that begs for coffee—and set it next to a Dakota kuchen with a yeast-raised base and a richer, gooier custard. Two countries, one idea: fruit plus custard plus crust, interpreted through different pantries and seasons. We talk texture, balance, and why Luxembourgers and Upper Midwesterners share a quiet devotion to rhubarb. The verdict? If you crave bright, fruit-forward clarity, Luxembourg’s take shines; if you want comfort and dairy warmth, kuchen answers. Either way, the table becomes a map.