Confetti Budgets for Countries the Size of a Car Park

🇱🇮 Liechtenstein 🇸🇲 San Marino By Suki Nakamura, Out of Office

Liechtenstein and San Marino are both microstates so small that a determined jogger could cross either one before finishing a podcast episode, and both have responded to that smallness by throwing national celebrations with an enthusiasm entirely disproportionate to their population. Liechtenstein's National Day, every August 15th, ends with the actual reigning Prince inviting the entire population up to the castle grounds for fireworks, because when your country has roughly 40,000 people, you can genuinely invite everyone and mean it. San Marino, older, prouder, and considerably more Italian in temperament, spreads its patriotic energy across multiple anniversaries tied to its claim as the world's oldest surviving republic, celebrated with crossbow displays and men in medieval costume who take the whole thing entirely, gloriously seriously.

I've stood in both crowds. Liechtenstein's felt oddly intimate, like being invited to a wealthy neighbour's garden party that happened to also be a nation. San Marino's felt like stepping into a Renaissance festival that never got the memo it was supposed to end centuries ago.

Do's & Don'ts: Liechtenstein

Do's & Don'ts: San Marino

Liechtenstein: A National Day Where the Prince Actually Shows Up

There's something almost absurdly charming about a national holiday where the head of state doesn't just issue a statement or wave from a balcony but genuinely opens the grounds of his own castle to the public. Every August 15th, Liechtenstein celebrates Staatsfeiertag, its National Day, and the celebration culminates with Reigning Prince Hans-Adam II — or increasingly his son, Hereditary Prince Alois, who has taken on more ceremonial duties — inviting the population up to Vaduz Castle for an evening reception before the fireworks light up the valley below.

With a population hovering around 40,000, this isn't performative accessibility, it's genuinely feasible logistics. You can plausibly meet a meaningful fraction of the country's citizens over the course of one evening, and the whole event carries an atmosphere closer to a well-organised village fete than a national celebration, albeit one with actual royalty pouring the metaphorical punch. Locals treat it as both patriotic occasion and genuine social event, and the informality is the whole point — nobody's checking credentials at the castle gate.

Beyond National Day, Liechtenstein's public holiday calendar runs quieter, closely aligned with but not identical to Switzerland's, given the countries' close economic and cultural ties. Most other holidays here are observed with simple closures rather than public spectacle — shops shut, families gather, and the country's default low-key temperament reasserts itself until next August rolls back around and the castle gates open again.

San Marino: The World's Oldest Republic Never Lets You Forget It

San Marino carries its status as the world's oldest surviving republic, founded, by its own account, in the year 301, with a pride that borders on performance art, and honestly, after 1,700-plus years, it's earned the right. The country's public holiday calendar leans heavily into this history: the Founding Anniversary celebrations and the Feast of Sant'Agata, the city's patron saint, both bring out crossbow competitions performed by teams in genuine medieval costume, historical reenactments staged with a seriousness that goes well beyond tourist theatre, and a walled hilltop capital that, for a few days a year, feels less like a tiny modern microstate and more like a living Renaissance fair with better wine.

The crossbow tradition in particular deserves real respect — these aren't costumed actors going through motions for photographs, they're members of long-established competitive companies practicing a skill with genuine historical roots in San Marino's medieval defence, and watching a competition unfold in the walled old town, against the backdrop of the Three Towers, is one of the more unexpectedly moving small-country experiences available in Europe.

The catch, inevitably tied to San Marino's other defining feature — being one of the most visited microstates per capita on earth thanks to day-trippers from the Italian coast — is crowding. Major festival dates draw considerably more visitors than the tiny capital's streets were built to comfortably hold, and anyone expecting a quiet, contemplative historical experience should plan around the biggest dates rather than into them, or accept that atmosphere here comes bundled with genuine crowds.

The Verdict

Liechtenstein wins on intimacy and genuine access — there's nothing else in Europe quite like being personally, functionally invited to a reigning prince's castle grounds as part of an entire nation's evening plans. San Marino wins on sheer historical texture — seventeen centuries of continuous republican pride, performed with crossbows and conviction, is a spectacle Liechtenstein's tidy, quieter National Day simply can't match. If forced to pick one evening, I'd take Vaduz Castle's fireworks for the sheer novelty of proximity to actual royalty. But San Marino's crossbow teams have stayed with me longer, and that's not nothing.

What Nobody Warned You About

r/Liechtenstein — a visitor described being genuinely startled that National Day felt more like a neighbourhood barbecue than a state occasion, right up until fireworks started over the castle.

Internations San Marino — an expat warned that the Founding Anniversary weekend turns the old town's narrow streets into a genuine bottleneck, and arriving early is non-negotiable.

Quora — someone asked whether Liechtenstein's National Day was "actually open to everyone" and multiple replies confirmed yes, castle grounds included, no invitation required.

Conclusion

Two of Europe's smallest countries, two entirely different ways of proving that size has nothing to do with national pride. Liechtenstein does it through genuine, castle-gate openness on a single perfect August evening. San Marino does it through seventeen centuries of stubborn republican continuity, celebrated loudly, repeatedly, and with actual crossbows. Visit either during their big dates and you'll understand something most larger countries lose entirely: when your whole nation could fit in a mid-sized stadium, the celebration stops being symbolic and starts being personal.