Coat of arms of the Principality of Seborga. (iStock)
Whenever one thinks about Europe’s lost places, images of abandoned monasteries, defunct fortresses or even entire villages built in geographically precarious positions likely come to mind. However, many such all-but-forgotten corners of the Continent are quite a bit larger in scale. Self-declared free states, republics and other autonomously governed, outside-the-box entities have dotted the landscape for centuries, and not only do traces of them persist, some still exist today. Here’s a short look at history’s past and present geopolitical anomalies just waiting to be explored.
Neutral Moresnet: Remember Esperanto, a language conjured up in 1887 with the lofty aspiration of serving as a universal second language for communication between all people? This was the language proposed to have served as the tongue for a new nation by the name of Amikejo, or “place of friendship,” a community once located about 4 miles southwest of Aachen, Germany.
But before Amikejo, there was Neutral Moresnet, a wedge of land roughly the size of Central Park in New York City. Following Napoleon’s defeat, the Congress of Vienna met in 1816 to redraw Europe’s borders. An unresolved point of contention between Prussia and the Netherlands was a mine that produced zinc, at the time a precious and rather scarce resource vital to industrial and military manufacturing.
Within the so-called “condominium,” which in international law refers to territory over which two or more sovereign powers agree to share equal dominion and exercise their rights jointly, the inhabitants of Neutral Moresnet made the most of this ambiguous situation. There was no military conscription, taxes were low and there were no tariffs on imports. It soon became a boomtown for not only laborers in search of a job but also less savory types. From just 256 residents in 1816, its population grew to more than 4,600 inhabitants before its dissolution following World War I.
What traces remain of the town are in what’s now Kelmis, in Belgium. There, one can find some 50 stone markers erected in 1870 to delineate its borders, and, inside the art nouveau mansion in which the zinc mine’s director once lived, is found the Museum Vieille Montagne, where original documents and historical maps are preserved. Outside town, on the summit of the nearby Vaalserberg, a historical marker notes the exact point where the tip of Moresnet once touched the Netherlands, Germany and Belgium. Fans of flowers and hiking are likely to enjoy a day out along the Zinc Violet Walk (Galmeiveilchenweg), a 12-mile trail through the former industrial landscape that passes by patches of rare flowers that thrive in the heavy-metal-rich soils, particularly the Galmei violet. This yellow beauty blooms most vibrantly between May and July. Online: tinyurl.com/29z7r4t8
Baarle-Hertog & Baarle-Nassau: Imagine 22 Belgian enclaves completely surrounded by the Netherlands; now picture within these enclaves, seven Dutch counter-enclaves. Head hurt yet? Clear your thoughts, or grow yet more muddled, by taking a walk through these two border towns situated between the cities of Breda and Tilburg in the Netherlands and Turnhout in Belgium. This border-hopping extravaganza, brought to you courtesy of intricate medieval land swaps that were never fully resolved, is made easier by following the white pavement crosses marked with “B” and “NL.” These capricious lines slice through streets, cafés and family homes. How does a resident know where he or she lives? A building’s “nationality” is determined by the country one steps into upon exiting through its front door. Online: en.visitbaarle.com
Seborga: In northwestern Italy, in the Province of Imperia within the Liguria region, near the French border and some 20 miles northeast of Monaco, one finds the amenable village of Seborga. With its enviable position facing the Ligurian Sea, the Maritime Alps and the French coast, it’s worth a visit in its own right. But upping the interest factor is its self-declared status as an independent principality, complete with its own sovereign, laws and a coin called the “luigini.” Sold to the Kingdom of Sardinia in 1729, the transaction was never properly registered, and the paperwork lacked the all-important royal signatures. During the Italian Unification of 1861, no treaties made mention of the town. In the 1960s, locals uncovered these archival mistakes and reclaimed their sovereignty. An afternoon in Seborga could include a walk past the mint, which bears the crest of the principality; a peek into the Palazzo dei Monaci, which houses a collection of ancient musical instruments; and dining on rabbit, a local specialty. Be sure to snap photos of loved ones standing next to the sentry box by the town entrance and beneath its blue and white sovereign flag, and keep an eye out for its current regent, Nina Menegatto. Born in Kempten im Allgäu, Germany, she’s held the role of Principessa since 2019. Online: tinyurl.com/4cpy7rc7
Freistaat Flaschenhals: Our last curiosity is easily visited as a day trip from Kaiserslautern or Wiesbaden, Germany. The Freistaat Flaschenhals, or Free State of Bottleneck, was a narrow strip of land encompassing the Wisper Valley and the towns of Lorch and Kaub, on the right bank of the Rhine, that arose in the aftermath of World War I. Under the Armistice of 11 November 1918, Allied powers established two semi-circular bridgeheads, each with an 18-mile radius. The American forces occupied the bridgehead around Koblenz, while French forces occupied the bridgehead that sat closer to Mainz. Because these arcs drawn by U.S. and French military planners respectively failed to overlap properly, a wedge-shaped gap was left between them. The local population, finding themselves completely cut off from the rest of the Weimar Republic, declared itself independent in January of 1919. Through self-management and smuggling between the borders of the occupied territories, the microstate’s citizens somehow managed to scrape by. Freistaat Flaschenhals’ demise came in February of 1923, when French forces marched into its “capital” of Lorch, seeking to bring an end to the smuggling and black marketeering. Today, the black and gold flags of the former free state flying above a handful of wine taverns and restaurants bear testament to this not-so-distant past. The end of a hard day’s exploration can be brought to a close with a bottle of locally produced Flaschenhals riesling. Online: tinyurl.com/bdddfcpk