Living in Liechtenstein for the past month has been an unexpected dive into a world where religion is not just a part of history or tradition, but a living, breathing presence in everyday life. Coming from Australia, where religious influence on public life is relatively minimal, the role of Catholicism in this tiny country has been an adjustment. Liechtenstein is overwhelmingly Catholic, and this permeates daily routines in ways that, as a non-religious person, I hadn’t anticipated.
Every morning at precisely 7:00 AM, I am jolted awake by the ringing of church bells from the church across the street. The bells chime continuously for five minutes—a relentless, unavoidable alarm clock. On days when I have early classes, it works as a back-up, in case my alarms fail to sound. But on days when I could afford to sleep in, it feels more like an imposition, a reminder that religion, whether you subscribe to it or not, shapes the rhythm of life here.
These bells aren’t limited to just the morning either. They ring again at various other times throughout the day—8:00 PM every evening, sometimes at 11:00 AM or 6:30 PM. I haven’t quite cracked the code of their exact schedule, but the consistency with which they punctuate the day is noticeable. For locals, I imagine it’s just background noise, part of the soundtrack of life they’ve known since childhood. But for me, it’s a bit like having a neighbour in the next apartment who plays their music too loud at odd times of the day. You learn to tune it out, but on some level, it’s always there, a reminder that your environment is not entirely yours to control.
In Australia, such a thing would be met with complaints. There, religion doesn’t dictate public noise or the flow of daily life. Church bells wouldn’t be allowed to disturb the peace so frequently without a backlash. But in Liechtenstein, this is just part of the culture. It’s a clear example of the difference between Liechtenstein’s strong Catholic identity and Australia’s much more secular society.
Australia, for all its diversity, doesn’t have an official or dominant religion. Sure, Christmas and Easter are national holidays, but beyond those, religion doesn’t have much of a public presence. Around 40% of the population identifies as non-religious, a figure matched by those who follow some form of Christianity. The remaining 20% is divided among other faiths like Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, and Judaism. Religion, in Australia, feels personal—something that stays largely within homes and places of worship. But here, in Liechtenstein, religion feels inescapable. It’s built into the fabric of everyday life, most visibly on Sundays. Sundays here are the Sabbath, and everything—shops, restaurants, grocery stores—closes. It’s like the entire country hits pause. In Australia, Sunday is just another day, albeit with reduced store hours in some places. You can still get your groceries, grab a coffee, or go shopping if you want. Here, those options disappear for 24 hours.
At first, the Sunday shutdown was frustrating. I hadn’t stocked up on food, and I couldn’t just run out to grab what I needed. But as the weeks passed, I began to see an unexpected upside to this enforced break from consumerism. With nowhere to spend money and nothing to buy, I’ve found myself spending more time outdoors. Liechtenstein, with its stunning landscapes, makes it easy to head out for a hike or explore the countryside. The Sabbath, in a way, has become an invitation to slow down, step outside, and enjoy nature—a welcome shift from the pace of life I’m used to.
In Australia, I probably wouldn’t have taken the time to do this. The convenience of always being able to buy something or run an errand creates a constant distraction. Here, without that option, I’m forced to either sit in my dormitory or venture outside. I’ve chosen the latter more often than not, and it’s become a new routine that I’ve come to appreciate.
What surprises me most is how Liechtenstein, a country with one of the highest per capita incomes in the world, has managed to hold onto these religious values. In many developed countries, economic growth, urbanization, and education tend to lead to a more secular society. But not here. Liechtenstein feels like a country that’s modern in every measurable way but still clings to a village mentality, where tradition and religion guide daily life. As someone who grew up in a country where religion has little to no influence on my daily routine, adjusting to this deeply Catholic environment has been eye-opening. It’s a constant reminder that even in a globalized, hyper-connected world, cultural and religious differences run deep, shaping how we live in ways that aren’t always immediately obvious.