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William H. Luers, Diplomat Who Backed Czech Dissident Leader, Dies at 95

William H. Luers, Diplomat Who Backed Czech Dissident Leader, Dies at 95

New York Times11-05-2025
In 1983, William H. Luers, a new American ambassador to Czechoslovakia, bet on a long shot for its future: Vaclav Havel, the often-imprisoned poet-playwright and enemy of the Communist state. But after leading a peaceful revolution to oust the regime, the long shot cultural leader became the democratically-elected last president of Czechoslovakia and the first president of its successor, the Czech Republic.
The ambassador's contribution to Mr. Havel's very survival in the last years of Communist rule, and his subsequent political successes were, in his own telling, results of maneuvers as gentle as the so-called Velvet Revolution that extricated Czechoslovakia from the Communists in 1989.
To spare Mr. Havel from an assassin's bullet, a poison pill or a return to prison — where he might have been snuffed out quietly — Mr. Luers enlisted dozens of American cultural celebrities, mostly friends of his, to visit Prague, meet the playwright and then, at news conferences outside the reach of the government-controlled Czech news media, recast him in a protective armor of global publicity.
'I spent a lot of my career with artists and writers, promoting the arts,' Mr. Luers said in a 2022 interview for this obituary. 'I was worried that the Communists might poison him or put him back in prison. My strategy was to shine as much light on Havel as possible. So I brought in John Updike, Edward Albee and many other people to talk about how great an artist and cultural leader he was.'
The recruited celebrities, Mr. Luers said, included the novelists E.L. Doctorow, Kurt Vonnegut and William Styron; Philippe de Montebello, the director of New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art; Joseph Papp, the producer-director who created Shakespeare in the Park; the California abstract painter Richard Diebenkorn; and Katharine Graham, the publisher of The Washington Post.
The secret police filmed and photographed the visitors, but they were hardly people who could be intimidated. Indeed, Mr. Luers said, it was ultimately the Communist authorities who were cowed by the worldwide attention accorded to Mr. Havel. The underlying message, he said, was that harming Mr. Havel might risk incalculable international consequences for the Czech government.
Mr. Luers, who retired from the Foreign Service in 1986 and became president of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York for 13 years, died on Saturday at his home in Washington Depot, in western Connecticut. He was 95. His wife, Wendy Luers, said the cause was prostate cancer.
In a 29-year Foreign Service career, Mr. Luers was a blend of diplomat and showman who cultivated friendships with artists and writers while seeking solutions to Cold War problems for five presidential administrations, from Dwight D. Eisenhower's in the 1950s to Ronald Reagan's in the '80s. It was an era of nuclear perils, regional conflicts and fast-moving economic and political changes.
Specializing in Soviet and East European affairs, and fluent in Russian, Spanish and Italian, Mr. Luers worked at embassies in Moscow, Rome and other capitals of Europe and Latin America. At his career's end, he was ambassador to Venezuela (1978-82) as well as Czechoslovakia (1983-86).
On his last and most important diplomatic assignment, Mr. Luers arrived in Prague months after Mr. Havel, the scion of a wealthy Czech family noted for its cultural accomplishments, was released from four years in prison, the longest of his several sentences for political activities in defiance of the government.
Mr. Havel's absurdist plays ridiculing Moscow's satellite state had already raised him to international prominence, but had left him an official pariah and his works blacklisted at home for years after Soviet tanks crushed the brief Prague Spring uprisings of 1968.
Mr. Luers set his leadership sights on Mr. Havel for his artistic talents and magnetic personality, and contacted him through dissident intellectuals in the Civic Forum, a notable opponent of the Communist Party. His American celebrity friends burnished Mr. Havel's name as a writer, but not as a statesman, which might have increased Mr. Havel's perils. Inside Czechoslovakia, only the underground samizdat press circulated the encomiums to him.
Long after Mr. Luers left Prague and retired in 1986, the protective effects of his stratagem lingered, and Mr. Havel played a major role in the peaceful revolution that toppled the Czech puppet government in 1989.
Weeks after that revolution, Mr. Havel was named president of Czechoslovakia by a unanimous vote of the Federal Assembly. In 1990, his presidency was affirmed by a landslide in the nation's first free elections since 1946. And when the Czech Republic and Slovakia were created as successor states in 1993, Mr. Havel became the republic's first president. Re-elected in 1998, he left office at the end of his second term in 2003.
'Bill Luers had a remarkable career — in fact many careers,' James L. Greenfield, a former State Department colleague who later was an assistant managing editor of The New York Times, said in a 2022 email for this obituary. (Mr. Greenfield died in 2024.) 'He was the ambassador to Venezuela, but more importantly to Czechoslovakia. While there he became the main supporter, defender and protector of Vaclav Havel.'
William Henry Luers was born on May 15, 1929, in Springfield, Ill., the youngest of three children of Carl and Ann (Lynd) Luers. William and his sisters, Gloria and Mary, grew up in Springfield. Their father was president of a local bank and their mother was an avid bridge player. William attended Springfield High School, where he played basketball and golf and was the senior class president; he graduated in 1947.
At Hamilton College in upstate New York, he majored in chemistry and math and earned a bachelor's degree in 1951. He studied philosophy at Northwestern University briefly, but joined the Navy in 1952, according to an oral history. He graduated from officers' candidate school, became a deck officer on aircraft carriers in the Atlantic and Pacific and was discharged as a lieutenant in 1957. He then joined the Foreign Service, and in 1958 earned a master's degree in Russian studies at Columbia University.
In 1957, he married Jane Fuller, an artist. They had four children: Mark, David, William and Amy, and were divorced in 1979. That year he married Wendy (Woods) Turnbull, the founder and president of the Foundation for a Civil Society, who had two daughters, Ramsay and Connor Turnbull, from a previous marriage.
His son Mark died of esophageal cancer in 2020. In addition to his wife, he is survived by his other children along with five grandchildren and five step-grandchildren.
After 16 years in the Foreign Service at lower ranks, Mr. Luers became an aide to Secretary of State Henry A. Kissinger in 1973 (and personally delivered to him President Richard M. Nixon's 1974 letter of resignation in the Watergate scandal.) He became deputy assistant secretary of state for inter-American affairs in 1975, and for European affairs in 1977.
Retiring from the Foreign Service, he joined the Metropolitan Museum of Art as president in a leadership-sharing arrangement with Mr. de Montebello, who as director presided over artistic matters and was the Met's spokesman. Mr. Luers, as chief executive, handled finances, fund-raising and outreach to government agencies. The dual leadership, at times tense, lasted until 1999.
His strong suit was fund-raising. 'He's indefatigable,' Carl Spielvogel, a trustee, said of Mr. Luers. 'I don't know many people willing to be out at breakfast, lunch and dinner seven days a week, but he was. And he's very good at it.'
Mr. Luers doubled the museum's endowment, modernized its financial systems, enlarged its staff to 1,800 full-time employees, secured the $1 billion Walter Annenberg collection of French Impressionist and Post-Impressionist paintings for the museum, and oversaw the construction of new galleries, wings, exhibitions and public programs. When he stepped down, the museum had a $116 million budget, and crowds that often exceeded 50,000 visitors on weekends.
In 1990, Mr. Luers arranged for Mr. Havel, who was conferring with President George W. Bush on a state visit to the White House, to make a side trip to New York to visit the museum. It was a touching reunion for Mr. Luers, who returned many times to the Czech Republic for meetings with old friends and Mr. Havel, who died in 2011.
After the Met, Mr. Luers was chairman and president of the United Nations Association of the U.S.A., which provides research and other services for the U.N. For many years, he also directed the Iran Project, a nongovernmental organization that supported United States negotiations with Iran.
Mr. Luers, who had homes in Manhattan and Washington Depot, wrote scores of articles for foreign policy journals and newspapers, including The Times. He lectured widely and taught at Princeton, George Washington, Columbia and Seton Hall Universities, and at the School of Advanced International Studies at Johns Hopkins University. Last fall, he released a memoir, 'Uncommon Company: Dissidents and Diplomats, Enemies and Artists.'
'My greatest satisfaction was the success of Vaclav Havel,' he said in the 2022 interview. 'Havel proved my point that culture makes a difference, especially in international relations. The Communist system was deeply flawed. It underestimated cultural leaders' influence on the people.'
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Like so much of the water in Switzerland, it's outrageously clear, blue and inviting, and you do wonder what the Swiss must think if they rock up to a UK beach, the harsh, grey English Channel glaring back at them. As per Walti's instructions, I take a stroll along the promenade. Nestled snugly on the edge of the lake is a fleet of pedalos. Walti has, after all, suggested a river cruise, and this would be a cruise, of sorts. I skim The Athletic's expenses policy, but a section regarding the hire of pedalos and other recreational human-powered watercraft is notably absent. Making a mental note to raise this with HR, I take the journey on foot instead. Most cities would be content with just a lake, but Lucerne goes above and beyond. The lake is set against the backdrop of the Rigi and Pilatus mountains, and is surrounded by buildings with turrets and spires, shuttered windows and red wooden beams — the sort of places I'd assumed only existed on Christmas cards. 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Undeterred, I attack the first staircase with purpose, but the spring in my step has waned as the staircases just keep coming. One fellow tower enthusiast pauses on the descent to stretch her quadriceps muscle. A young child, no older than three or four, exclaims 'phew' after scaling one particularly steep, narrow set of stairs, shaking his head and wiping his brow with all the world-weariness of a man 50 years his senior. It's 125 stairs to the top, but when you reach the summit, your shortness of breath and that twinge in your thigh are instantly forgotten. It's an amazing view. I thought Lucerne was stunning on the ground, but from up here, it's quite frankly showing off. I meander back along the city walls and around the lake — taking one last, lingering look at the pedalos — before heading for the train home. Ali Rampling St. Gallen Matches: Germany vs Poland, France vs Wales, England vs Wales I'm going to go out on a limb here and suggest Walti did not make her hiking recommendations for St. Gallen with the idea of it being barely 10C (50F) and raining. But here I am, at the top of a mountain, waving at some non-plussed cows and wondering how to warm up my toes as they cold-plunge in my boots. 'Chill in Drei Weieren (the scenic ponds above the city) or take in a panoramic view with a hike up to Freudenberg.' These were Walti's challenges I accepted on a Tuesday morning ahead of the Group D match between France and Wales, armed with a peanut butter Cliff bar and then-dry socks. I'm lactose intolerant and (an attempted) vegan, meaning Walti's recommendations for bratwurst were a no. While I can't speak for a sunny day, a grey and rainy one still does this hike to the top more than enough justice. I meander out of the old town's cobblestones and climb flights of wooden stairs, whose tops disappear into thick fog. The effect is Led Zeppelin (Gen Z, Google this). Upon reaching the top, there is St. Gallen below, a compact Christmas town to pack up and build under the tree in December. At the top, there is a pond with lily pads, the rain parachuting down atop their pink flowers. Beside it, a makeshift pool with diving boards, designated lanes, and bleachers for a swim competition. At this point, I'm pretty rain-drenched, so I figure chilling in that water is overkill. But my iPhone weather app (rookie error) tells me the rain is clearing up, so I decide to move into the forest and scale the seeder paths to the top to see the fuss about Freudenberg. The miles-high pine trees offer some reprieve from the drumming rain. I should mention at this point, I'm clearly the only human dumb enough to make this journey in these conditions. Companions consist of one scampering squirrel and a few flitting birds the size of my fist. As the rain continues and fog begins to roll through the branches, the woods feel enchantingly brooding. I have a theory that green looks better against grey, its effervescence more stated. In St. Gallen, I feel I have enough evidence to christen my theory factual. Eventually, my climb leaves me staring at the treetops I once craned my neck upwards to consider. The rain is belting it, little rivers sluicing through my trails. I wish I had more photographic evidence, but I opted against waterboarding my only form of communication in case of emergency. To make a long story short, there are non-plussed cows at the top of St. Gallen, and the view is enrapturing, even in the cascading rain. As far as the Abbey library, another of Walti's recommendations while in St. Gallen, goes: stunning and, more importantly, dry. 10/10. The Abbey is not really a library but a literary oasis. Apparently, it's won 1,000 library awards. If you want to pretend you've traded yourself into the town's local monster to secure your dad's safety and then sing to some talking humans-turned-pieces-of-furniture, this is arguably as close as you're going to get. Everything is gilded. There is a globe the size of my bathroom back home. It is prettier than everything I have ever and will ever own. The rest of St. Gallen is charming. Quaint and intimate streets melt into each other before rising high into old, quintessentially Swiss buildings. To walk through the old town is to walk through not just history, but peace. It is difficult to imagine feeling stressed about a water bill here. Megan Feringa Zurich Matches: France vs England, England vs Netherlands, Sweden vs Germany, Sweden vs England, Germany vs Spain 'What you can do today, do tomorrow. Go for a swim, have a drink,' read a sign in the industrial quarter, to the north-west of Zurich's city centre. Mission accepted. I jump into the deep, greeny-blue water of the Limmat river. Its temperature is not the freezing kind that takes your breath away, but a cool tonic to the blazing heat. Watch out for rogue bits of foliage, and after rainfall, the current is strong, making swimming upstream a real workout. When you go with the flow, however, you feel like superwoman propelled by the river's force. Indeed, some Swiss residents use the current to commute to work. Using a waterproof bag as a pillow, they float down on their backs, passing by other locals who are reading, sunbathing, doing yoga or playing volleyball on the adjacent river banks. It's a very outdoorsy, chilled vibe. Lifeguards are on hand and the river is closed to swimmers when the current is deemed too dangerous. I can't quite erase the image of taking a breath to the side as I front crawl, putting my head down and seeing a floating whitish grey blob with a long tail inches away from me. Walti failed to mention the prospect of encountering a dead rat in the river, but I suppose that's the beauty of swimming in the wild. I was in Zurich for much of the tournament because it was closest to England's base, and that encounter with the rat did not deter me from returning every day. Overall, a top recommendation and a tournament game-changer. Replenish your energy stores in one of the bars and cafes lining the river. Keep walking and you pass through Altstadt (Zurich's old town). The bells of the majestic churches Fraumunster (Women's Minster) and Grossmunster (Great Minster), located on either side of the river, ring out while small motor boats covered with beige and blue jackets bob up and down on the water. There's a charming miniature bronze model of the old town, which gives you a sense of the city's scale. Walk up the wide, cobbled streets to Linderhof gardens, where locals play on gigantic chess boards and the view below captures the old town and river leading to Lake Zurich, another haven for swimmers. Charlotte Harpur Bern Matches: Spain vs Portugal, Switzerland vs Iceland, Italy vs Spain, Spain vs Switzerland I owe Bern an apology. For some reason (not worth me beginning to justify now I've realised I'm wrong), I always imagined Bern to be a boring, businesslike capital city, a la Brussels, and thought the main Swiss attractions were to be found elsewhere in the country. But no! Bern is one of the most striking, elegant capital cities imaginable. Especially in the sunshine and with Italy and Spain fans bringing extra colour ahead of their Group B finale, all blues and reds, to the city centre. On a day like this, you simply don't want to be inside. So forgive me for ignoring Walti's tip of Einstein Haus and the Einstein Museum, which I'm sure are wonderful, but I walk past. I'm largely committing to Walti's first tip: 'Strolling through the arcaded Old Town — 6km of covered walkways and medieval charm.' This is my natural approach to a new city, just wandering around, and I've clocked up 8.4km by the time I head towards the stadium so I'm confident I've completed a good proportion of those 6km. The old town is magnificent, full of grand buildings, elegant shops, and restaurants that feel calmer than their equivalents in, say, Florence or Munich. There's minimal traffic. It is almost encircled by a meander of the Aare river, making it feel like an island city. The river, like many in Switzerland, is impossibly blue because of the glacial flour in the water coming down from the Alps. Having swam in the river back in Zurich on several days so far, I don't feel much desire to 'swim in the Aare river — or float with the current like a local', although I deeply admire the locals' faith in the waterproof bags that they throw their wallet, phone and sunglasses into, before sweeping around the bends, swimming more to stay afloat than to actually propel themselves. Strolling up the Kramgasse, one of the main streets in the old town, I reach another of Walti's recommendations almost accidentally. 'Visit the famous Zytglogge (clock tower) and watch the figures dance on the hour.' I arrived at 2:53pm. This was quite promising; cometh the hour, cometh the men. I'm sorry to say that it was somewhat underwhelming and 200 or so fellow tourists assembled to take videos, then looked around at each other, wondering if that was it. But, peeling back towards the river, I come across a scene that sums up this tournament: an Italy supporter and a Spain supporter, sitting on some stone steps in the shade, having a beer together, and just admiring the view. Michael Cox This article originally appeared in The Athletic. Arsenal, International Football, Women's Soccer, Culture, Women's Euros 2025 The Athletic Media Company

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No one has been a better ambassador for the European Championship in Switzerland than Lia Walti. A key part of Arsenal's midfield for nearly a decade, Walti is even more crucial to the Swiss national team. She captains the side and is one of the only women to have started every game in a major tournament for Switzerland. She made her debut at 18 years old and helped the country to its first World Cup (2015) and Euros (2017) appearances. Advertisement However, last year, the 32-year-old took on a new role as an unofficial travel agent. Before the Euros started, Walti created an Instagram account, called @lias_switzerland, in which she went through the highlights of her country, including a breakdown of all eight host cities. Eventually, her Arsenal and Swiss team-mates got involved. This summer, Switzerland made it out of the group stage before ultimately falling to Spain in the quarter-finals. 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Like so much of the water in Switzerland, it's outrageously clear, blue and inviting, and you do wonder what the Swiss must think if they rock up to a UK beach, the harsh, grey English Channel glaring back at them. Advertisement As per Walti's instructions, I take a stroll along the promenade. Nestled snugly on the edge of the lake is a fleet of pedalos. Walti has, after all, suggested a river cruise, and this would be a cruise, of sorts. I skim The Athletic's expenses policy, but a section regarding the hire of pedalos and other recreational human-powered watercraft is notably absent. Making a mental note to raise this with HR, I take the journey on foot instead. Most cities would be content with just a lake, but Lucerne goes above and beyond. The lake is set against the backdrop of the Rigi and Pilatus mountains, and is surrounded by buildings with turrets and spires, shuttered windows and red wooden beams — the sort of places I'd assumed only existed on Christmas cards. 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Undeterred, I attack the first staircase with purpose, but the spring in my step has waned as the staircases just keep coming. One fellow tower enthusiast pauses on the descent to stretch her quadriceps muscle. A young child, no older than three or four, exclaims 'phew' after scaling one particularly steep, narrow set of stairs, shaking his head and wiping his brow with all the world-weariness of a man 50 years his senior. Advertisement It's 125 stairs to the top, but when you reach the summit, your shortness of breath and that twinge in your thigh are instantly forgotten. It's an amazing view. I thought Lucerne was stunning on the ground, but from up here, it's quite frankly showing off. I meander back along the city walls and around the lake — taking one last, lingering look at the pedalos — before heading for the train home. Ali Rampling Matches: Germany vs Poland, France vs Wales, England vs Wales I'm going to go out on a limb here and suggest Walti did not make her hiking recommendations for St. Gallen with the idea of it being barely 10C (50F) and raining. But here I am, at the top of a mountain, waving at some non-plussed cows and wondering how to warm up my toes as they cold-plunge in my boots. 'Chill in Drei Weieren (the scenic ponds above the city) or take in a panoramic view with a hike up to Freudenberg.' These were Walti's challenges I accepted on a Tuesday morning ahead of the Group D match between France and Wales, armed with a peanut butter Cliff bar and then-dry socks. I'm lactose intolerant and (an attempted) vegan, meaning Walti's recommendations for bratwurst were a no. While I can't speak for a sunny day, a grey and rainy one still does this hike to the top more than enough justice. I meander out of the old town's cobblestones and climb flights of wooden stairs, whose tops disappear into thick fog. The effect is Led Zeppelin (Gen Z, Google this). Upon reaching the top, there is St. Gallen below, a compact Christmas town to pack up and build under the tree in December. At the top, there is a pond with lily pads, the rain parachuting down atop their pink flowers. Beside it, a makeshift pool with diving boards, designated lanes, and bleachers for a swim competition. At this point, I'm pretty rain-drenched, so I figure chilling in that water is overkill. But my iPhone weather app (rookie error) tells me the rain is clearing up, so I decide to move into the forest and scale the seeder paths to the top to see the fuss about Freudenberg. The miles-high pine trees offer some reprieve from the drumming rain. I should mention at this point, I'm clearly the only human dumb enough to make this journey in these conditions. Advertisement Companions consist of one scampering squirrel and a few flitting birds the size of my fist. As the rain continues and fog begins to roll through the branches, the woods feel enchantingly brooding. I have a theory that green looks better against grey, its effervescence more stated. In St. Gallen, I feel I have enough evidence to christen my theory factual. Eventually, my climb leaves me staring at the treetops I once craned my neck upwards to consider. The rain is belting it, little rivers sluicing through my trails. I wish I had more photographic evidence, but I opted against waterboarding my only form of communication in case of emergency. To make a long story short, there are non-plussed cows at the top of St. Gallen, and the view is enrapturing, even in the cascading rain. As far as the Abbey library, another of Walti's recommendations while in St. Gallen, goes: stunning and, more importantly, dry. 10/10. The Abbey is not really a library but a literary oasis. Apparently, it's won 1,000 library awards. If you want to pretend you've traded yourself into the town's local monster to secure your dad's safety and then sing to some talking humans-turned-pieces-of-furniture, this is arguably as close as you're going to get. Everything is gilded. There is a globe the size of my bathroom back home. It is prettier than everything I have ever and will ever own. The rest of St. Gallen is charming. Quaint and intimate streets melt into each other before rising high into old, quintessentially Swiss buildings. To walk through the old town is to walk through not just history, but peace. It is difficult to imagine feeling stressed about a water bill here. Megan Feringa Matches: France vs England, England vs Netherlands, Sweden vs Germany, Sweden vs England, Germany vs Spain 'What you can do today, do tomorrow. Go for a swim, have a drink,' read a sign in the industrial quarter, to the north-west of Zurich's city centre. Mission accepted. I jump into the deep, greeny-blue water of the Limmat river. Its temperature is not the freezing kind that takes your breath away, but a cool tonic to the blazing heat. Watch out for rogue bits of foliage, and after rainfall, the current is strong, making swimming upstream a real workout. When you go with the flow, however, you feel like superwoman propelled by the river's force. Advertisement Indeed, some Swiss residents use the current to commute to work. Using a waterproof bag as a pillow, they float down on their backs, passing by other locals who are reading, sunbathing, doing yoga or playing volleyball on the adjacent river banks. It's a very outdoorsy, chilled vibe. Lifeguards are on hand and the river is closed to swimmers when the current is deemed too dangerous. I can't quite erase the image of taking a breath to the side as I front crawl, putting my head down and seeing a floating whitish grey blob with a long tail inches away from me. Walti failed to mention the prospect of encountering a dead rat in the river, but I suppose that's the beauty of swimming in the wild. I was in Zurich for much of the tournament because it was closest to England's base, and that encounter with the rat did not deter me from returning every day. Overall, a top recommendation and a tournament game-changer. Replenish your energy stores in one of the bars and cafes lining the river. Keep walking and you pass through Altstadt (Zurich's old town). The bells of the majestic churches Fraumunster (Women's Minster) and Grossmunster (Great Minster), located on either side of the river, ring out while small motor boats covered with beige and blue jackets bob up and down on the water. There's a charming miniature bronze model of the old town, which gives you a sense of the city's scale. Walk up the wide, cobbled streets to Linderhof gardens, where locals play on gigantic chess boards and the view below captures the old town and river leading to Lake Zurich, another haven for swimmers. Charlotte Harpur Matches: Spain vs Portugal, Switzerland vs Iceland, Italy vs Spain, Spain vs Switzerland I owe Bern an apology. For some reason (not worth me beginning to justify now I've realised I'm wrong), I always imagined Bern to be a boring, businesslike capital city, a la Brussels, and thought the main Swiss attractions were to be found elsewhere in the country. But no! Bern is one of the most striking, elegant capital cities imaginable. Especially in the sunshine and with Italy and Spain fans bringing extra colour ahead of their Group B finale, all blues and reds, to the city centre. Advertisement On a day like this, you simply don't want to be inside. So forgive me for ignoring Walti's tip of Einstein Haus and the Einstein Museum, which I'm sure are wonderful, but I walk past. I'm largely committing to Walti's first tip: 'Strolling through the arcaded Old Town — 6km of covered walkways and medieval charm.' This is my natural approach to a new city, just wandering around, and I've clocked up 8.4km by the time I head towards the stadium so I'm confident I've completed a good proportion of those 6km. The old town is magnificent, full of grand buildings, elegant shops, and restaurants that feel calmer than their equivalents in, say, Florence or Munich. There's minimal traffic. It is almost encircled by a meander of the Aare river, making it feel like an island city. The river, like many in Switzerland, is impossibly blue because of the glacial flour in the water coming down from the Alps. Having swam in the river back in Zurich on several days so far, I don't feel much desire to 'swim in the Aare river — or float with the current like a local', although I deeply admire the locals' faith in the waterproof bags that they throw their wallet, phone and sunglasses into, before sweeping around the bends, swimming more to stay afloat than to actually propel themselves. Strolling up the Kramgasse, one of the main streets in the old town, I reach another of Walti's recommendations almost accidentally. 'Visit the famous Zytglogge (clock tower) and watch the figures dance on the hour.' I arrived at 2:53pm. This was quite promising; cometh the hour, cometh the men. I'm sorry to say that it was somewhat underwhelming and 200 or so fellow tourists assembled to take videos, then looked around at each other, wondering if that was it. But, peeling back towards the river, I come across a scene that sums up this tournament: an Italy supporter and a Spain supporter, sitting on some stone steps in the shade, having a beer together, and just admiring the view. Michael Cox

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