Sunrise around Turchheim, where I started my hike
Chateau overlooking Ammerschwihr
Lunch in Riquewihr. Those white things are spaetzle. Mmmm...
As is the French custom, I muttered a quick "Bon Jour" to the people I passed on my walk today, all 20 miles of it through the wine-growing Vosges foothills of Southern Alsace. As is the case when I go anywhere in France, I said Bon Jour, the people passing said Bon Jour back, and I would hope that they would leave it at that, not forcing me to sheepishly tell them that "pardon, je ne parle pas francaise" and then get a dirty look in return. But today, there was a twist. I was walking through these poorly market trails with such a sense of purpose that I suppose it appeared that I knew where I was going -- and so more than a few people stopped me to ask for directions.
"Bon Jour" "Bon Jour" "Vous parle Alleman?" "No!" and it was MY turn to give a dirty look. The gall of these Germans, to come to France, and speak not a lick of French! #
I was amused at first, but then slowly realized that essentially ALL of the people on these trails were German. One couple I spoke to (in English) told me that they were retirees, and owners of a vacation home in one of the villages along the way. I asked if there were many Germans here. They laughed, and said "Oh yes."
This morning I took the early train down from Strasbourg 25 minutes to the regional hub of Colmar, and then from there caught a local service a few stops west to a small town called Truckheim, arriving around 8:30. From there made my way up through the country to the town of Ribeauville, the only town with a rail station on the other side of the hills -- and that with exactly one train per week, which would come that afternoon at 5:21pm. I had no ATM card, and no money for a taxi, and so the urgency of making that connection did add a little spice to my day.
It's pretty country, especially once you get up into the hills which line the vast Rhine valley. The villages are nestled in the foothills and expand into monotony and highways below, but above it's all deciduous forests and vineyards producing some of the best white whine around -- world class Rieslings and Gewürztraminers. I imagine its even prettier if you come in the right season when everything's in bloom, which I of course did not (a hallmark of Ben-travel is going to places in the wrong season).
The villages are cute, but in a very self-aware way, with fresh paint on every Alsatian crossbeam, and with every second house either a wine tasting gallery or a restaurant. The famous village of Riquewihr and Kayersberg are particularly bad, and to make matters worse they're all ringed with small villas being under construction, for more Germany retirees no doubt. Fortunately, I passed through on a wintry Sunday, when everything was closed and I could pretend it was all just gloss on some sort of underlying authenticity which spanned the centuries. I imagine in high season, when the vineyards are at their peak, it might be a bit different.
Trails, paths, farm roads form a fine network to get lost in, and with a village every few kilometres, you can't really get that lost. I had my Blackberry-GPS in hand, and so there were a few stages where I found the paths frustratingly veering off at indirect angles from where I needed to go. Fretting about the time, at a few stages I decided to just set off direct to my destination (another hallmark of Ben-travel-- just ask Vivian). It was a bit tough going at times, but I did manage to trudge through enough wild mushrooms groves that when I arrived in arrived at the town and saw a menu posted offering wild mushrooms, I gave up all thoughts of traditional Alsatian food and dived right in. A few glasses of Riesling, some prok chops, and plenty of mushrooms, all washed down with spaetzle, and I was ready to get back on the trail.
I made it to Ribeauville with twenty minutes to spare.
"Bon Jour" "Bon Jour" "Vous parle Alleman?" "No!" and it was MY turn to give a dirty look. The gall of these Germans, to come to France, and speak not a lick of French! #
I was amused at first, but then slowly realized that essentially ALL of the people on these trails were German. One couple I spoke to (in English) told me that they were retirees, and owners of a vacation home in one of the villages along the way. I asked if there were many Germans here. They laughed, and said "Oh yes."
This morning I took the early train down from Strasbourg 25 minutes to the regional hub of Colmar, and then from there caught a local service a few stops west to a small town called Truckheim, arriving around 8:30. From there made my way up through the country to the town of Ribeauville, the only town with a rail station on the other side of the hills -- and that with exactly one train per week, which would come that afternoon at 5:21pm. I had no ATM card, and no money for a taxi, and so the urgency of making that connection did add a little spice to my day.
It's pretty country, especially once you get up into the hills which line the vast Rhine valley. The villages are nestled in the foothills and expand into monotony and highways below, but above it's all deciduous forests and vineyards producing some of the best white whine around -- world class Rieslings and Gewürztraminers. I imagine its even prettier if you come in the right season when everything's in bloom, which I of course did not (a hallmark of Ben-travel is going to places in the wrong season).
The villages are cute, but in a very self-aware way, with fresh paint on every Alsatian crossbeam, and with every second house either a wine tasting gallery or a restaurant. The famous village of Riquewihr and Kayersberg are particularly bad, and to make matters worse they're all ringed with small villas being under construction, for more Germany retirees no doubt. Fortunately, I passed through on a wintry Sunday, when everything was closed and I could pretend it was all just gloss on some sort of underlying authenticity which spanned the centuries. I imagine in high season, when the vineyards are at their peak, it might be a bit different.
Trails, paths, farm roads form a fine network to get lost in, and with a village every few kilometres, you can't really get that lost. I had my Blackberry-GPS in hand, and so there were a few stages where I found the paths frustratingly veering off at indirect angles from where I needed to go. Fretting about the time, at a few stages I decided to just set off direct to my destination (another hallmark of Ben-travel-- just ask Vivian). It was a bit tough going at times, but I did manage to trudge through enough wild mushrooms groves that when I arrived in arrived at the town and saw a menu posted offering wild mushrooms, I gave up all thoughts of traditional Alsatian food and dived right in. A few glasses of Riesling, some prok chops, and plenty of mushrooms, all washed down with spaetzle, and I was ready to get back on the trail.
I made it to Ribeauville with twenty minutes to spare.
Here, more or less is my route:
View Larger Map
1 comments:
brings back good memories of Egushiem in Alsace and some really good reislings.....
Post a Comment