Coming out of Rodern and still craving adventure, we trolled
the country-side. Still too early in the
spring to put the top down on the Bimmer, but still fun on the narrow, winding
roads that twist through the vineyards.
Vineyards. With that simple word,
most would picture a plot of land, maybe even a large plot. But this is the Alsace. Everything that’s not a road or a village is
a vineyard. Neat and cultivated rows of
vines stretch like thin black ribbons, as far as you can see, across the
flatland, and smoothly rolling with the low hills, until finally caressing the slopes of the
mountains.
A road sign with an arrow reads: Ribeauville.
Never been there. Not yet.
We leave the vineyards and roll into a town right out of the
middle-ages. For the avid sightseer,
nothing beats the Alsace. All you need are some jingle in your pocket, and a
sporty car. Throw predetermined
destination aside. Just drive. Be prepared to tap the brakes and park at the
slightest provocation.
Keep a notebook and pen at hand, along with at least a
pocket camera. You’ll want to jot down
the names of towns, the names of wines, general impressions. Without a bit of a hint, memories melt. The Alsace is a Disney-set on the grandest of
scales. Small villages. Towns.
Cities. All of them pop up with
astonishing regularity. Each a jewel worthy of movie-star sunglasses, a
casually swung scarf, and café-au-lait at a sidewalk café. Linger as if you
belong and the tourists that pass are oh so passé.
In one small town, of which I will write more on another
day, we stumbled into a remarkable chocolate shop. Found out later, it was named one of the five
best in France. That’s the way life is
when you allow yourself the time to meander aimlessly. Expect the unexpected, such as:
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| A stork guards its nest, high on a steeple |
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| Down below, an Aston Martin |
Ribeauville was like that chocolate shop on a grander
scale. Half-timbered buildings. Cobblestone streets. Cafés whose tables and patrons spill out onto
the old walking street.
The town, which is located 10 miles (16 km) north of Colmar
and 47 miles (75 km) south of Strasbourg, kneels at the feet of the Vosges
Mountains. Heard of the Vosges? More than a name, it’s the birthplace of the
famous Rhine River. Across the border is the equally famous Black Forest.
Ribeauville’s history fades back to the 8th
Century. Here’s an interesting
tidbit: the local king/prince/BMOC was
the protector of wandering minstrels.
They paid protection money, of course.
That went on until the late 17th Century, when the noble
family died out. So these day, street
musicians are on their own, but seem unconcerned by the change. We heard a middle-aged woman, standing in
front of a candy shop (confiserie),
croon a wonderful version of La Vie En Rose.
Tune into youtube while you browse the Ribeauville photos (below). The song
will make your eyes and heart well up.
Lots to do in the ville.
Old churches: St Gregory and St Augustine. Castles: St Ulrich, Girsburg, and Haut
Ribeaupierre. As with most castles,
these dominate the heights overlooking the city and through the centuries were
built, destroyed, and rebuilt.
Or, you can do what we did and simply wander the remarkable
streets. Find a bread shop
(boulangerie), pastry shop (patisserie), or just a friendly café. Sit.
Watch the world go by and marvel at your good fortune.
