St. Ulrich castle near Ribeauville’

Alsace

In June we climbed around castle ruins and explored the Maginot Line, touring below and picnicking above, on our way to Maurice’s plein-air watercolor course in Alsace.  While Maurice and the other artistes set up their easels in charming settings along the Route du Vin d’Alsace, I got to know the half-timbered villages on my own before setting off through vineyards or up mountains with my hiking poles and camera.  Amid painting and hiking we also saw Romanesque churches, concerts, World War 2 cemeteries and, in the wine village of Riquewihr, a parade of wordless and jaw-droppingly flamboyant masqueraders.  Stork nests seemed to be on every high roof and we could see the baby birds practicing their wing-flapping.  I chatted in my rusty French with locals–the grocer, the pastry shop owner, the grape pruner.  One day our group went to Strasbourg, the engaging city where you round a final corner and there is the cathedral, right smack dab at the end of the block, its soaring lines of lacey stone snapping back your head, lifting your eyes and drawing out your breath.  At a nearby restaurant we learned to make tarte flambee, an Alsatian pizza-like dish originally made by peasants in communal ovens with the week’s leftovers; now it is typically topped with creme fraiche, onions and lardons (one of those European meats that pretend to be bacon).  When his classes were over, Maurice let himself be persuaded to accompany me on a hike along a mountain ridge from one castle ruin to another; even though it was farther than we thought plus we accidentally took the long route, the castle on the other end, patched up and with an admission charge, was a delightful find with wall-walks overlooking the countryside, piped-in medieval music and Nutella waffles for refreshment.  One evening we went to a fete de la musique in Bennwihr, a village almost completely destroyed in the Battle of the Colmar Pocket in December 1944; the bell tower of its new church was built of rubble from the town’s houses.  The tiny music fest featured a huge grill, a giant barrel where wine was sold, a patisserie table, an oompah band and traditional dancers who looked like they were having tons of fun.  We were quite obviously the only foreigners there–probably the only people from out of town.  It was definitely authentic.  “Every time I see you you’re smiling,” Jerry told me one day. Alsace was so lovely and we were so blessed; why wasn’t everyone smiling?

pique-nique at Four a Chaux on the Maginot Line

painting at Bergheim

cathedral in Strasbourg

our tarte flambée