Rows and rows, acres and acres, miles and miles of grapevines.  Navigation without a map, road signs, daylight, or a good dog would be admittedly difficult.  We managed quite well with several maps and a fairly functional French vocabulary.

The countryside was truly spectacular.  This part of Europe highlights humanity's two great pursuits through the ages: attainment of metaphysical enlightenment through religion and escape from metaphysical reality through fermentation.  Many folks today combine both pursuits.  I'm known to favor one.

We found ourselves roaming through the Medieval villages, taking occasional refreshments.

The Route

Many of the towns along the Route were very small, barely supporting the winefolk there.  Some were rather more geared for pilgrims.

Let's stop for a drop.

We were at once captivated by the hamlet of Obernai.  A fine luncheon was had, and I believe the demon had settled with us a bit.  Stop here or press on?  It was compelling to stay in this charming, novel village, but the road beckoned.  We only budgeted a couple of days.

It was probably in Ribeauville.  Our colonial sensibilities weren't well-tuned to the local setting.  It was after Obernai - one stop after.  I parked the coach and our band travelled afoot. There may have been much merry-making, miscalculation, mindlessness; we found ourselves lost in a strange land!

At once, Jimmy began to perform the ritual of finding.  This involved a thorough review of certain written and cartographic elements, arcane mutterings, occasional lookabouts, and a quite familiar posture.

"We've become surrounded by a small French village!" Someone offered.

The Ritual of Finding

Our unseen guide led us on through serene, colorful and quaint boroughs.  Alsace in late October - the colder air beckoned the rusty hues of autumn: warning of the cruel months ahead.  Yet we con- tinued on our path as it was revealed to us. 

What was hidden behind the closed shutters?  Legend spoke of the flower-bearded window spies.  Of course we saw no evidence of this, but I couldn't help feeling I was being watched.  Scrutinized.  Studied.  

We convened.  Soon, all of us agreed it was time to refuel.  We were in luck!  The neighborhoods offered many cozy inns whose proprietors quite gladly offered a tasty cup (or two) to walk-weary nomads.

After the table concluded, we took our humble carriage on the road south.  The cursed wood wraiths conspired against us again!  The ritual of finding was again exploited.  After assuming the correct posture roadside, I became infused with the way-knowledge.

"Our destiny lies ahead. . . we must push on to Colmar."

A Variant of the Ritual

Our journey led us past the old castle on the hill.  With camera at the ready, we took a photo before we were swooped upon and devoured (all but one) by dusk demons.

As the dusk descended, we pulled our disgorged corpses together to witness the evening lighting of curtained windows.  The whole ordeal left us understandably dehydrated.  A locally brewed remedy was in order.

Lair of the Dusk Demon

Curious Windows