The ancient map was found, then rapidly discarded.  We were on our own.  The town's ghosts spoke of mirth and persecution.  This grape-earth region traded hands of European nations more frequently than a Rooster Hubbs (0.127) baseball card.

We happened to arrive while the French flag flew.  I'm sure it was late - well after cocktail hour (started).  But we nobly forged ahead.

It has been said that the best white wine in the world is produced here.  The temperate microclimate produces a rich and fruity nectar so crisp and sublime that a mere sip of this liquid delight roused ancient monarchs to battle.  Now, flowing in modern abundance, this precious elixir is available to parched visitors.  In fact, this regional siren soundly enthralled one of our trusty band.  I drank beer.

The narrow alleyways and dark corners of the village.  Much of our enlightenment occurred during a tour of the place by boat.  Strasbourg is a river haunt.

Oh Embattled Land . . .

One day, we three souls carried the burden in utter silence.  It reminded us of the times we had on our upcoming trip to Rheims.  An invisible hand pushed us ahead.  The food was pretty good - kinda half German stuff.  Choucroute.  Baekoffe.  We ate it, often with relish, not the condiment. 

Oh yes.  The Christian God was there.  Sure, he left behind many magnificent houses of worship.  Towering monuments of humanity's desire to overcome metaphysical inevitabilities.

See This

The one-towered central cathedral (c.1245-1275) was the building-queen of the city.  Of particular interest were the flying buttresses.  Gothic architects realized this external wall support would allow the construction of impossibly tall stone ceilings resting on walls of stained glass.  Paul Simon saw angels in the architecture.  The last time I did, I was pretty drunk.

Only when we actually put feet to stair did the enormity of the construction task set in.  The building's sweeping height put a blight on our party.  One soul became lost, and ran to ground.  Someone once said, "I'd rather rule in Hell than sweat it out up there."

Even these cathedrals were victims of defacement by conquering armies.  Graffiti formed messages across time from exultant "liberators" to modern visitors.  It all happened and is happening and will always happen.  World without end.  Awe men.

And a piece of the puzzle slipped quietly into place.  (Christopher pushed just a little.)

Flying Buttresses

Suddenly* a shadow descended upon the town. . . an eerie silence prevailed.  We mustered the wits and resources to capture the event on film as evidence.  And here, gentle reader is that photo.  You will see that has not been retouched or "doctored" in any way.  This is exactly as it was.

When we finally returned to street level, we saw a real old clock in the church with a rooster, an organ grinder with a monkey or a dog or something, and a cafe table with three empty seats and an attentive beer waiter.  Some of these sights caused us to linger. . .

*Over the course of the day

Captured!

The wine and the time began to take their toll.  Now it was early evening.  Still no closer to piercing the veil, we paused to study the local architecture.

The village waterways were well-guarded by strong medieval firing towers and low bridges.  No enemy could pass without taking the whole town.

The executioner smiled at his good fortune.  He had a swell pad near where we saw a local teen beating the hell out of some bongos.  Swans were there too.  Nobody felt entirely comfortable with the whole situation.  Christopher forged ahead.

Medieval Bridges

Act casual we told Jimmy.  So he did.  To the locals, he simply appeared to be a tourist leaning nonchalantly on a bridge banister awaiting a photo.  We of course knew otherwise.

Then I noticed (but kept to myself) that at a certain distance, the apparent mass of each tower was roughly proportional to that of an adult human!  The unseen guide's eyes narrowed in knowing assent.  "How 'bout another tankard?"  To put us off the trail.

We took a brief sojourn at a thirst-stop 'neath a huge tree that legend claims once housed minstrels to entertain patrons.  We all tasted some wine.  It was pretty good, I guess.  I really can't remember.

The Geometry Quickly Became Apparent

There were plenty of smokers in the town, and there is a newer part of the town where we stayed - more urban and modern, not like the stuff in the photos on this page.  Like a real modern city with busses and appliance stores and brothels (they say) and some pretty OK bars.

As a matter of fact, just a short walk away from our hospice, we were entertained by this deliberately lovely setting seen to the right.

Unfortunately, our stay in Strasbourg was drawing to a close.  We had to press on.  Sure, something may be rotten in the state of Denmark, but we had our task ahead of us in eastern France.  After comparing notes, we opted to confront the imposing Route du Vin. 

Reflecting on Strasbourg