(Tuesday, Sept. 22) Colmar is a major city located about a half south of Ribeauville. It has a car-free pedestrian zone in the heart of the old city, a large cathedral, and many half-timbered style popular in this region It also has at least two of the fake steam train tram which are continually circling the old center of town, filled with bored tourists too lazy to walk around town on their own locomotion.
We enjoyed a local specialty called “Tarte Flambé” (a type of thin-crust pizza) during an al fresco lunch at a café on the main platz, then picked up some brochures at the local Tourist Office to take back to our innkeepers¸ and set off on a walking tour of the town. Like many German cities, Colmar has its share of high-end clothing boutiques, and the usual collection of shops selling tourist schlock. The Gothic cathedral wasn’t very interesting, but the smaller, plainer Dominican church with its splendid Madonna of the Rose altarpiece framed in gilded wood was worth the 1.5 Euro price of admission.
Small canals run along the edge of the old section of Colmar. Small “dugout canoes” powered by electric motors are yet another way the Colmarians separate tourists from their hard-earned Euros. The day was quite warm, so we sat at a canal side cafe and had a cold drink while watching these little barques ferry the tourists up and downstream. Around 4 pm we decided we that we had enough of this touristic place and headed back to Ribeauville.
At the end of our vineyard walk yesterday, I saw a sign outside of Au Cheval Blanc advertising “Vin Nouveau”. Fortunately, we didn’t stop there for a glass of that libation since Sister Marie the Younger would later tell us it was very potent wine and that after a consuming a single glass the high alcohol content would leave us disorientated..However, tonight before we headed off to dinner, Marie the Younger brought out a carafe of the potent juice made from grapes her brother had cut from the vines just five days earlier and joined us in the salon for a glass of the high-test stuff. It was cloudy and didn’t burn as it went down, but she sent us on our way toddling down the Grand Rue wishing us good luck in finding the restaurant where we were to dine, and in making our way all of the way to the top of the town and bed at the end of the evening.
When we passed up to offer of an aperitif of local sparkling wine, telling our hostess that we’d had some vin noveau, the chef’s wife wrinkled her nose and said “Oooh, I never drink that stuff!” We had an excellent meal featuring a local specialty, “Bäkeoff”, a sort of stew made with two kinds of meat, potatoes, leeks, and carrots, slow cooked, and then served hot in individual casserole dishes.
As we trudged uphill to the hotel after dinner, the Gran Rue was quiet, with only a few folks walking around, a small crowed of happy revelers hanging out at the hotel about a block downhill from our digs, and three pussycats roaming about.
