This road leads in time to the “druids stones” and the brochures suggest you go their to experience the positive energy. Given the number of places we’ve visited that marked the slaughtering of countless druids and sorcerers, we weren’t entirely sure why they thought there should be “positive energy”.
Nonetheless we enjoyed playing with the theme. The old lady we met in the forest collecting herbs was a sorcerer collecting witch hazel for a potion and by her side her familiar in dog form. The shadow of a dear we glimpsed crossing the forest path ahead was the ghost of the ancient druids….
The forest rose maybe a hundred metres from the town and plateaued out before dropping down again towards the open plains of the wine route. We burst out of the forest green at the abbey Notre Dame Schauenberg still quite high with breathtaking views over the vineyards
After scoffing a chocolate croissant borrowed from the breakfast table and left over chocolate from Munster, we followed “the way” and the twelve stations of the cross down through the lingering forest into the town of Gueberschwihr.
An elderly gent tending a small garden at the foot of the last cross hobbled over to us. He was sun worn with large leathery hands, dusty blue work trousers and a grey cable knit collared jumper, well worn at the elbows. His tussled grey locks caught the afternoon breeze as he spoke in his sing song part French part German sounding Alsation. We made out from some words and his calm, warm tone that “the way” was for believers of all denominations and we were welcome. It was either that or “get the hell out of my veggie patch tourist scum”, bit hard to tell with these local dialects.
Di and I note how amazing it is that French men seem always to have these deep, rich baritone voices that make us sound like emasculated chipmunk punks in reply. Ah well.
Passing down through the narrow, winding cobbled streets of Gueberschwihr we came to the town square where we took part in the consumption of a local Pinot Gris with some Munster, Rockerfort and other smelly cheeses – restoratives to the weary pilgrim.
From Gueberschwihr to our resting place for the night, Eguisheim, it was rolling hills under vine the whole way, Eguisheim’s walled city tower finally poking up over the last hill some 16km from our start point this morning.
Eguisheim dates from the year 1000, but as it’s late and we’ve not cleaned out the bar fridge yet (the 13th station of “the way”), perhaps we’ll talk about that tomorrow….
