Leaving Germany, the land of chocolate, we had no idea that we were leaving the simple travel, “warm” weather and “healthy” food behind us as we headed to our favourite French region of Alsace, our home for NOeL.

We’d splurged on 1st class ICE train tickets from Heidelberg to Strasbourg some 4 months earlier, so were feeling (what we thought was justifiably) smug as we woke up, ready to cross the unusual route between the countries at high speed, in comfort and, amazingly,  with only one train change. It turns out we were living in a world of what English speakers would call “blissful ignorance”…we’re still not even in the mood to ask a bot what the Germans would call it. “C’est la vie” in France I guess.  Then, as we stretched in bed readying for the ample leg room and ballet moves down the carriage at 300kmph carrying our drinks from the train bar:

Lea broke the mood with a simple: “Scheiße”

James (rolling over, then waiting a few seconds to see if this was something that quickly rectifies itself with a re-read) reticently asked the deep and probing question: 

“What?” 

Lea: “Our train is cancelled”.

James: <roll back over and assume Lea has it sorted>

Sorted it was-ish…Deutsche Bahn and its own AI (which we now assume had been monitoring our blog) offered up a number of alternatives (what’s a German compound word for revenge…ok, I know this won’t get past Lea), from which we chose what we thought would be the most efficient…having assumed the German AI would have at least chosen options that were POSSIBLE.  Our first ICE to Karlsruhe, was still in first class was and very nice, albeit quite delayed, which meant we had to sprint for our second more regional train to get to Appenweier, where the limitation of DB AI became clear.

You can probably street view Platform 9 of Appeweier or ask your own favourite AI to come up with a German compound word to describe standing on a barren platform in the freezing cold for an hour with hundreds of displaced European tourists and their bags waiting for the irregular arrival of the suggested substitute local train not much bigger than Perth’s Yellow CAT, but you won’t have experienced the seriousness in Lea’s face as she “suggested” we stand perilously close to the “gap” as the train approached because not everyone would fit in the train…close enough to ensure the already full to the brim train managed to trim this 42 year old backpacker’s ever growing nose hairs.

The train stopped. The doors, miraculously, opened right in front of aforementioned nose, but said nose pointed out (much in line with the season) that there was “no room in the Inn!” Lea: “GO!” I’d like to say James parted the way onto the train like Moses parting the Red Sea…I’d like to say that. But others, desperate to let their people go (to Strasbourg) guided me onto the train in the same way one guides olives through a press. Coming from a land where 8 PAX per acre is feeling a little crowded, to being unable to move your arms or avoid crushing fellow travellers as conflicting calls from outside the train of “push” were met with less and less air filled lungs screaming back “STOP, FULL” in multiple languages, I couldn’t help but picture how stupid we’d come across on the “When things go wrong” episode when they describe how desperate we all were to see santa….again.

So that was first class…

On to the food.  By this stage we were just working out that Christmas markets seem to be a special, once in a year thing to take the family to…not for random 40 somethings to chase down like dogs on heat to eat cheese soaked pasta and potatoes 3 times a day for 3 weeks type things…It probably should be a sign that any protein you’re getting is coming from…lardons. Ouch. Is there a French word for too soon? And speaking of dogs…there is a French term for “doggy bag” and it is “le doggy bag”.  Which a) seems unnecessary given how many people already take AND feed their dogs at restaurants and b) makes me glad we didn’t order any ‘sacs de chien’….

But the food really was starting to get a bit ridiculous for someone who’d promised his GP to start being better. So bad that after most meals James and/or Lea would comment  “Don’t tell Dr T.”  Not in a reference to Mr T after getting his PhD in “Pitying Fools”, rather a clever use of initials to describe our Doctor, who’s real name we can’t use in blogs and face we can’t show you on TV.

On to the weather.  It was cold.  We splurged for a balcony over the markets in Strasbourg where we’d stayed before (in an August, when it was warm). As we rugged up to enjoy our view on the first night, we saw a guy of unknown origin in thongs, shorts and singlet walk below us, he was 6’4” and full of muscles so we knew what to do!  We just smiled and….our lips cracked and we went back inside for some Carmex and another rug.

In Colmar (where we spent Christmas) we also had a balcony, and again (not that I’ve previously thought it pertinent) we were surrounded by bear decorations which made us great fodder for Insta/TicTok…myspace, MSN messenger types (search for Alsace bear houses with indignant, privileged Cremant drinking tourists).  In all seriousness, James was just glad his previous career as the Osh Kosh bear was prior to socials…nobody wants to know that this now Cremant guzzling 40 something backpacker was once the friendly embodiement of a much beloved children’s-wear brand all over Melbourne, and that behind the bear was a sad, near naked, teenager earning $10 per hour to pretend to be happy, silently giggle (Humphrey inspired) and hand out balloons to children (IT inspired).

Anyway…Noel en Alsace was amazing!!!  We visited 6 Alsatian towns in total, cooked an amazing Christmas eve dinner in Colmar, which was delish despite a lost in translation moment resulting in the use of creme fraiche as cream. And Christmas day itself was super cruisy with lots of new experiences – even one at some pop up bar where Lea approached a family of 4 wearing matching outfits, only to then open her jacket and flash them…. “How good’s KMAAART!!!!”, could probably be heard in Paris.  (NB: Turns out Lea was wearing the same jumper…jingle bell rock indeed).

Christmas market count: 30…something. Turns out, that’s about enough (or is it??). Yes…maybe.