Honeymoon Diaries: Eguisheim, France

Day 5

We don’t have trains in North Carolina. I mean, we do; however, they are not nearly as nice or convenient as what we experienced on the SNCF. The United States has Amtrak which stops less frequently between cities, and it is typically slower than the European experience. Overall, the Amtrak is much less accommodating for the everyday traveler, thus it is not as utilized by America as a whole. Needless to say, Ian and I with our limited experience in train hopping were considerably anxious navigating SNCF. Thankfully with the user-friendly app and its built-in, French-to-English translating capability, it was overall a breeze.

What was not a breeze, though, was finding a place to stow our luggage. It seemed we as the international travelers packed a bit heavier than the locals. How about that? As we clumsily searched for a space for both of our rolling carry-ons and personal items midst the teeny, tiny designated cubbies of the car, my cheeks burned with social embarrassment as we collected a variety of French glares and pitying grins. Oof. We might as well have boarded and screamed, “Howdy! We’re American and have no idea what we are doing!” We, of course, eventually found our row and happily hid behind the invisible walls of seat segregation before ordering two glasses of Riesling in honor of our next destination.

Eguisheim landed on our itinerary because it is allegedly the location that inspired the look of the provincial town depicted in Beauty and the Beast. As we pulled up to its cobblestone streets and rainbow-colored cottages, it was difficult to deny that Eguisheim was anything but a place of fairy tales.

Eguisheim has limited accommodations for cars, so the Uber driver dropped us off as close as he could to the entrance of our Airbnb which rested right in the heart of the sleepy town down a curved cobblestone alley. Whoever was not awake before soon became very alert as we lugged our rolling suitcases in search of our new front door. (This was the first time I’d seen Ian embarrassed on this trip, maybe even ever). After a couple minutes of cacophonous progress, Ian scooped up our luggage in his arms forgoing its wheels and finished the trek to our lodging with as much respect as we could muster and frequent breathing breaks.

Our cottage was pink with arched, wooden doors complete with swirling iron detailing. Everything about the cottage creaked. The doors, the floors, the stairs, the beds. It was a perfect transport back in time where laundry hangs out to dry and the smell of bread and cheese wafts from all directions. The initial walk around town hardly took any time at all. The heart of Eguisheim is made of concentric circles of tudor buildings with the outermost circle being just half a mile in diameter. Shops donned charming motifs of storks and witches–the kind you’d recognize in books as a child before you knew there existed the Brothers Grimm. The tourists who occupied Eguisheim averaged the impressive age of 65 giving us permission to lazily drag our feet from street to street without rush.

We did not prepare for most of the stores and restaurants to have the strict hours of 11AM-2PM and 6-8:30PM. Thankfully we were able to snag a table around 1:20PM to grab our first tarte flambées or flammekueches, an Alsatian specialty. These became our go-to snacks that we would buy in the afternoons to take home and eat when we would inevitably get hungry that evening while doors of taverns laughed at us behind “Fermé” signs.

That night Ian and I curled up under soft quilts within a built-in sleeping nook that held a bed that I am almost positive did reflect any standard mattress size. Content to ignore the much larger bed in the main bedroom, we reflected together on our first impressions of Eguisheim that could be described in a single word: magical.

Day 6

I woke up with a bee sting on the palm of my hand. How exhausted must I have been to not wake up after being stung? Thankfully it did not hurt too bad and was just sore, but the area around the sting did remain a bit swollen the next couple of days. We travel over 500 km from Paris to Eguisheim and still can’t escape the terror of the bees!

Today was the day for exploration now we were no longer burdened by the initial disorientation of being somewhere new. We had mapped out the places we wanted to visit the night before and were ready with a flexible checklist. First, we walked into every Alsatian-specific store we could to take inventory of their adorable trinkets and culturally significant items. We passed by wine glasses, plush farm animals, and sweet treats galore. The way my heart begged me to take home unholy amounts of traditional, ceramic cookware was almost unbearable until my brain reminded me that I already have to sit on my suitcase to zip it up.

For lunch, we dined at Caveau Heuhaus and had the unique experience of being the most interesting people to a very sweet, if not intrusive, elderly couple. They wanted to know everything about us while not knowing a single word of English. As we waited for our meal, our conversations with the couple consisted of awkward hand gestures and frequent French apologies. When our server arrived with our plates, Ian and I thought we were saved from the fruitless labors of our miming.

It was clear, however, they intended to adopt us as their little American grandchildren and wanted to make sure we enjoyed every second of our experience. It was a kind sentiment, but when the wife reached over to cut my food for me, I was ready to slap some Euros on the table and make a run for it with a hasty “merci beaucoup” to the hostess. Alas, we remained in our seats with our polite smiles even as she shortened her nose with her finger and made oinking sounds trying to describe the bratwurst on my husband’s plate.

Ian and I walked shell-shocked out of the restaurant barely comprehending what just happened. One thing was for certain, though: we needed a drink. Thankfully, being in Alsace meant beer and wine were not difficult to come by. After short walk around the town square, we stumbled upon an unremarkable wine store with a small wooden bar that had no one behind it surrounded by stacks and stacks of cardboard boxes in various states.

Spying a true Alsatian Reisling displayed on the counter, we took our chances and walked through the door that was confusingly wide open to the public. A short woman with a stocky build and a pixie haircut appeared from a back door and greeted us with a half-hearted “bonjour”. Our spirits are not easily broken, so we took the opportunity to ask about her shop and her favorite wines. Slowly, she began to open up. When she found out Ian spoke a bit of German, I watched the cynicism leave her body in a pretzel-shaped cloud.

Knowing almost no German myself, Ian translated the rest of the dialogue once we left after having been served more than three glasses worth of wine samples (Ian’s willingness to speak in German grew proportionately with every sip). He told me she said “today’s youth don’t prioritize learning German anymore and it is an absolute shame“. Ultimately, Ian thought she was so happy he could hold a conversation with her that it restored her hope in young people, thus so many free samples.

We spent the rest of the day exploring the town square with its beautiful fountain, floral landscaping, and 19th century chapel standing tall in the backdrop serving as a dedication to Pope Saint-Léon IX who grew up in Eguisheim during the Middle Ages. Ian’s eyes lit up when he saw on the church’s bulletin board that a mass would be held the following afternoon. We made note of the times in our calendars and strolled over to the other side of the square to buy some tarte flambées to take home for dinner.

That night we nestled in our sleeping nook and listened to old German fairy tales on YouTube while we ate and laughed that the hilarious mischief the characters found themselves in. Our little world did not feel real and it felt fitting to immerse ourselves deeper in fantasy while we drank delicious wine and ate the most delicious cheese and jam we’d ever tasted. We fell asleep feeling closer to the region’s culture, and I made sure to keep everything up to my neck out of the reach of bee stings.

Day 7

Scaring the shit out of Ian in the middle of the night was not what I had in mind for our honeymoon in Eguisheim; however, I really did think we were in danger. At 3AM I heard scratching and tapping outside our room. Frozen in fear, I whisper-shouted “Ian….IAN! What is that?!” My poor husband opened his eyes and said he did hear anything. This man was clearly still asleep but his subconscious was very reassuring. In my attempts to go back asleep, the scratching turned into scraping and was now on the other side of the room. Oh no. Whatever it is, it is looking for another way in.

No longer was I frozen nor was I whispering when I made sure my husband was awake this time. He walked around our cottage checking every window and door as I sat in bed practically hyperventilating. Looking back, it was probably a rat or squirrel caught in the walls. In the moment, however, when you are in a foreign place with no one to know if you disappeared, any threat of security awakens your survival instinct and puts you on high alert. Only once Ian came back to bed with a positive status report, did my breathing slow and muscles relax. It was here we mutually decided we would let ourselves sleep in past breakfast.

We took our time that morning waking up and getting ready for our lunch reservation at Restaurant Auberge des Trois Châteaux. This restaurant is connected to a hotel and is remarkably inviting with its red gingham tablecloths, exposed wooden support beams, and framed illustrations of the restaurant’s history. Ian and I enjoyed duck foie gras and pâté to start followed by a couple of traditional Alsatian dishes: Le Bœuf Gros Sel, “Coarse Salt Beef”, and Le Baeckaoffa façon Grand-Mère, or “Grandmother’s Baeckaoffa”.

It was at this restaurant when we began dipping our toe in the world of digestifs and were introduced to the wonder that is marc de gewurztraminer. Marc de gewurztraminer poured over a serving of sorbet makes for the PERFECT ending to a meal. It encourages digestion and cleanses the pallet relieving you of having to waddle out of the restaurant uncomfortably full. Unfortunately, I have not found a place that carries it in the United States, but I will not rest until I find a way to have a bottle in my home at all times!

With some time to kill before the afternoon mass at the Chapelle Saint-Léon IX, we meandered around the town and stumbled upon a door blocked by small, rolling shelf of hardcover, blank books of various sizes and colors. My spirit soared–they were journals! The journal I picked out for myself ultimately became what was the beginning of the Honeymoon Diaries and encouraged my intentional reflection of our first European experience as a married couple. It stayed locked behind our passports for the rest of the trip.

Whether it was the late night of panicking or the delayed symptoms of jet lag, I could not keep my eyes open any longer. Regretfully, I left Ian to attend mass by himself while I took a nap to try and rally for the evening. I woke up a couple hours later to a text from Ian saying he was relaxing on a bench in the town’s square. He was right where he said he’d be underneath the falling sun of early evening smoking a cigar. There is something powerful about finding your soulmate in a crowd after having been joined at the hip for so long. It is like a reminder of why you never wanted to leave their side to begin with.

For our last night in Eguisheim, we decided to revisit Caveau Heuhaus to reclaim our experience and truly focus on the cuisine. With this in mind, we made a fun observation: the tartare de bœuf we had in Eguisheim was a bit more flavorful than it was in Paris. We believe it is due to the inclusion of horseradish in its preparation (this makes sense given how close we are to the German border). Overall, our dining experience at Caveau Heuhaus was much more enjoyable the second time around as I was able to cut my own food and use my hands for things other than charades.

We ended the night with a visit to a cheese shop where I got my second compliment regarding my knowledge of French (yay!) before hiding away in our cottage in an attempt to finish all the treats we knew we could not take with us on the next leg of our journey. We failed, but it was fun.

Here’s A Toast

Eguisheim was exactly what we needed it to be: charming and peaceful. After the hustle and bustle of being in Paris and ignoring any sign of exhaustion so we could do as many things possible, this town allowed us to slow down and recover in a way we would not have allowed ourselves to do otherwise. I highly recommend visiting Eguisheim if you’re looking for a sleepy getaway. Be prepared to 1) be swept off your feet by old world charm and 2) be entertained by simplicity. This city does not exist to keep you amused but to remind you that peace and quiet are virtues–and that cheese and wine can fix all your problems.

Cheers!