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Colmar is a postcard place

To be truthful, I feel a little bad for Colmar. It’s a daytrip from Strasbourg and is mercilessly pigeonholed as pretty-pretty-pretty. Everywhere you step on crouched photographers. You can Google it and see hundreds of lovelinesses; so here I present my Colmar (food and oddities and food oddities, as usual) with less architecture than it has and the authenticity it deserves.

Well, one shot can’t hurt.

Two. But real, really real heart cutouts in the shutters, my goodness!

And to market, with the weird regional bread men.


And little tomatoes named after pigeon hearts! I die, it’s too lovely.

Christmas every way you walk. The markets were too busy to even think of taking pictures, but rest assured they were everything they should have been. Maybe an 8 to the Austrian 10, but a Christmas market is a Christmas market and you will not catch a complaint from me.

Wine living in Alsatian houses. Not pictured: one of Colmar’s hundred cheerful little spaniels.

They don’t do puddings here and hardly cake; it’s all about biscuits. (Bikkies, if you want to speak like me.) In this case, a coconut kiss (the finest) and a free sample (extra fine).

Pretty, pretty Colmar.

We met a concert by accident. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, it was in French, and after a while that did become a little dull. But such a lovely, calm way to end the day after the tourist crush.

The train home was of the Harry Potter, Poirot, authentic sort! I struggle to contain myself because a train with compartments is a dream come true. My Christmas present from the universe, doubtlessly.

And your ghostly author.




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