Alsace and Lorraine: From Potty to Shining Potty (and lots of fun in between)

For the long Memorial weekend, we decided to visit the neighbors. France. The border is an hour and a half from our house, so it makes a good place to go for a short vacation.

We always used to joke that my mama knew every rest stop across the U.S.A. Our first stop in France was at a rest stop just inside the border. I wonder what Mama would think of this one? My kids were amazed. They had never experienced squat toilets before. For those blissfully ignorant of these little contraptions, let me see if I can explain. Ever hear of a hole in the floor? Yep. That’s it. Oh, they do have little foot rests for your comfort and convenience. I had to hold poor Claire around the waist and hold her dress tail so she wouldn’t fall backwards. Luke just thought of it as a huge urinal. What fun!

We drove into Lorraine, down to Lunéville (which we called Looney-ville just for fun) and were lured into town by a sign that said the town was known for pottery. We never did find that, but we found a neat palace and garden to run around in. And the old town was beautiful. Our old Mitsubishi didn’t know it could squeeze through those narrow ancient streets.

Then we went on to Nancy, Lorraine and walked around Place Stanislas, a gorgeous square with two churches facing each other and museums on the other two sides. There are little shops and outdoor cafés along the edges, and in the middle is a huge statue of some famous dude that did some stuff once. In the corners are golden gates and fountains. We sat beside one of the fountains and ate some sandwiches we had made before we left (we had American bottled tea with German sandwiches on a French square and took photos of the whole thing on our Japanese camera). They have cool red bicycles on the square that tourists can borrow free to travel around the town. When the kids are bigger we might try that sometime. I know several European cities offer the same.

We visited the Musée des Beaux-Arts de Nancy on Place Stan (which the locals call it). It had wonderful pieces from Picasso, Matisse, and more. There was art from many periods, which mixed it up a bit for the kids. But I have to say, I hate how trusting Europeans can be with their art. Huge 500-year-old paintings hang floor to ceiling with no rails to keep little kids away. I can’t tell you how many times I panicked that one of mine would accidentally brush up against one. Because I am the meanest mom ever, I told them that if we had to pay to repair one of those paintings, it would cost so much money we’d have to sell all of their toys (and probably our house) to pay for it. That helped a bit.

We checked into our hotel, which was a funky modern Suite-Hotel with trundle beds, sliding Japanese straw panels, and a TV that had shows in Italian, French, English, German and Spanish. We cleaned up and walked back into town for dinner. We had forgotten that the French restaurants don’t open before 7:00 p.m. So we walked around for an hour and a half looking for food. We stopped in a little grocery store and bought some wine and yummy bergamot hard candies, a specialty of the town. They taste a bit like hard marmalade with black pepper in it. Claire especially loves them. We sat at the café square, but the waiter kept telling us he’d be right with us. We believed him for forty minutes, sitting and waiting for menus, and then got mad (or smart) and left. We walked along the Meurthe River, looking at the boats and made it to a family restaurant by the hotel instead. We ate three hours after we intended to, which made all of us cranky. But the kids got their ice cream inside plastic cow toys that they could take home, so that was a mood-saver.

The next day we walked to the square for a breakfast of bread, croissants, café au lait and jus d’orange. Then we walked to the aquarium and zoological museum, which the kids really liked. The coolest thing there was a huge digital clock powered by electric eels. We had to watch our step with all of that walking. There are stray dogs, and thus their leavings, all over the town. More piles than I care to recall had footprints through them. We dodged that bullet and none of us stepped in it, but we did have a good talk about not putting our shoes on seats or beds. Or in mouths (never assume anything with kids, you know).

It was Sunday, but it happened to be Mother’s Day in France so the flower shops and candy shops were full of lovely treats. We stopped at a patisserie/chocolaterie to pick up some tiny quiches (what Lorraine is known for), pain chocolat, and an éclair for Claire. It was a teaching moment. I explained to her that éclairs are so named because the word means “lightning” in French, and the icing pattern on them is usually a zigzag like lightning. Her name means “light” in French. She liked that image of sweet, bright and powerful being both a pastry and a girl. C’est parfait, non?

Oh yeah, Dave and I got to oil up our rusty old college French and we did pretty well. I was impressed. We understood nearly everything we read or heard, which was a nice change after being in Germany where we understand only about a tenth of what we read or hear. Sometimes we would forget and answer in German (“Ja, I mean, oui!”) Once, Dave answered a guy in Spanish by mistake (a leftover from his days living in Panama). I pointed it out and he said, “Wow, I didn’t know my Spanish was so good!”

So after that we went to Musée de l’Ecole de Nancy, which is a house full of gorgeous Art Nouveau furniture and art. This is Dave’s favorite kind of art and architecture, along with American craftsman style. I enjoyed it, but the kids were completely underwhelmed. But they did like running amok in the rose garden afterward.

We drove down into Baccarat, famous for its crystal. Yes, we took two bulls into crystal shops, and I once again had to panic as my kids walked too fast past 7,000-euro vases. Claire wanted her souvenir from that town. Yeah, but...no. Not if she hopes for us to help pay for college. Luke did get his souvenir there, though: a big owie from doing a face-plant in the parking lot. He has had souvenir facial scars from nearly all of our vacations. There is the scar between his eyes that he got tripping over a rock in Mesa Verde, Colorado. He's had a black eye and a concussion from two different visits to Mississippi. He has a scrape on his leg from a biergarten playground in Stuttgart. And now he has a lovely strawberry on his forehead to remember France. Ah, France.

Then we drove into Chenevieres, where we bought some eau de vie, which is a strong colorless brandy that the region is famous for. We got the kirsch (cherry) kind but it is not sweet. It is so strong that it will truly knock you on your derriere. I think it’s cool that eau de vie means “water of life” in French and that vodka means “little water” in Russian. Euphemisms. Gotta love ‘em.

We drove into Les Vosges mountains, which looked a little like the Smokies back home. They were lush and green with bright yellow forsythia growing everywhere. We made it to an adorable little town called Ste. Marie-aux-Mines, which is known for silver mining. All of the buildings were old. The beautiful St. George Church was built in 1220. We spent the night at a 412-year-old winstub. The room was 55 euros for a double bed, a single bed that the kids shared, and a baby bed that neither would touch because “it’s for babies”. It had a bathroom in the room, so we didn’t have to share a hall bath like we have other times in Europe. We had all we needed except for washcloths, which the first hotel didn’t have either. What’s up with that, France?

The inn had a resident dog that came and went as she pleased and did her business –yep, you guessed it—in a pile on the cobblestone sidewalk just outside the front door. The inn was decorated with little witches everywhere. The innkeeper explained that they were bonne chance (good luck) to the silver miners. Claire thought the witches were creepy, and what’s more, they didn’t have a POOL (quel horreur) and that made her mad. But she changed her mind about the place after the yummy dinner, and that stay ended up being her favorite part of the trip.

The inn served wonderful Alsatian cuisine. Dave had baeckoffa (roasted lamb, beef and pork cooked in a clay pot with wine, potatoes, carrots, and juniper berries). Luke had wonderful ham. Claire and I had Coq au Riesling. For dessert we had apple sorbet and some kind of ice cream cake. After dinner the innkeeper asked in French whether or not we wanted coffee. I said no. Then she said something about a port. I thought that sounded good after dinner. But instead of a wine, she brought over a piece of paper with a five-digit number on it. Dave and I looked at each other, perplexed. The dinner could not have been more than 50 or 60 euro. What was this 241 euros? Was the port that expensive? Then I noticed that there was no decimal point. I told the lady, “Je ne comprends pas cet numero.” It turned out to be the code to get in the door. She was talking about the porte (door) not port that you drink. Duh. We had a good laugh about that.

The next morning we got up and we were the only people in the whole building. The innkeeper had never asked for money for the room or the food the night before. Nor did we get a key. There were only about five rooms, which they left unlocked. But I think we were the only ones there that night. We waited around. We then wrote a note and were prepared to leave it with money to cover the bill, when the lady finally walked in. She asked if we wanted breakfast. We sat down to bread, coffee, juice, and some sort of cheese that smelled like the old high school band hall after marching practice. In the summer. We paid our bill and everything was really reasonable except that breakfast. It was 24 euros! That is $36 for bread, stinky feet cheese and drinks. Ah, well.

We drove on along the Alsatian Wine Route ("whine" route for the kids since it was more of an adult’s idea of fun). We tasted wine in St. Pierre (they completely fill the glasses, more than just a taste, so we didn’t try too many) and bought some bottles of the local bubbly and a Riesling. The lady there gave me a little Alsatian cookbook, which was a thrill for me. Alsatian food is a lovely mixture of the best of French and German cuisine. Dave pointed out that you get the hearty meats and potatoes of the Germans with the wines and light flaky breads of the French. So wonderful. It’s rich, though. I seriously need to detox after all of that pork and butter.

We drove past several beautiful old castles, which brought to mind Monty Python with the French soldiers in the castle (“Your father was a hamstah and your mother smelled of elderberrrries!” You either love or hate British humor. I love it.) There were irises blooming everywhere and the rolling fields were green. It was pretty. Would have made a great honeymoon trip.

We drove through Selestat and on into Strasbourg, Alsace that at one time was part of Germany. Then France. Then Germany. Then France. And so on. We went to the old town, an eye-shaped island called Petit France. It is attached to the main land by a series of beautiful so-called covered bridges (they have not been covered since the 1700s). We took a glass-top boat tour along the Rhine, which was made more interesting by an audio tour in English on our headphones. We learned that Gutenburg printed the first newspaper in Strasbourg. And though they didn’t mention it, we learned later that the Nazis had burned the town’s gorgeous synagogue during the war and that in 2000, Islamic extremists tried to blow up the cathedral. So sad.

From there we went to that amazing Strasbourg Cathedral, which in the 1400s was the world’s tallest building. We ate sandwiches on the steps beneath the watchful eyes of carved saints. Then inside we stood for a moment at a monument honoring American soldiers who had died in the war (a fitting tribute on Memorial Day) and then watched an old astrological clock chime the hour. Cloaked figures spun around while a skeleton representing death ominously tolled the gong. The cathedral is where the kids finally found little souvenirs they wanted. Luke got a prayer card with a medal of St. Christopher embedded in it. He liked it because St. Christopher is the patron saint of travelers and there were pictures of planes and boats and trains on the card. Claire got a silver cross pendant with purple and pink stained glass in it.

I really liked that in Strasbourg we could speak either German or French and be understood. That is how we communicated best. We filled in with words we knew in one language but not the other. I asked at an ice cream shop, “Pardonnez-moi. Avez-vous des glaces mitnehmen?” I knew ice cream in French, but “to go” in German. It worked. I got it across. But we still decided to go inside to sit. We had the best peach melba I’ve ever had (I should hope so for 6 euro). Then we piled into the car, tired and satisfied, and headed back to Germany.

The closer we got to Germany, the cleaner and neater things got. And since I started this entry with a mention of French potties, I will end with one about German potties. We stopped at an Esso station that took the American gas coupons (so we could pay 4 euro instead of 8 per gallon) and went inside to use the restroom. This one let kids in free (what a bargain!) through a little kid-shaped cut-out in the wall, but adults had to pay 50 euro cents (75 American cents) to go through the turnstile to get to the bathrooms. They were so fancy and clean. Everything was automatic, including the little arm that came out and wiped your seat (the toilet seat, that is, not yours) all around with sanitizer after you flushed. And it occurred to me that the potty metaphor fit pretty well with my impressions of France and Germany. France makes for a fun and exciting experience, if not always clean. And Germany is pristine and inviting but very expensive. I love them both, and I feel pretty darn blessed to live within a stone’s throw of adventure any day of the week.