Strasbourg to Obermorschwihr.
Set off to Strasbourg for Church, and got there a bit early. We parked in the street, and walked round to the Institute of Decorative Arts, which has ceramic
tiles on the side, forming pictures. Got back to the bus to find a coach had knocked our drivers wing mirrors half off - luckily neither mirror was broken, but a bit of a job screwing it back into position. Nice to get to an English service, as we have not been to one since Oslo. The service leaflet was printed in English and French to assist their usual congregation, which as with all English language Churches in Europe, is drawn from many countries and nationalities. Unlike previous English churches we have been to; the churtch building berlongs to the Dominican Community here, and the English congregation are permitted to use it on a Sunday morning. This arrangement has been in place for over 20 years.
After the service, we went for coffee in another part of the building, which, unlike the church, from the street, looked like a modern apartment block. [Not what you expect a Dominican Priory to look like.]
We got chatting to an African man who used to live in Ilford, near Maggie's birth place, and who commented how East London has ben transformed by the Olympic Park Development. Also chatted to a French lady who came to the English Church because her husband is a Pakistani Anglican. Back at the motorhome, Father John came dashing along to invite us to lunch at his house in the charming little village of Porlisheim, about 20km away. Also there, a train mad guest called Philip, and a Nigerian lady who is returning home this week after studying in Strasbourg for a year, at, we think, the European Centre for Space Studies, reference Telecommunications.
Father John's wife, Diane, had prepared a superb Beef Bourgignon, and seemed totally unperturbed to suddenly have 2 extra mouths to feed. We were surprised and delighted to be able to eat outside (16th September), even having to move into the shade for our dessert.
After bidding farewell to our new friends, we set off, basically south, towards Colmar on the Alsace Wine Trail, through many picturesque villages. Although this is beatiful countryside, this route is probably not best suited to a motorhome: there are many narrow village streets which make for a tricky drive.
It was very interesting to see the odd mix of German and French signs in this basically French speaking area. The village of Chateaunois is also called Keschteholz. Whole sections of road are dotted with German-sounding villages like Scherwiller, Katzenthal, and Marlenheim; wine producers like Berndt Schmidt, and so on. At the aire at Obermorschwirr, Madame Gueth spoke an odd mixture of German, French and English. She explained that when she was a girl, she spoke Hochdeutsch, then after the war, everything changed to French.