Day 18 - Petites-Loges (near Reims)

Day 18—Wednesday, May 27, 1992

There were a blue zillion things we wanted to do and see today, so we got an early start by checking out of the hotel about 9:00 a.m. The first of those zillion things was to drive into downtown Colmar and visit the Unterlinden Museum, which came highly recommended by Rick Steves, who proclaims it to be one of his favorite museums in Europe. We parked, stopped at a cafe for a cup of coffee, then made our way to the museum. The museum had a wide assortment of things on display, some quite interesting such as the armor and weapons and some rather dull and ordinary such as old clothes and utensils, but it certainly was no British Museum or Louvre. The most notable attraction at Unterlinden was Grunewald’s Isenheim Altarpiece, a series of paintings depicting Christ’s Crucifixion and other religious subjects.

Next we walked around downtown Colmar and did a little window shopping and had a bite to eat. The food in this town, as is the architecture, is heavily German influenced. It was during this stroll that I spotted a pair of black leather herring-bone dress shoes for a hundred bucks; they were probably the best pair of men’s shoes I’d ever seen, but I couldn’t pull the trigger on buying them even though Sharon offered pay. I’ve regretted it ever since.

As mentioned, we had a lot planned for this day, so after first browsing in a post card shop, we hit the road. A few miles outside Colmar is the famed Route du Vin, the road of wine, which is actually many roads that wind through thirty thousand acres of vineyard-blanketed landscape. We only managed to drive through a rather small portion of it, without stopping to explore any of the small, touristy towns in the region. Continuing west, we drove through a small mountain range, through a couple of uninteresting towns, and then to the town of Luneville. In Luneville we intended to pick up route D914 North. But it didn’t work out that way, and we didn’t realize that until we’d already gone about forty kilometers southwest, which was basically back toward Colmar. (For what it’s worth the detour took us through some idyllic countryside, particularly pleasant was a short stop by a foot bridge spanning a peaceful stream.) Needless to say this didn’t make us real happy, but what could we do. What we did was start anew in the right direction. We picked up the autoroute soon thereafter and headed north.

The drive from Nancy to Luxembourg took us through a heavily-industrialized region with the concomitant traffic congestion. The tiny country of Luxembourg, that is the tiny bit we saw, was pretty much the same. Here’s what we did in Luxembourg: We got our passport stamped and then stopped at every service plaza we passed hoping to find a worthwhile souvenir, but the only thing we bought was gasoline. Sharon also discovered that she’d left her prescription medicine somewhere behind, probably in Le Home hotel in Beaune.

We blinked and then we were in Belgium. Our first order of business was to get our passports stamped, but the custom’s official, or whatever he was, acted like he’d never heard of such a ridiculous request and told us we’d have to see the police or something to that effect. We drove on, soon exiting the Belgium autoroute. Our tour of Belgium consisted of a thirty-five kilometer drive through the southwest corner of the country. We bought absolutely nothing and stopped only once to take a picture of a horse. The countryside was pretty but nothing special; the houses in town seemed rather shabby; and the whole country seemed to be closed.

Well so ended our brief and mostly forgettable tour of Luxembourg and Belgium. Unfortunately, we didn’t have the time to really see either country, for which we owe at least partial thanks to the wonderful traffic directions provided in the town of Luneville. Anyway we were back in France, it was raining, and we were getting very hungry. We drove to Verdun, and along the way we stopped at a couple of World War I cemeteries to pay our respects to those who in the words imprinted on crosses— “Mort pour la France.” It was quiet, still, and moving—very moving.

Verdun is a city that remembers World War I as much as any city. The monument in the center of town dedicated to the French soldiers who fought and died in that war is unlike any war memorial I’ve ever seen—it makes no pretense of being pretty, it’s not glorious; it’s just a black monolith that conjures up images of Darth Vader, and in the twilight gloom it looked ominous. We thought what a perfect symbol of war. After climbing the nearly vertical steps to the monument, we finally ate dinner. The restaurant menu featured coq au vin, unfortunately, the kitchen didn’t. After an unremarkable meal, we walked around town a bit and then drove on.

By now it was dark and the rain had turned into a torrent. Driving was no fun, but onward we drove via the autoroute, finally stopping for the night about 12:00 a.m. in the parking lot of a service plaza. We had probably covered more miles on this day than on any other of the trip, so it seemed appropriate to sleep in the car. I took the front seat, Sharon took the back.

HIGHLIGHT: The solemn tragic beauty of the two World War I cemeteries on the road to Verdun.

LOWLIGHT: The damn road signs in Luneville, which got us off track and cost us the chance to make more of this day.

NOTES: The autoroutes in northern France and Luxembourg were not toll roads. There is basically no customs at the France/Lux, Lux/Belgium, or Belgium/France borders.

REFLECTIONS FROM 2020:

Per the receipts from the trip, it appears we had dinner in Verdun at a place called Hotel De Metz on either Route 55 or Avenue 55—I can’t tell which from Google Map, but there doesn’t appear to be a hotel with a restaurant at either location as of 2020.

The monument in Verdun described above is called the “Monument to the Victory at Verdun.” As noted, when we saw it, it was black-streaked and sinister looking. Per current online photos, however, it has been cleaned up and looks sand-colored and not nearly as menacing as when we saw it. I kind of think they should have left it as it was. War is, after all, an inherently dirty and black business.

Looking back, it seems we tried to squeeze too much into this day, no doubt owing to the fact that our grand tour was near the end. The various impediments we encountered—missed opportunities, bad weather, screwy road signs, and whatnot—added another layer to our stress. It happens. Our unsure footing may also have been further tested by having poorly planned this stretch, or that the area simply lacked interest, or both. We’d have to go back and do it again to be sure . . . but of course you can’t go back and do it again.