St. Marie aux Mines

From a journal entry on 22 June 2007

A table at a cafe on the cobblestone streets of Rebeauville, France--the Alsation region, Vosges mountains surrounding. Anne and I pitched a tent last night above the town of Saint Marie of the Mines at camping du Fenarupt (www.domaine-fenarupt.com) where we met the friendly misfits of France. With the rain at a pause we strolled down the hill, past the hospital and into town--alive with the international gem and mineral exposition. License plates on little cars showed attendees from all over Europe--Denmark, Italy, Germany. Fiats, Peugots, Renoilts--tinz cars to navigate narrow streets--packed for the occassion. We met Dennis, a man of textiles and 50 years of accordian playing as we drank Kronenberg beer to the sound of the town's accordian club orchestra--old and young gathered round. The man that everyone in St. Marie knows, Antoine, shook hands with Dennis and even extended his confident, silent introduction to us. The people seem happy in St. Marie aux Mines--smile lines cresting around the eyes. Beer and Anne's hand-rolled cigarettes (lit kindly by Dennis) were followed by tartes flambe (lard, onion, gruyere, ham, cream) and a pot of meat over sauerkraut. Pinot noir complemented and a man from Paris took our picture. Up the hill after dessert--full and happy under the crescent moon. Pitched the tent next to Thomas, a German gem trader in town for the conference/fair. Slept as it rained and, with Anne's determination, made coffee in the rain upon waking before being ushered into the must-filled, wood-panelled room--the dining space at Camping du Fenarupt in inclement weather. We shared coffee and butter cookies with vagabond Alan and his dog Moustache. We drove away calling "merci, au revoir" out the windows, blowing kisses in the rain as the Camping du Fenarupt staff gestured as if drinking a bottle of wine to let us know there would be festivities in the evening--that we should consider a return visit. We smiled, turned on French pop radio and wound our way through the forest to Ribeauville where we now sit drinking coffee and wirting. The Moselle River is long behind us--our friend the Moselle. Poisong ivy rash on the mend--I believe--I hope. The German apotheke recommended a gel that has offered some relief. Oh! the wild foxgloves or, as the German's call them, fingerhats, throughout the forest. beautiful!