Alsace's sights, sounds and smells entice visitors

EGUISHEIM, France -- Until the wooden gates suddenly swung open, every single half-timbered house evoked the feel of a fairytale, every one of the narrow streets a touch of early Disney.

Alsace is astonishingly pretty -- sloping vineyards tucked in between the Rhine River and the Vosges Mountains broken by village spires and huddled, pastel-painted homes.

Lulled by the allure, we were, suddenly, snapped awake when a tractor rumbled out of those gates in this vintners' village, dragging an ugly collection of plastic bins, from screaming yellow to fluorescent green, and all smeared with grape residue.

Inside the mansion, huge piles of brown mush had just yielded the juice of the region's famed vines and an old man was already spraying the premises to keep the cellars clinically clean.

It seemed those quaint houses didn't hide the retired Hansel and Gretel after all.

There was a real working world there and the scent of it all was overpowering --the fermenting wine must spreading its pungent aroma. During a four-day swing through the Alsace, our noses turned out to be as good a guide as our eyes in a region long renowned for indulging all the senses.

We would swirl a glass of golden Gewurztraminer and realize wine smelling could actually match tasting in pleasure. At another time we would go by the Helmstetter boulangerie in downtown Colmar and catch a whiff of the famed, freshly baked loaves.

Then, with not a restaurant in sight, a scent of choucroute -- sauerkraut -- and duck could have us helplessly sniffing the air again.

So imagine the horror when we came to Munster, home to one of the world's most pungent cheeses, and found them pre-wrapped for tourists "sous vide -- sans odeur" (packed airtight -- odorless).

Feel like explorer

Tourists are a palpable presence in this region hugging the German border. But you don't need to wander too far off the beaten track to feel more like an explorer than a tourist.

The beaten track is the famous "La Route des Vins d'Alsace" -- the Alsace wine route -- a 105-mile stretch from Thann close to the Swiss border to Marlenheim in the north.

We took it in mid-October, deciding to sidestep the ancient streets and great cathedral of Strasbourg and follow the long and winding wine trail.

The vineyards were all gloriously golden and rust-colored. Groups of pickers were enjoying a "cassecroute" light meal in a mild midday sun. And traffic was manageable, with as many tractors transporting the harvest as air-conditioned buses taking elderly German and Belgian tourists to the next souvenir shop.

Spring is just as spectacular, with all the budding and blooming of the verdant hills, while summer is the peak tourist season with its dry microclimate and lots of ruins and castles to explore.

October, however, is dead-serious business in Alsace.

When strolling in the village of Itterswiller, we took a peak into one of the dimly-lit cellars and found Robert Kieffer gasping for air. The way he was breathing, he looked an old man in ill health, yet he beckoned us in off the road.

Once we went down those steps, we immediately understood his predicament.

He was standing amid hulking steel casks all releasing huge gastric bubbles. The grape juice was at its high point of fermentation -- the magic point of winemaking -- sucking the air out of the "cuvier" cellar.

"I just wanted to let you feel what it's like," Kieffer says, no longer looking like an old man.

'Vin nouveau'

He took us to one of the casks and poured a cloudy, yellowish liquid in a glass. After taking a sip himself, he shared the "vin nouveau" with us and we immediately understood why so many people along the way had been intent on trying the intoxicating juice in the local winstubs (the Alsatian word for wine bars).

The next morning, Robert's son Remy took us to the pressing installation, and anyone expecting to see those quaint, wooden screw presses would be disappointed.

As one of the new generation of Alsace wine growers, Remy leafed through a computer manual while the fully automated press drew a purplish liquid from a tank full of pinot noir grapes. The machine knew exactly when to press harder, when to ease, while Remy led us through the sampling of some Gewurztraminers in a nearby room.

It was 10 a.m, the morning fog had barely lifted and we were already happily in touch with the spirit of Bacchus, thanks to the Alsatian vignerons.

"You have to take time for people," Remy says. "I don't do it for myself, but for Alsace."

Pride in the region comes freely after a turbulent history that has seen Alsace repeatedly pass from France to Germany. It switched hands four times between 1870 and 1945.

The history gave the region its distinct Franco-Teutonic flavor, a dialect all its own, and once-mighty fortifications now turned into enchanting ruins.

Some relics have an eerie beauty, like the "three castles" of Eguisheim in the south while others come straight out of a cloak-and-dagger movie.

Massive castle

Then there is Haut-Koenigsbourg -- geographically high on a hilltop, stylistically totally over the top.

The massive castle was built on layers of successive ruins and what stands tall now is a neo-gothic structure barely a century old. Smile at the excess if you will, but know that kids' jaws will drop at the sight of it all, much as the imposing drawbridge once did.

The same fine line between quaintness and kitsch is walked in Riquewihr, the village which has come to symbolize heartwarming rural Alsace. The main drag, the Grand' Rue, is often filled to overflowing with tourists searching for everything from gaudy stone mugs to the fine wines of the Hugel house. But venture in the narrow side streets where the houses allow for just a peak at the golden vineyards beyond and you get drunk just with the view.

If you want to find a little bit less Alsatian excess than in Riquewihr, stop off at just about any of villages on the road winding through the vines. Nearby Hunawihr will do, or Ribeauville, or any other of a dozen beautiful hamlets.

Certainly make room for one exception -- the full-bodied town of Colmar. It's considered the wine capital of Alsace and, with it 70,000 inhabitants, has wealth and luxury to prove its standing.

Like most towns and villages, it was a riot of geraniums, and the strangely clashing pink and purple facades added to the color.

Most tourists are drawn to "little Venice," far too hokey a name for a true Alsatian experience. Weeping willows hang over canals where flat boats take tourists for rides.

Catch the region on a wet day and head for the Musee d'Unterlinden with its medieval religious art and its famed Issenheim altarpiece.

If it is still raining when you come out, head for the gastronomic restaurants.

Rain or shine, always leave time for food, plenty of time.

Fine dining

Alsace is reputed to have more Michelin star restaurants per square mile than anywhere else in the world.

Everybody knows their propensity for choucroute, the pickled cabbage usually served with pork, sausages, duck or even fish, but nothing prepared me for the version of the Ami Fritz hotel-restaurant in Ottrott.

It served a quail stuffed with foie gras and enveloped in bacon, served in a stew pot on top of three beds of different chourcroute -- a true revelation.

As a youngster, I would refuse to eat choucroute unless it was in the dead of winter and at the conclusion of a long walk, but at the end of a sunny day when my mind was more on sparkling Cremant d'Alsace than sweaty cabbage, l'Ami Fritz' version proved surprisingly light and digestible.

For four days, the lingering in vineyards and villages was as much to walk off calories in between meals as anything else, and often we would catch ourselves talking in anticipation of dinner, just an hour after lunch.

This attitude is strongly encouraged, starting from breakfast when special brioches and the almond-laced butter, raisin and egg Kougelhopf buns set the tone of the day.

Lunch is made for the many winstubs, often wood-paneled rooms in gingerbread houses where such specialties as Flammekueche -- wafer-thin pizza-like pies of onions, pork, eggs and cheese -- or the meat, potato and Riesling wine Baeckeoffe stew, reinforce the body and soul.

The many star-studded restaurants might cap a perfect day but are not a necessity.

Before our arrival in Eguisheim, we had built up big expectations and appetites for dinner at the Caveau d'Eguisheim, run by a promising chef, only to find out he was closed that night.

The tourist office said the village's second-best restaurant was also closed, leaving us with little hope.

Yet it was as if pope Saint Leo IX was looking out for us.

We went straight for the "Pavillon Gourmand" and found a chef who had spent time with several three-star cooks during his apprenticeship. It had rubbed off.

We had a simply gorgeous meal based on the local river fish and Riesling wine.

Once and for all, the region's strength in depth reached the inner parts that warmed the traveler's soul.