Witchery at Bollenberg

Rain is drumming loudly on the caravan roof, waking me from dreams of streets where Crémeux and Riesling flow.
This is the motto for our travel year 2025.

On the advice of weather experts, we changed our route and discarded the original plan to cruise along the Moselle and Marne towards the French south through Metz and Nancy, as heavy rain was forecasted for this region.

Of course, the thick clouds linger over the Vosges and rain down on their western side.
But far from it! To tease us, they make a wide southern arc around the mountain range, chilling us on Sunday morning in the Alsatian vineyards, ruining the carefully planned flea market route.

And this is after we had to flee from our intended sleeping spot just after crossing the Rhine. A techno festival makes a peaceful night impossible with its thundering bass that vibrates nostrils and makes pant legs shake.

Now we stand at the foot of Bollenberg and are amazed during our well-deserved lunch break at the bustling activity in this seemingly cozy spot.

Small vineyard tractors rumble past us. German retirees speed up the hill on electric bikes. French youth with immigrant backgrounds zip into the village on electric scooters. Small vineyard tractors without trailers thunder towards the vineyard. Stressed fathers attempt to teach their screaming toddlers to ride bikes. Three dog rounds cross their paths, where it’s always surprising to see small four-legged ones barking at the big ones and acting important even in small numbers. Large vineyard tractors with trailers rattle to the lunch break. Several joggers circle around. Four vineyard vans stuffed with harvest helpers speed into the lunch break with monkey teeth. Followed by another three large vineyard tractors, both with and without trailers.

Again, German retired couples are flying on million-dollar e-bikes towards the Vosges summit. And two Nordic walkers are trying their luck at geocaching.
All of this is complemented by the deafening duet of the buzzing of the untethered weed whackers and the little vineyard tractor without a muffler.

The bells of the churches of the two neighboring villages ring, of course one after another for lunch, and then suddenly there is peace.
Wow. We are completely blown away by the unexpected hustle and bustle, still trying to process the chaos when everything starts again.
The harvest helpers are trucked back into the vineyard, the tractors with and without trailers follow closely behind.
The e-bikers, joggers, and dog rounds must return to their starting point - the little pug barks at the big shepherd dogs once more - the e-scooter kids race silently back to school, and the annoyed father drags his screaming son on the tricycle to grandma.

Now, we want to quietly explore Bollenberg, over which mystical legends and sagas circulate.
Since Celtic times, witches have been meeting here for Candlemas, brewing occult potions from the rarest magical plants. They fly over sunlit vineyards on broomsticks, cursing greedy farmers, rewarding hardworking maids, punishing wicked stepmothers, tending to sick children, and enchanting heartless sons-in-law.
Mysterious menhirs stand on the summit, causing enigmatic wonders. Allegedly, mountains have been moved and water turned into wine.
Unique herbs grow in unexplored calcareous grasslands.

The walk to the 'Witch Chapel' fills us with overwhelming awe as we gaze at the breathtaking view over the Rhine to the Black Forest and the foothills of the Swiss Alps.

Plump, ripe grapes in white, red, and rosé - is this a new breed? - smile at us in the vineyard and tempt us to theft: juicy, sugary sweet, sun-kissed, irresistible.
Madame Vignoble checks the proper process of this year’s harvest at the next turn while wearing knee-high, bright green rubber boots and eyeing us suspiciously.
Quickly, we let our sticky hands disappear into our pockets as inconspicuously as possible and discreetly whistle to end the little hike.

We discover previously unknown little plants: the yellow sunrose, the blue loosestrife, the white swallowroot, the colorful crown vetch, the large-flowered selfheal, the black nightshade, and the field radish, just to name a few and spare you from boredom.

Some might suspect that we are in search of a remedy for our aching and annoying ailments that have been bothering us for weeks. And I do not completely dismiss that possibility.
However, the herb witch doesn't meet us, and the dance around the menhir would have probably needed to be performed under a full moon and without underwear.

So I must continue to consume pharmaceutical drugs, resign myself to marveling out the window as a passenger, and hope that we can both enjoy our four-week journey until the very last day.
The Bollenberg has granted us a little miracle, next to a total of four brightly colored, brilliantly beautiful rainbows in just one day: a lovely, forgotten barbecue evening with friends from Braunschweig. Because we simply can’t manage to meet at home...