strasburg: where the noise is louder than the trains

woke up to the sound of construction cranes outside my window and immediately regretted bringing a blanket of southern comfort to this french city. i just checked and it's muggy, like someone spilled a latte in the breeze. 82% humidity doesn’t care about your thrift-store flannel. the air tastes like stale baguettes and existential dread.

just a heads up, if you get bored, bezier’s chinese is just a 10-minute drive away. i heard that from a guy selling crepes outside the train station last week. he was muttering in german while balancing a baguette on his forehead. don’t ask why.

someone told me the canal-side cafés here serve espresso with a side of existential dread. i’m pretty sure that’s a drinking game. or maybe just a tip from a local who’s seen better days. either way, don’t take any advice from the ch Instaurée crew after 3 am. they’re either geniuses or very sad.

let’s talk about the hotel. it’s called hôtel blue, and let me just say, the room smells like a beach house that quantum-teleported from the mediterranean. or maybe that’s just the 25.08°C air conditioner. either way, i’m sleeping on a mattress that sounds like a drum kit when i shift. i don’t regret it. i regret nothing.

there’s a maple syrup museum downtown. i know, wild. but hey, if you’re into weird 1980s kitsch, it’s on the second floor. overpriced, but the staff let me take a selfie with a jar of syrup. that’s the internet era, right?

the gardens sarrebruck? they’re fantastic. or maybe just a giant lawn that someone forgot to mow. we’ll call it a philosophical statement. the neighbors are keeping it real. you can hear their cat fighting a squirrel in the treetops at 7 am. again. this is the vibe.

i grabbed a water from la fromagerie du penninghame. the label said ‘fromagerie,’ but i think it’s just a fancy word for ‘milk with secrets.’ it was 1.60 euros. i emptied it into a mug labeled ‘existential crisis.’ the label stayed with the cup until i threw it at a mirror. it shattered symmetry. just like my self-care routine.

if you wander into the church of st. étienne, there’s a sculpture of a bull made of copper pipes. it’s been there since 1973, or maybe 1974. the guide book lied. i told the priest about it. he said it’s a ‘symbol of resilience.’ i told him i needed a mirror to check if it’s embarrassed. he didn’t smile.

two days ago, a guy asked me if i’d seen ‘that weird art thing near the cathedral.’ i said no. he said it was a projection of a dancing owl. i didn’t believe him. now, every time i walk by, i swear i see it. some people still do. others swear it’s a hallucination. we’ll never know. but the owl’s probably laughing. or at least pretending to eat trash.

i tried the local boulangerie’s ‘surprise croissant.’ it was a baguette wrapped in plastic. i ate it. it tasted like regret and cornmeal. the owner said it’s a ‘limited edition.’ i think he meant ‘limited shelf life.’

here’s a thing about strasburg: it’s half french, half german, and fully confused. the street signs? they argue with each other. the train station? it smells like burnt coffee and possibility. the pubs? they have a drink called the ‘alsatian’ that tastes like vodka and despair. don’t ask why.

linkedin? forget it. yelp? maybe. if you type ‘strasburg hostels’ in the search bar, you’ll find l’auberge des arts, which is loved for its ‘mysterious door now.’ apparently, it’s a trapdoor to a secret library. or a fridge. or both. i don’t know. i didn’t try it.

i heard that the trees here are haunted. or maybe just really old. i asked a kid. he said they whisper in a dialect called ‘weirdgoogletranslatorspeak.’ i don’t think that’s real. i think it’s a myth. like the owl projection. or maybe they are real. maybe they’re saying, ‘good luck, digital nomad.’

i’ll end this with a photo of a street artist in front of the cathedral. she’s painting a mural of a dancing owl. or is it? the paint is bad. the owl’s face looks like it’s judging me. i took the photo with my phone’s front camera. it’s a masterpiece. or a crime. you decide.

p.s. if you’re into unsolved mysteries, check out the ‘dingsdelberg’ facebook group. it’s a conspiracy theory that the city’s sewer system is filled with lost socks. i’m 60% sure it’s true.