Finding My Heart in Alsace: A Journey of Healing and Holiday Joy

 

Full Circle in Alsace: Rediscovering the Magic of the Holidays

A year ago, I walked into the Christmas markets of Alsace as a visitor, unsure of what I would find. I was there for work, not for wonder, yet what unfolded in those cobblestone streets transformed me. From the first scent of mulled wine to the twinkling lights overhead, the warmth of the season reignited something I thought was lost forever: joy. It wasn’t just the markets—it was the feeling of being part of something timeless, something bigger than myself.

The holidays had long been a season of contrast for me. As a child, they were filled with wonder: baking cookies, gazing at Christmas lights, and gathering with family for meals where togetherness was the true gift. But as I grew older, that joy gave way to exhaustion and disconnection. Working during the holidays left me drained, and personal loss turned the season into a reminder of what was missing. Conflict with loved ones made the warmth I craved feel unreachable. By the time November arrived each year, I felt nothing but dread.

Last year, Alsace reminded me of everything I had forgotten. The streets, alive with laughter and song, the smells of roasted chestnuts mingling with the crisp winter air, the sight of children marveling at the lights—all of it wrapped around me like a long-lost memory. I wept as I walked through the markets, overwhelmed by the simple, profound truth that joy was still possible. For the first time in years, the holidays didn’t feel like a reminder of absence—they felt full, alive, and brimming with possibility.

Watching the Magic Unfold

This year, I’ve been privileged to experience the markets in an entirely new way. I arrived early, months before the chalets open and the crowds descend, and witnessed the quiet transformation of a city preparing for magic. I saw workers laughing as they built chalets and hung lights, heard choirs rehearsing in hidden corners, and caught the scent of crepes and vin chaud as vendors prepared their stalls. Snow fell softly as the lights were tested for the first time, illuminating empty streets that would soon be filled with millions of visitors from around the world.

It’s been a quieter kind of magic, but no less meaningful. Watching the markets come to life has mirrored my own transformation. The patience, care, and love that go into creating this celebration feel like the same qualities I’ve worked to nurture in myself over the past year. Like the markets, I’ve been slowly rebuilding, rediscovering, and creating space for joy.

Giving Back and Moving Forward

This year, I’ll be volunteering at the markets, serving soup to visitors and giving back to the community that has given me so much. It feels fitting—almost poetic—to contribute in this way. Last year, the markets gave me back the spirit of the holidays; this year, I hope to share that same spirit with others. Volunteering reminds me of the importance of connection, of being part of something larger than myself. It’s a small act, but one that carries profound meaning for me.

Exploring the markets this time feels different, too. I’m taking the time to savor the details: the handmade crafts, the regional specialties, the eco-friendly and sustainable initiatives that make these markets so unique. Every bite of a seasonal dish, every sip of vin chaud, every conversation with a local artisan feels like a celebration of this region’s incredible spirit. Alsace doesn’t just host the holidays; it embodies them.

A Heart Full of Gratitude

Alsace has been more than a backdrop to my healing journey—it’s been an active participant. This place, with its deep traditions and generous people, has given me the space to become my most authentic self. The older women who’ve shared family recipes, the friends who’ve lifted me during tough moments, the historians who’ve brought the past to life—all of them have shown me what it means to belong, to be supported, and to give kindness freely.

As the markets prepare to open, I find myself filled with the same childlike anticipation I once felt on Christmas Eve. But there’s a bittersweetness, too. My time in Alsace is coming to an end, and with it, this chapter of rediscovery. Still, I leave with a heart full of gratitude. Alsace has reminded me that joy isn’t something we lose forever—it’s something we can rediscover, nurture, and share. It’s a gift that grows when we embrace the traditions that matter, the people who care, and the beauty that surrounds us.

So today, as the lights begin to glow and the first notes of holiday music fill the air, I find myself smiling through tears. The spirit of Alsace is alive in me, and I carry it forward with hope, gratitude, and the knowledge that this place has changed me forever. 

46,000 Reasons to Pause: The Magic of the Cranes' Migration

Migration of the Cranes: A Journey of Renewal at Lac du Der

Last week, the skies above Lac du Der carried more than just the elegant migration of cranes—they also carried me through a moment of profound renewal. Life had been heavy in the days leading up to this trip, with worry and sadness weighing on my heart. But standing there, alongside my host mom, witnessing this extraordinary spectacle, I found something I hadn’t felt in days: lightness.

Lac du Der is an unassuming gem, a place not etched into the itineraries of mainstream tourism. Each autumn, it becomes a sanctuary for tens of thousands of migrating cranes, a natural event that is fleeting, yet deeply impactful. My host mom, who has shared her life and love of this region with me for over a decade, wanted me to experience something she holds dear. And so, as the sun sank low and painted the horizon in soft, fiery hues, we stood together, awaiting the arrival of the cranes.

The first few arrived in small groups, their graceful silhouettes gliding against the backdrop of the glowing lake. Then, the sky seemed to come alive with movement as thousands upon thousands of cranes joined them. They came in waves, from every direction, their calls growing louder, enveloping us in a symphony of nature. We were surrounded by the sight and sound of something ancient and beautiful, something that reminded me of the rhythm of life that continues, undisturbed, even as the world feels chaotic.

It wasn’t long before tears welled up in my eyes—and I wasn’t alone. My host mom stood next to me, her own face reflecting the same awe and emotion I felt. We didn’t exchange words; we didn’t need to. In that moment, it was as if the cranes themselves were carrying away the burdens of the week, their calls a lullaby for restless hearts. The shared silence between us was profound, filled with gratitude for witnessing something so rare, so untouched by the noise of modern life.

The sheer numbers of cranes—46,000 that evening—were staggering, but it wasn’t just the magnitude of the event that struck me. It was the intimacy of the moment, shared not only with my host mom but with the earth itself. The lake, the cranes, the setting sun—they all seemed to conspire to remind me of the delicate balance of life, of how important it is to cherish and protect places like this.

This was sustainable travel at its finest. It wasn’t about landmarks or crowds but about connection—to nature, to people, and to a fleeting moment in time. It was a reminder of why I’ve always valued off-the-beaten-path experiences. Places like Lac du Der offer a different kind of richness, one that comes not from grandeur but from authenticity.

As the last of the cranes landed for the night and the sky turned a deep indigo, I realized something had shifted in me. The stress of the week had loosened its grip. My face, which had felt weighed down with worry, found itself smiling. In the magic of that evening, I felt the world had quieted just enough to remind me of the peace that can exist amid the chaos.