Slow travel in Colmar greeted me like a watercolor—soft light spilling over half-timbered houses, canals still and glassy, flower boxes overflowing with geraniums. To begin with, I arrived early, before the crowds, when the town still felt like it belonged to itself.
As I wandered slowly, the cobblestones seemed to guide me. A baker was setting out fresh kougelhopf in the window. Meanwhile, a church bell rang in the distance. I paused by the canal near Quai de la Poissonnerie, where reflections of pastel facades shimmered in the water. At that moment, it felt like stepping into a storybook—but quieter, gentler, more lived-in.
What struck me most, however, wasn’t the postcard beauty (though there’s plenty of that). Instead, it was the pace. No one seemed in a hurry. Locals chatted over coffee. A cyclist pedaled by with a baguette tucked under one arm. Even the boats on the canal moved slowly, as if they, too, were savoring the morning.
In contrast to fast travel, Colmar invites you to settle in, if even if just for a few hours. You notice more. You feel more. And somehow, you carry it with you long after you’ve left.
Because of moments like this, I’ve been working on a guide that curates these kinds of journeys—routes that breathe, stops that linger. It’s full of practical tips and soulful reflections, designed for travelers who want more than just a destination.
If you’re drawn to slow travel and meaningful connection, then I’d love for you to follow along. If slow travel Colmar speaks to you the way it does to me, I hope you’ll follow along.