Monk Business

We have arrived in beautiful Montserrat, Spain -- a small settlement about an hour west of Barcelona, in the heart of Catalonia -- and we find ourselves staying in a monastery, not something we have a lot of experience with. This is a place first built in the 9th century and rebuilt from time to time as the invaders du jour took exception to the monks’ way of doing things. Let me assure you, I am confirming my loosely held belief that monks were not big on such things as jacuzzi baths or room service. No, this place is “monastic” as we tend to use that word. The beds are small, there’s no mini-bar, no tv. Hell, there isn’t even any soap. And, for what I believe to be the first time in my life, I have to sit sideways on the toilet which was obviously designed for the exclusive use of Toulouse Lautrec. But, all of this is amusingly inconsequential since whatever creature comforts it lacks is made up in the oh so continental charm of this place. Montserrat is carved into the side of a mountain which is literally dotted with towering, hooded rock formations that appear for all the world like giant penises brandishing themselves skyward toward the heavens. Seriously. The view from our monastery window is sublime looking down on the cobblestoned main square that is filled with playing children, an outdoor café, and a healthy splash of evergreens. Beyond, down the 4,000 foot drop below Montserrat, lie green valleys flecked with what I fondly imagine are vineyards. Every half hour the soul-throbbing, richly hued tones of the basilica’s bells chime in such a joyous way you’d swear they are announcing the end of war.

Although we’ve been traveling for more than 24 hours -- through three countries and three cramped airplanes -- we drop our gear at the monastery and head for the funicular which promises even grander panoramas from up the mountain. The path is steep. How steep? As we head up the mountain on the funicular, both Lily and I feel our butts slipping downhill over our seats causing us to use our feet to brace ourselves. Even the locally written guide warns that the mountain walkways are very “steepy.” The views do not disappoint as we wend our way back on foot to collapse for a well-earned nap.

Tonight: a visit to the spectacular basilica where we peek in on that night’s vespers, and then dinner in a cave-like 16th century building with rock walls and a low-slung arched ceiling. We feast on spinach salad, tagliatelle with pesto, a Spanish rosé, grilled rabbit, and a rich chocolate brownie with crème caramel.

Not a bad start.