A long time ago when we were young, Paul Nagelmackers, the one and only Michael and a friend of his who for the life of me I cannot remember the name of, and yours truly decided to take a road trip on the ridge line of the Pirenees. Great idea In concept.

We bravely set out in a Volkswagen Golf starting from Michael’s house in Alicante. Upon arriving downtown Alicante we decided we absolutely needed to eat something at Nou Manolin. But the bar was full so we headed upstairs in the seats and tablecloth area. Well, that was a mistake. Firstly the prices up there are double what they are downstairs. Second, Michael somehow ordered a very expensive wine without meaning to to. At the end of the meal, we were just about broke and a few miles from our starting point. However, we still had enough money to pay for gas and a few things so we pushed onwards. 

By the time we had driven for the day, we really had not much money left. We got to a beautiful little town that hung off the side of a mountain, it was quite a sight. We went to a local eatery that seemed very popular with the locals and indeed the fare was spectacular. But there was a bit of a problem – the staff would tell you what they had, no menu and thus no prices. And whatever you picked, they would write it down on the floor next to you in chalk, in some incomprehensible characters for which we definitely did not have the decoder ring. Which was just fine, because  after a few hours of merrily carrying on like this with waiters twirling around us, we couldn’t tell what we had ordered. And neither did the waiter apparently because when we finished the chalk had been streaked by waiters stepping all over it so he kinda looked at us figuring out what we could afford and scribbling more mysterious characters on paper with a number at the bottom. That number took care of whatever money we had left. So now here we are in the middle of nowhere with just enough money for gas and Michael’s Spanish. 

There was a monastery that dominates half the town so m we headed over there figuring that we’d do a visit then head home. At the entrance, there was a hand-written sign that, Michael said, said something like “come repent and wash your sins away here with the generosity of God”. Generosity sounded good to us so we entered and the priest explained to us that they were offering simple food and a place to overnight for those who needed solace. We needed both really so we thankfully accepted the offer. 

Having secured a place to overnight, we headed downtown which was much busier than we expected for a quiet town. There was some big festival/ party going on and we joined in. We joined in so well that it was about 3 AM when we finally headed back to the monastery. 

What we hadn’t and should have figured out is that monasteries have curfews and they tend to be early. The heavy doors were shut, we were locked out. There was a metal rod hanging next to the door that headed straight up and you couldn’t really see what was attached to it since it was really dark. Taking a chance, Michael pulled on it. At first there was silence, then a loud and long bang cake down from above. We had apparently rung a fairly large bell. Several lights came on inside the monastery, and a priest quickly appeared at the door. I think that he was so surprised to see four folks holding each other up that he just asked Michael something like “do you belong here”. And I only know that because Michael turned around, pointed at me and said in English “yeah we belong here except him but he needs a lot of help”.  The priest looked me up and down and apparently decided that Michael was right but that I wasn’t a danger to humanity so he let us in. 

The next day we were awoken by the morning mass bells which I remember as very early. But that could be because we went to sleep very late.  We went to the large and beautiful food hall, where a lot of whispering started as we entered. We had our breakfast, we didn’t think about it really. We headed into town just walking around, it really was a quaint town with an impressive location, wish I could remember the name but the night before had lobotomized the memory part of my brain. If I had to guess I would say Zaragoza. We were trying to figure out if there was anything we could find to eat until dinner at the monastery. We hit upon a cheese monger and for some reason started obsessing about an entire cheese wheel they had available. Think a very small Parmesan wheel. Manchego maybe, I can’t remember. Once again, Knight Kling went to work and somehow negotiated a price we could afford and got a half loaf of bread to go with it. What followed was one the best meals ever. Sitting on a stone wall at the higher end of the city, looking down over the plain stretching far west. We ate half the cheese and all of the bread. We wandered around some more then headed back to the monastery, this time before the doors were closed. 

Once inside we walked around the monastery which itself was quite spectacular. I don’t remember much from there on on, till we sat down for dinner. 

Once seated, the same monk who had let us in when we returned late came to sit with us. He engaged in some small talk, I could feel something was coming. It was definitely not going to be that we had extra points for good behavior. He said something like “heavy work cleanses the soul”. Again, translated by Michael for his ignorant friends. It wasn’t immediately clear how that applied to me, so I turned to Michael’s friend who is native Spanish and is well versed in religion. “He means”, he said, “that we are not doing anything to cleanse our souls here and that if we want to stay we will have to earn our keep some other way like doing chores”. He was dead right of course. So Michael’s friend asked the monk “well when do the chores start?” And apparently the answer was “as a matter of fact, they start this instant”. This I was told after Michael and his friend hurriedly stood up from the table. 

So we packed our bags, got back in the car and headed home to Alicante. The plan on the way home was to eat the remainder of the cheese wheel. But as we looked for it we couldn’t find it anywhere. Finally Paul (Nagelmackers) remembered that he had placed it in a corner of his room where it was a little cooler. And had totally forgotten to take it with us as we left in somewhat of a hurry. He had tucked it out of sight behind a piece of furniture, you could see it but it wasn’t obvious. Pretty sure the cheese started to ripen a little more before it was found. There’s probably a price on our head in the monasteries in Spain. 

Was a great time, driving around in beautiful country side and proudly proving once again that our “masters of disasters” moniker was not to be taken lightly. 

Fred D