Monasterio de Oseiras

We were met at the entrance to the monastery by Friar 'Jesus' (I made up his name; I don't actually know it). Fr. J was dressed in traditional monk robes, white, loose, flowing, a black apron over top, tied at the waist with a white sash. The white robe appeared heavy, likely as much from tradition as for practicality; cutting the chill that is ever present in the thick stone walls of the 12th century monastery. He didn't speak but motioned for us to follow him through a large wooden door and into the heart of the monastery.

 Earlier in the day Stacy and I had toured the monastery with Fr Luis. He had taken us to see a grand staircase, the 'Bishop's Stairs', but we had not been allowed to ascend. Now Fr J brought us to these same magnificent stairs and, still silent, began to climb, motioning with a nod for us to follow. I was so excited I almost felt irreverent! At the top of the stairs we gazed around at the beautiful carvings and then followed Fr J through another door. A hallway, lined with beautiful paintings. Were these too Fr Luis' paintings, I wondered? (Fr Luis was a fashion designer before receiving his calling and becoming a monk at the age of 27. He has lived in the Monasterio de Oseiras for 39 years. Among his gifts is that of artist. We had each been presented with a small painting of Christ after our morning tour, each an image painted by Fr Luis).

 We remained silent as we walked. The surroundings commanded silence, whispers, only when necessary.

Other monks began following our procession. Eventually there were about 20 of us; 5 pilgrims, 5 locals, 10 monks. We sat across from each other, our backs against the wall, the monks, 5 on either side of the room, facing each other.

We were in the upper chapel, a smaller (but still large) room above the cathedral. Vespers. Evening song and prayer.

We were each given a hymnal, but as the monks began to sing, often one side of the room (or one monk) and then the other side (or another monk) singing in response, I put the hymnal down and just listened. The monks, many dressed in white, long sleeve robes over their regular monks clothes, would throw back their sleeves as they picked up a hymnal and sang.

It was beautiful, sometimes haunting. Peaceful. And at times I felt like I was in the middle of a Dan Brown novel!

We attended Vespers with A (from Germany) and M (from Madrid). They had arrived later in the day after walking 40+ km.

 Lovely, but strongly opinionated about what makes a true pilgrim, 'A' vented her frustrations about pilgrims who wear make-up, take transportation, wash clothes, dress like women...

 I was fearful that 'A' would inspect our bags, find our samples of Chanel perfume, and be left with no choice but to burn us at the stake for heresy and sacrilegious behavior unbecoming a pilgrim. She would have felt bad about it because I know she liked us. She shared things that night about her experience on the camino; how depressed she'd become, the criticism she'd felt subjected to, about the way she walks, not washing her clothes, the way she looks. I taught her the word androgynous. She likes this word, remembering it by saying 'and rocks'. She is also much happier since meeting 'M', a police officer from Madrid. They walk together covering great distances every day. M seems like a very gentle, kind man, whom I think may have appointed himself guardian of the somewhat 'special', 'A'.

We didn't end up writing ghost stories during our night at the monastery. We had a fun night with 'A' and 'M', going to Vespers, then sharing food, drink and laughter.
Besides, the fear of being found out by 'A' was enough.