TRAVELMAN ENGLAND: My Arrival At Buckfast Abbey

I didn’t know what to expect at the Abbey. I was going to be staying with Benedictine monks. I figured it’d be a lot different than the Colombo Hilton.

Last year, before I started the trip, I’d read that travelers can stay at monasteries for free to save money. It sounded interesting. Buckfast was the one I remembered for some reason, probably because it was the easiest to find online.

The grounds were lovely. I immediately felt a sense of peace. It was quiet, the weather was beautiful, birds chirped, tourists quietly wandered the grounds, and the abbey gleamed in the sun.

I walked into the cathedral. It was even more peaceful inside. Ornate, cared for, quiet. I took a few steps and saw no one, so I yelled, “I’m here! Where everybody at? Hey!!!! I want some service!!!”

Actually, I did the opposite, I tried to turn on my ninja skills and become the corporeal embodiment of silence. I looked up at the ceiling, turned in a circle, and my water bottle clanged into a pillar. So much for becoming silence.

I was glad they had a jug of drinking water out, cuz boy was I thirsty... had a funny taste to it.

The chapel was empty except for two guys working on the church organ.

The chapel was magnificent, more than I expected.

I didn’t get far before I ran into a lady around sixty, she wore a badge necklace. I told her I’d corresponded through email with Brother Daniel and I was here for a three day stay. I noticed myself taking on a very meek and gentle tone, as though I unconsciously feared being thrown out for choosing my words poorly or speaking in anything but respectful tones.

The woman said Brother Daniel had just gone off to visit his father in the cemetery and that she’d find him for me. She said I was free to walk around the chapel while I waited.

After about ten more minutes of picture taking, Brother Daniel found and greeted me. “Welcome to the Abbey, Travelman.”(He didn’t call me Travelman.) He explained that it was his father’s anniversary and he had taken him some flowers. I didn’t ask, but I assumed it was the anniversary of his death.

Daniel was in his sixties, a full head of white hair, a few extra pounds under his frock, and a dull twinkle in his eye. He spoke in quick, low volume, bursts that were chock full of information. My brain was already overloaded with stimuli so it was difficult to catch and hold anything he was telling me. But I did my absolute best. I couldn’t wait to become more deeply immersed in this experience.

“I’ll take you to your room. I’ve put you in St. Scholastica.” He led me down the side corridor of the chapel. We came to a velvet rope in front of steps leading a few feet down to a set of large, dark, wooden double doors. He unhooked the rope and gestured for me to cross down the steps. I passed him and walked beyond the velvet rope.

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