I Climbed Mountains—Or At Least Several Really Big Hills

Since this weekend was one of the few days we have off I decided to make the best of it. A few of us made the trek to a near-by monastery for the cultural experience, to spend some time in nature (the monastery is accessible only through wooded paths) but also to partake in the homemade beer the monks brew—who said beer and the divine don’t mix?

We were told the monastery was a good hour’s walk. But the guide had prefaced the announcement of the monastery by asking if anyone liked “hiking.” Right here was where I should have clued in. I wasn’t prepared to hike. I didn’t have hiking boots—or running shoes for that matter. All I had was ballet flats, stilettos high heels and Converse sneakers which I thought I had broken in. Oh, how wrong was I. Since we had all afternoon, I was ready for the adventure. What I wasn’t prepared for was the unbearable pain my shoes were about to put me through.

It started out well enough but as we left the city centre and were treading on more and more dirt paths, my feet started to throb. A tough guy through and through, I ignored them and concentrated on the beautiful panoramas of green fields, flowers and hills.

Oh, the hills. With “the hills are alive with the sound of music…” playing in my head, we ran down steep hills and walked wooded paths that easily could have been Amazon rainforests—save for the sweltering heat—while birds chirped around us. It was so tranquil I had to capture it. So my camera is flooded with greenery shot after greenery shot.

It continued like this for miles so much so that, except for the path, it felt we were completely removed from civilization. That is until we got to the monastery and saw a paved parking lot plunked right after the bridge that connected the. Welcome to civilization.

By this time, I had developed a slight limp. But I refused to let the pain dampen my experience. The church and grounds were beautiful. No matter how many European churches I see (and I’ve seen my fair share), they never cease to amaze me at the expense (gold, everywhere) and sense of tradition that overwhelms me. You’d think this being a German church (and Germany being home to the Reformation), they’d be a bit less opulent. Not really. It wasn’t as obvious as Portuguese churches, but it was still there.

Then there was the beer. I sampled my fair share. As a beer newbie, I can’t vouch for the quality, but I’m told it was great.

So after a half hour siesta, we headed back and oh how the hills (and shoes) took their revenge. The same hills that had been fun to run down (or roll down for some people) an hour earlier now became unscaleable mountains. I trudged up them while my companions (hardened nature lovers from Quebec, Alberta and British Columbia) laughed at me. But I made it. And I have the blisters to prove it.