Santo Domingo de Silos

        I first wanted to visit the Benedictine monastery at Santo Domingo de Silos when I read Conrad Rudolphs book about camino Pilgrimage to the End of the World, and the author (an art historian living in California) expounded upon its brilliant, playful Romanesque cloister, the best example of its type in the world. I looked forward to seeing it so much that If someone asked me what I most wanted to do on Camino, I would mention it. But how Conrad Rudolph actually managed to reach Santo Domingo without going off the Way is beyond me. We had to travel 90 minutes (62 km) by bus to get there! The company that took us only has one bus, and one employee. He sold is the ticket then went out and put our luggage in the back and drove us out there. That is how remote this place is. The little old Spanish people on the jus stared at us Lauren and I like "what are you kids doing? Get back on the Camino!"

         The bus made it impossible to visit when the cloister was open, which might deter the less determined (or smarter) pilgrim, but Lauren and I went anyway to go to Vespers and see to the famous gregorian chanting monks. 

         To our surprise, the monastery is couched in a small but very bustling town that was (like Burgos) having a fiesta. Our bus had to dodge little dancing children in order to park there. Since we thought the monastery was only available to men, we checked into a small, inexpensive and very nice hotel right across from it--though later we found out the monks host a women's house! Call this the detour of the uninformed. 

Sure enough, the cloister was closed and no amount of whining (in any language) could get me in. I complained. I asked locals. I tried to bribe monks. I tried to break in... But all the doors were secure and the beautiful cloister remained unreachable. 

         At 8 o clock (the monks pushed it back half an hour for some reason), we went into the fairly uninteresting--but undeniably nice--neoclassical church to hear Vespers. It was filled with people, many of them Spanish tourists, come to see the famous chanting monks. Two men in front of us who were clearly infants in disguise would not stop blabbing the entire time, to the point that Lauren said something to them and they still kept talking. So rude! Lots of throat clearing and coughing. But the twenty or so monks of all ages sang beautifully, mostly a collection of tenors so they seemed to lack in the lower registers. Still-- Magic! 

         Afterwards, Lauren and I sat on the wall outside the church watching an older, very energetic monk having a conversation with some Argentinians. We really wanted him to notice us and talk to us, so I conspicuously got out my credential, hoping he'd see it and realize that we were pilgrims. Lauren took sneaky pictures of him pretending they were of me:

Lots of people may not know this about us, but Lauren and I love monks. I especially think being a monk would be pretty sweet. So when Bernardo the Benedictine turned and looked at us as he was walking back into the church and struck a pose to say he was a "modello" Lauren took no time telling him we were pilgrims. He came over and spoke to us for a long time--no he couldn't open the cloister but wait here and maybe he could give us a stamp. He disappeared for a moment and returned with the Santo Domingo Biblioteca stamp (he stamped and signed our credentials) and missed most of his dinner hour laughing and joking with us (in Spanish, but I didn't feel left out at all and could understand a lot). He pretended not to be able to say my name and told Lauren I had a Protestant face (?). He plays organ at Vespers, and turns out he's a poet too. He told Lauren that he was a model for handicapped monk habits. How could he face his Creator if he didn't care for two pretty pilgrims in need? Everyone in town loves him, and after the church attendants insisted he go in and eat, a man asked us to pray that they have Bernardo for many for years.  We got a picture and a card with a prayer he'd written to Mary. It's the best selfie of our lives. 

We ate and watched the sunset in the plaza, then enjoyed our hotel room (with the world's smallest bathtub!). But I couldn't let that be the end of the monks, so I woke up at 5:30 am and went alone to the church once again for Vigils. This service was much for intimate, so much that the monks invited me (me?? Female Protestant non-Spanish speaking pilgrim in shorts?) into the choir to sing with them!! I got a book and everything. The closest I'll probably ever get to monastic life!