Fontgombault Abbey, France

Monks, mugs and hot chocolate. Day 4 - In search of sunshine

Serendipity: the joy of unexpected pleasure brought about by events of chance.   It’s the best part of travelling.  On the long road to our next destination, we pass a large church. There is something about the long, straight tree-lined entrance that draws me in.  

It’s not just a church, this is an abbey.  The Abbey of Our Lady of Fontgombault.  It’s a Benedictine monastery, home to a large community of monks.  I have found that places of religion usually have a male or a female energy to them, this one is definitely male.  There has been an abbey on these grounds since the 11th century, destroyed and rebuilt many times.  The abbey has high arched ceilings specially designed to carry the human voice.  The monks are known for their Gregorian chants and singing, it would be a treat to sit in this vast Abbey and sink into the sounds.  

Just outside the abbey is a small shop, it would appear that some monks are also skilled at pottery.  Rows of beautifully handcrafted, mugs, plates and bowls are on display.  The swirls of hands that guided them are clearly visible and add to the tactile charm.  I have no time to browse as a monk rushes in and announces that everything is closed for the next fifteen minutes, afternoon prayers are about to be sung.  Stepping out of the shop in time to see a flock of monks appear at the top of the drive. Their black robes flowing behind them, walking with purpose.  Cars begin to fill the deserted car park as men of all ages arrive and enter the church.  

A young French woman who speaks little English and I, who speaks even less French begin a broken animated conversation.  Hands waving she tells me that the daily afternoon prayers are about to begin, the sound of chanting monks drifts through the heavy doors.  Milo is not welcome, but the young woman signs that she will hold him for us.  The dog is happy, so we enter the church.  

I slid into the last pew at the back and realised I was the only female present. The vibration of the chanting was hypnotic. I closed my eyes and absorbed the deep sounds. All too soon, the service was finished. We re-entered the outside world, as Milo wagged his approval. I think he enjoyed the sounds, too.  

In another part of the grounds lies a small quiet area holding an assortment of houses, cottages and apartments.  The Abbey is also a place of retreat, somewhere for the religious community to spend their sabbaticals and for others to step off the wheel of daily life for a short time.  If I was staying I’d choose the small stone dwelling, surrounded by trees and a chimney that promises a warming log fire.   It just needs a monk in a large straw hat to plant some brightly coloured shrubs and it will be complete.  

This community of monks keeps themselves busy.  Apart from singing and pottery some of the monks are gardeners, whilst others are cooks.  Another shop, hidden in the retreat village sells lots of their produce, fresh vegetables, preserves and honey.  I notice a packet of hot chocolate mix made in a different monastery, well it must be good if they sell it.  I reason that it will taste so much better in the large mugs I have just bought.   It all makes perfect sense to me.  

Time to move on to our resting place for the evening, next to a beautiful lake, and of course the much anticipated hot chocolate, hands warming around the perfectly shaped, swirly, hug of a mug. Life is delicious.