Normandie (France)
The anticipation is great. The weather is very good. The sun is shining and it's finally getting a bit warm. We drive to the Mont Saint-Michel. Expectations are high, perhaps even too high. But we don't know that when we set off. And not even when we leave the large parking lot and head towards the monastery.
I have an idea of what to expect as we stand in front of the small gate, a crowd of people around us and everyone is busy trying to get as many photos as possible of this landmark. We are no exception. And yet it seems to me that we are among the few who look up at the imposing building without a camera.
It is a sublime sight, especially from a distance as you approach the hill over the long bridge. From this distance, you have no idea what awaits you inside. It is quiet from here. The view is majestic. It has such an aura that I can't find the words to describe it.
However, this feeling loses its power due to the many people who make a pilgrimage to this place for the wrong reason. I will only fully experience the consequences of this when we are up in the monastery. But down here at the entrance, I am free of such thoughts, pure in an experience of naïve innocence and good faith.
I wonder what it must have felt like for the people, hundreds of years before us, who stood in front of this hill and decided to build a monastery right there. What feelings must that have triggered? What forces were unleashed? They definitely had no idea what it would become.
I don't know when it lost its innocence. Maybe it never had it. Maybe it's another naïve notion of mine that people were once different, with purer thoughts and feelings, driven by a belief in something greater than their simple yet powerful need to get themselves as much of everything as possible.
But perhaps they were just more aware of how far they were from this image of inner purity. And they were ready to work on it, some of them, in the name of god. Perhaps that is one reason for the monster-like figures that watch over their visitors on the outer walls of the monastery. Gloomy figures with their mouths wide open. The inner demons carved in stone.
And there is a lot of stone here. People too. And soldiers, heavily armed. They don't give me a sense of security, but rather an awareness that this could also be a place where violence could suddenly break out. But what outshines everything is the hustle and bustle. Everything is covered in the marble of commerce.
The narrow streets of the small village at the foot of the hill are a succession of stores with the usual tourist stuff and the restaurants, which to my surprise are very full, draw hungry people into their premises so that a free seat is a rare rarity. Looking up, sometimes hidden behind rooftops, then reappearing in the foreground, are the walls of the monastery. And I feel a strong desire to move into the bowels of the sublime building.
The sun beats down on us and if you have to stay in one place for too long, it is brutally hot. This is what happens to us at the entrance to the monastery, where we are forced to wait in the sun. In this moment of inner turmoil, I feel the urge to turn around, but the need to step inside overrides this agonizing feeling. I know at this moment that there won't be another visit.
There is too much going on here to make it a particularly profound experience. Not even a pleasant or enjoyable one. This kind of experience doesn't exist in a place like this for visitors like us. Many others don't seem to mind the hustle and bustle. For us, on the other hand, it takes all the joy out of it. We are different, I think all the time as I watch the people. We're a bit like the people who leave their visitors one or at most two stars and a critical word on the usual internet platforms. My star goes out here, not just waiting in the sun. The joy of the morning is no longer there.
The monastery is the biggest disappointment. It has nothing to offer me. The church is empty, bare and looks like an unfinished ruin without anything beautiful in it. More like an abandoned building site than a holy place. The garden, which I was most looking forward to, is much smaller than I expected, unadorned and so crowded that I feel the urge to run away. How many churches or cathedrals have we visited, they were all of a deeper beauty than this.
The further we follow the signposted route and the deeper we delve into the interior of the building, the more disappointed I become with this place. In the end, it wears me down and spoils my desire to see all the highly praised places that you supposedly have to see. It is described as another Disneyland by one reviewer. I couldn't describe it any better.
Inflated prices for which you get nothing. Here, money is taken out of your pocket with spirituality. The walk back to the parking lot feels like a liberation. But the emptiness of this experience comes back to me in full force in the evening at my accommodation. Wasted time. Money spent in vain. It was simply not worth it.
The anticipation is great. The weather is very good. The sun is shining and it's finally getting a bit warm. We drive to the Mont Saint-Michel. Expectations are high, perhaps even too high. But we don't know that when we set off. And not even when we leave the large parking lot and head towards the monastery.
I have an idea of what to expect as we stand in front of the small gate, a crowd of people around us and everyone is busy trying to get as many photos as possible of this landmark. We are no exception. And yet it seems to me that we are among the few who look up at the imposing building without a camera.
It is a sublime sight, especially from a distance as you approach the hill over the long bridge. From this distance, you have no idea what awaits you inside. It is quiet from here. The view is majestic. It has such an aura that I can't find the words to describe it.
However, this feeling loses its power due to the many people who make a pilgrimage to this place for the wrong reason. I will only fully experience the consequences of this when we are up in the monastery. But down here at the entrance, I am free of such thoughts, pure in an experience of naïve innocence and good faith.
I wonder what it must have felt like for the people, hundreds of years before us, who stood in front of this hill and decided to build a monastery right there. What feelings must that have triggered? What forces were unleashed? They definitely had no idea what it would become.
I don't know when it lost its innocence. Maybe it never had it. Maybe it's another naïve notion of mine that people were once different, with purer thoughts and feelings, driven by a belief in something greater than their simple yet powerful need to get themselves as much of everything as possible.
But perhaps they were just more aware of how far they were from this image of inner purity. And they were ready to work on it, some of them, in the name of god. Perhaps that is one reason for the monster-like figures that watch over their visitors on the outer walls of the monastery. Gloomy figures with their mouths wide open. The inner demons carved in stone.
And there is a lot of stone here. People too. And soldiers, heavily armed. They don't give me a sense of security, but rather an awareness that this could also be a place where violence could suddenly break out. But what outshines everything is the hustle and bustle. Everything is covered in the marble of commerce.
The narrow streets of the small village at the foot of the hill are a succession of stores with the usual tourist stuff and the restaurants, which to my surprise are very full, draw hungry people into their premises so that a free seat is a rare rarity. Looking up, sometimes hidden behind rooftops, then reappearing in the foreground, are the walls of the monastery. And I feel a strong desire to move into the bowels of the sublime building.
The sun beats down on us and if you have to stay in one place for too long, it is brutally hot. This is what happens to us at the entrance to the monastery, where we are forced to wait in the sun. In this moment of inner turmoil, I feel the urge to turn around, but the need to step inside overrides this agonizing feeling. I know at this moment that there won't be another visit.
There is too much going on here to make it a particularly profound experience. Not even a pleasant or enjoyable one. This kind of experience doesn't exist in a place like this for visitors like us. Many others don't seem to mind the hustle and bustle. For us, on the other hand, it takes all the joy out of it. We are different, I think all the time as I watch the people. We're a bit like the people who leave their visitors one or at most two stars and a critical word on the usual internet platforms. My star goes out here, not just waiting in the sun. The joy of the morning is no longer there.
The monastery is the biggest disappointment. It has nothing to offer me. The church is empty, bare and looks like an unfinished ruin without anything beautiful in it. More like an abandoned building site than a holy place. The garden, which I was most looking forward to, is much smaller than I expected, unadorned and so crowded that I feel the urge to run away. How many churches or cathedrals have we visited, they were all of a deeper beauty than this.
The further we follow the signposted route and the deeper we delve into the interior of the building, the more disappointed I become with this place. In the end, it wears me down and spoils my desire to see all the highly praised places that you supposedly have to see. It is described as another Disneyland by one reviewer. I couldn't describe it any better.
Inflated prices for which you get nothing. Here, money is taken out of your pocket with spirituality. The walk back to the parking lot feels like a liberation. But the emptiness of this experience comes back to me in full force in the evening at my accommodation. Wasted time. Money spent in vain. It was simply not worth it.