The Monastery

by Linda Gorman 

On the evening of June 17, I embarked on a trek to the monastery with a small group of students and one of our instructors. The clouds were ominous, yet the threat of rain refused to dissuade us from our adventure. Shortly after we stepped onto the long, steep road leading to the monastery, the sky opened up with a loud clap and the downpour began. Only one of us thought to bring an umbrella, so the rest of us soon became drenched, despite our quickened pace. Too far along to turn back and in the mood to explore, we continued on towards the stone building.

Finally, we made it to the front door of the ancient structure. Dripping wet, we exchanged glances and giggles while the rain continued to fall on the gravel driveway. “Bongiorno”, a man called out, walking from behind the building to greet us. Returning the greeting, we then nervously laughed as he glanced at us in amusement. He continued the conversation, stopping suddenly when we explained, in broken Italian, that we were students from America with a very limited grasp of Italian.

Soon, he beckoned us inside and disappeared with the promise of towels. Drying off, we all switched to a combination of limited English, nonverbal gestures, and Italian, eager to communicate. Slowly, he led us down the hall of the monastery, pointing out photos and illustrations along the way. Improvising and collaborating, we worked together to understand the history of the monastery, the monks that lived there in 1550, the war that occurred there, the tower that was destroyed in the war, and the lives that were lost. We also all laughed when we understood that he had taken care of a stray cat that made his home near the site.

We continued on this improvisational tour, laughing, taking pictures, and doing our best to communicate. After about 30 minutes, we looked outside at the night sky and decided it was time to make our trip back down the hill. We exchanged our goodbyes and thanked him “mille” before starting our return walk down the mountain, marveling along the way at our serendipitous, once-in-a-lifetime encounter.

The cultural mismatches in this situation were verbal and nonverbal. At first, I was a little panicky at the lack of a shared common language. How would we communicate? How could we understand what he was trying to tell us? However, I soon became delighted and surprised at our ability to find a way to communicate. I was also surprised by my ability to adapt to this situation and connect with another person in a unique and unforgettable way.