Monk Island

I have been a shoddy blogger.  However, today was definitely worthy of an update.  

We decided to take a ferry to a nearby island where monks live and make wine (which they can't drink under their vows).  Ironic?  Maybe.  Sort of like that song, "Isn't It Ironic," which isn't actually ironic... but which IS ironic because it's not.  Before departing, we bought some camembert cheese, red and white wine, and baguettes in preparation for a delicious French picnic on the island.  I also made an impulse purchase of strawberries as we were running towards the boat to buy our tickets (late, of course).  I'm pretty sure at least two people wanted to strangle me, especially after I took extra time to ask the strawberry lady whether or not the berries were sweet.

We caught our boat, however, and the 10 minute ride was beautiful!  I looked all over the ship trying to find a fake steering wheel with which to re-enact that scene from the Office where Dwight thinks he's steering the boat.  Alas, there wasn't one.  

We got to the island and it was absolutely gorgeous.  We spent time climbing the craggy shore, walking along the paths, and admiring the rows and rows of vineyards (alongside of which these beautiful white flowers also grew).  We visited the monastery and went into their chapel, which was silent, peaceful, and musty in that way that only old churches are.  It had holy water, which psyched up my roommates.  We walked for another 20 minutes or so and found a medieval fortress/church that was beautifully crumbling.  We climbed under a rod that may or may not have been blocking the entrance to some mysterious-looking stairs and found our way into the cellar of the castle and felt like we were back in time.

Afterwards, we climbed along the shore.  Once we found a good spot, we ate our bread and cheese and drank our wine like Frenchmen.  The only things lacking from a real French experience were berets, accordian music, and a snobby French man going "huhn huhn HUHN!"