Day 1-2: Myalup to New Norcia to Meckering

15-16 November 2010

One forgets that there is never true silence – or at least rarely. There’s always background noise, in our minds, in the murmurings of community life, in our many distractions. So it is with New Norcia. The first thing you’re struck by is the stark beauty and stillness of the setting. A true place for contemplation and the life of a hermit. We’d like to forget that behind this is the restless agitation of two communities: the monks struggling with their inner demons and outer relationships; and the staff who aren’t so conscious about seeing their time at New Norcia as an exercise in personal and spiritual growth. The murmuring continues unabated.

But we’re not part of that anymore, thank God. We can enjoy it again for the special place that it is: a retreat from all the noise and hubbub of the secular world.

The only background noise we have to contend with is from nature. We park the camper trailer on the north edge of the oval and set up camp with an unhindered view back towards the monastery. During the night the wind picks up and bashes the flaccid sides of the tent, keeping us awake and anxious most of the night. At dawn a cackling chorus of galahs perched in the tree above our camp provides an unwelcome alarm clock. Throughout our brief stay they leave a trail of droppings on our tent and equipment.

The monks are more hospitable. Abbot John invites us to dine with the monks at their midday meal. The refectory smells of dark wood and ancient traditions. We listen to readings from various Catholic tomes addressing issues of war and peace, nuclear proliferation, birth control and the need for silence during meal times. Everything is programmed and precise and I push my half eaten lunch aside when I realize I’m the only one left eating. The server takes it away and rolls the squeaky trolley back to the kitchen while the reader takes a measured pause. After a third course, a delicious pumpkin and pistachio pie, the Abbot rings his bell and we stand in unison, waiting for the final blessing before we depart single file.

We’re invited to the monks’ parlour for an aperitif, coffee, Benedictine liqueur and chocolates, to farewell us on our journey. It's a far less formal affair and despite being the only woman in a circle of black-robed monks, I enjoy the light-hearted banter. My association with this monastery extends back seven years and has been full of the complexities and challenges of any good intimate relationship. Despite its quirkiness (or maybe because of it), I feel at home here and will miss the opportunity to make regular pilgrimages once we move to the USA.

It’s 2pm before we’re on the road; not many daylight hours left for travel. We head east and find a isolated spot on the edge of a dry river bed just outside of Meckering to set up camp. The night is quiet except for the occasional freight train rumbling towards Perth astride the Great Eastern Highway.