Our motto: More than you’ll ever want to know. And then some.
Today was a rest day for us, and we’d planned to spend it visiting the main—possibly the only—attraction in Melk: the gloriously photogenic Melk Abbey, which sits on a promontory just behind the town. It is probably more appropriate to say that the town sits below the Abbey, since it is likely that the abbey is the main reason the town is here in the first place: people being drawn here over the centuries to support the operation of—and to seek the protection of—the abbey.
Improvised breakfasts for all four of us this morning, since the buffet is not included in our room booking. Personally I was ready for something different anyway—but not that different, still I’d been hoping that my standard breakfast when in France would also work here: some yoghurt and a banana (sourced from a nearby supermarket), supplemented by coffee and a pastry at a sidewalk café, where I can people-watch, or read.
It turns out that this breakfast variant also works reasonably well in Melk, as shown below: a Kleiner Brauner (single shot espresso with cute little jug of milk) at the Bäckerei Konditorei Johannes Mistlbacher, accompanied by their last croissant.
A more complete history of Melk Abbey can be found on Wikipedia, and if you ever visit Melk, I recommend the hour-long guided tour that takes you though the abbey’s museum (among other highlights). You’ll hear how the abbey’s library was severely damaged by fire in 1297, an event that is echoed in Umberto Eco’s novel The Name of the Rose (and no: I’m not going to do anything so predictable as to apologize for the pun). Which leads me to this interesting tidbit, from Wikipedia, which subtly underlines the connection between the fictional abbey fire and the real one; clever people, novelists, some of the time:
In his novel The Name of the Rose, Umberto Eco named one of the protagonists “Adso of Melk” as a tribute to the abbey and its famous library.
Pictures of People Taking Pictures of Other People in Front of Things
While the abbey itself is breathtaking (one website calls it “Austria’s Baroque jewel”), I’ll confess that the first thing that struck me during our visit was a tourist ritual that exists everywhere tourists gather, which for some reason seemed to leap out at me today. I’ve named this ritual People Taking Pictures of Other People in Front of Things. People were performing this ritual all around me at Melk Abbey today, and they seemed to be doing it reflexively, without thought.
Standing near a wall within the Prelate’s courtyard, I’d watch small groups, or couples, as they entered the courtyard through the archway to my right. Frequently, one of the group moved almost immediately to position themselves in front of some distinctive Thing—the central fountain, in the case of the Prelate’s courtyard. The other person then raised a camera, and created a photographic record. One of the group had assumed the role of Subject, while the other immediately became Photographer, and it happened almost automatically.
The two would then swap roles: Subject would become Photographer, and Photographer Subject, who moved to stand in her turn in front of the distinctive Thing, so that a second, nearly identical, photographic record could come into existence. Sometimes the Subject would assume a pose: the arm raised in a gesture of nonchalance; the hand pointing in the general direction of the Thing. Or they might feign casualness: the hand in the pocket, or resting casually at the hip. In all cases the Subjects positioned themselves so that they faced away from the Thing, and the Thing remained imperturbably Thing throughout.
I found the behavior absolutely fascinating, and took many photos of my own—let’s call them photographic records—to document this social ritual: recording one’s presence before a Thing. I even had my own presence before a Thing recorded for posterity by J. To confuse things further, J2 recorded the recording of my presence before the Thing. A glimpse into the abyss.
A tour of Melk Abbey
Our guide took us though the abbey’s museum, followed by the Marble Hall with its trompe l’oeil ceiling, and then out onto the terrace with its view over the rooftops of Melk. The tour ended in the abbey’s very tempting library. We then descended a beautiful spiral staircase to visit the abbey’s church, where we sat quietly during the brief noon service, which was also attended by a handful of the abbey’s resident monks (there are currently only a couple of dozen monks living at the abbey, which also operates a school with ~900 students). The photos which follow were taken by someone who was clearly unable to decode the many signs posted throughout the abbey, signs covered in mysterious symbols overlaid with red circles containing diagonal red lines.
Mysterious (and beautiful) sculptures in the abbey gardens
Coda: the day concludes
And it concludes with afternoon coffee, and some discussion of the following day’s ride, which will bring us within striking distance of Vienna.
For those of you who have been requesting a status report on The Church of J2 and M: you’ll be pleased to hear that we’re definitely making progress! The number of new parishioners has doubled, and we’ve had to take on additional staff. The commandments are also progressing; it looks as if we might even crack “the magic 10 barrier”, so I’ve ordered an additional stone tablet. An update will be posted very soon. In the meantime: if you’ve got anything you’d like to confess, please email us all of the particulars, or simply submit them using the convenient comment form, below. We promise to have your absolution to you within a day, or two at most.
Danube to Dalmatia 
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