Winter darkness had fallen over the German city of Trier, and not far off I could see what looked like snow beginning to fall on the surrounding dark hills. Arriving at the gates of the Abbey of St Matthias, having reserved a room for three nights, I had a better sense of what pilgrims of old must have felt: I had arrived at the monastery and found refuge just in time.
I was met at the entrance by the monk with whom I had exchanged emails to make the reservation, €50 per night including breakfast, who took me to my room. I had no idea what to expect. Perhaps it would be a stark cell comprising a small bed with a crucifix above it. I did not much care either way. After trudging nearly 40 kilometres along the Jakobsweg, the German stretch of the Camino de Santiago, my ordeal including three hill climbs and much of it spent limping after a huge blister on my right heel burst the day before, I was shattered and simply wanted to rest my head and escape the cold darkness.
