Meelendra S.
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I arrived at this monastery on a capricious, almost impulsive whim, one of those serendipitous detours that travel, in its kindness, occasionally bestows. Mercifully accessible by a brief Uber ride, it unfolds as a sanctuary of calm, tranquil, contemplative, and redolent with quiet fragments of history embedded in stone and silence alike.
I would urge any visitor to linger in the quadrangle, to surrender a few unhurried moments to the blooming flowers and the crisp, clarifying air. From this elevated perch, the city reveals itself below in a pleasing geometry, its contours and character laid out like a carefully drawn map, an urbanscape best appreciated from a respectful distance.
Adding to the monastery’s quiet grandeur is its most unexpected congregation, a stately assembly of large, majestic vultures, solemnly perched along the hill, surveying the world with an ancient patience that predates us all.
A word to the wise traveler, however, resist the temptation to hike down the mountain road, however seductive the greenery and the promise of scenic adventure may appear. Local counsel, firm, unanimous, and well intentioned, warns against it, citing safety concerns in the lower reaches of the hill. I, emboldened by curiosity and perhaps mild folly, attempted it nonetheless, only to be courteously intercepted by remarkably friendly officers who advised me, with admirable civility, to abandon the solitary descent.
This minor detour, far from marring the experience, merely added another anecdote to the traveler’s ledger, one more reminder that journeys are shaped as much by restraint as by daring. Take it not as a cautionary tale, but as yet another texture in the rich fabric of travels.
