I am not a religious person. I consider the existence of god with an agnostic shrug and struggle to understand the conservatism of my church-going acquaintances. Yet on a warm evening in late June, I stood in the mountainous Le Marche region of Italy, knocking on a Benedictine Monastery door.
“Are you sure they know…
Jason*, our Hugh-Grant-lookalike Airbnb host, was prone to wild sporadic fits of weeping. It was the kind of animal uncontrollable wailing that you often hear in new wave Indie films or in a final year art student’s all-immersive video installation piece.
Raw, carnal and generally pretty distressing.
We would find out later why. And the…