We took the short drive to the monastery, turned
down their tree lined
lane, parked the car and walked up to the people sized door just to
the left
of the door for giants or something. Maybe at one time they used to
drive
horse drawn carts full of barley and hops through it. We knocked and
were
admitted to an office by a monk who, guess what, didn't speak any English.
None the less, we made him understand that we wanted to tour the brewery.
The following should be sung to the tune of
Little Feat's "Fat Man in
the Bathtub."
Zeke, Bob and Tony got down on their hands
and knees
They said, "Hey Father, let us check your
brew-ry, OK"
He said, "No, no, not today,
come back Monday, come back Tuesday,
and then I may."
Apologies to Lowell George. Anyway he might
have said that, since our
French was practically nonexistent, we had no idea what he actually
said,
but he as very nice as he gave us each a beer and ushered us to the
door.
Tony would not give up. Just as we were walking
from the office, a car
pulled into a parking lot for employees and a guy got out. Waving to
him,
Tony said, "C'mon" to us and walked over to the guy. Of course the
language
hurdle appeared, but we were able to make him understand that we were
brewers (ok, homebrewers) and wanted to tour the brewery. He said,
"Ah, oui"
and motioned for us to follow him. I was amazed, but thankful for Tony's
persistence.
He took us into the brewery and gave us the
French speaking tour. We
couldn't understand much but we had a general idea of the brewery operation
and we followed him past the mash tuns and such, taking pictures. He
was
gesturing with his hand down to the top of a copper tun stopping just
short.
He was trying to explain something to Tony. I had no idea what he was
talking about, something about the temperature maybe? So I touched
the top
of the tun, felt nothing unusual, took my hand off just as Tony got
what the
guy was trying to tell us. Don't touch the copper, it was. Sheesh,
if he
hadn't kept gesturing toward it with his hand I would have never thought
of
touching it. I guess that's how wars start because of language
barriers.
The acid from your hands eats the raw copper, so they would have to
clean
the vessel after our visit.
The fellow showed us all he could think of.
We tried asking him
questions, but of course he couldn't leap the language hurdle any better
than we. So we left the brewery. He did tell us to walk around the
grounds,
which we did seeing all but the cloister. The environment of the monastery
was peaceful, relaxing, beautiful. A nice place to live if you can
get past
no chicks, and all that praying. We decided not to join, even with
all the
beer.
The monastery is in the province of Namur,
not Luxembourg, as
previously reported, but we drove to Luxembourg province now to the
village
of Champlon, to check into another hostel before going to La Chouffe.
When
we arrived it was 2:15PM or 14:15 over there and check in wasn't until
17:00, so we drove to Achouffe for something to eat and, what else,
a beer.
The Trappist Ales from Rochefort are generally
not that visible in
America. I've never run into them, although I wasn't really looking.
Others
like Chimay are hyped a lot, but if you can get one, try the Rochefort,
they
really are very good.
Looks like I'll have to do La Chouffe next time.
Pictures - Inside Rochefort, and out.