Les Amis de l’Abbaye de Flaran
The theme of my Christmas Calendar Countdown this year is “Making Friends and Maintaining Friendships.”
Yesterday, I was at a meeting of the board of the Amis de l’Abbaye de Flaran (Friends of the Abbey of Flaran.) Driving home, the road leading past the ancient stone walls, mottled with moss and lichen, of weathered farmhouses with terracotta roofs glowing softly in the afternoon sun, I thought about what it means to be a friend of an abbey. Not just any old abbey, but the Cistercian Abbey of Flaran – founded in 1151, it is one of the best-preserved abbeys in the Gascony – in the context of making friends and maintaining friendships.
My friendship with the Abbey already goes back several years, long before I became a member of the board of Les Amis de Flaran. Maintaining this friendship has not been too challenging, as I am a fervent supporter of the classical concerts that Les Amis organises 4 times a year. I have also attended a couple of fascinating conferences there over the years.
As the abbey is about an hour’s drive from my little farm, my Camino de Santiago Walking and Writing retreat guests do not walk past the abbey during the retreat. It’s well worth a visit though, so if you rent a car at Toulouse airport, it’s a great place to stop for lunch on your way here; at the Auberge de Flaran restaurant, just next to the abbey.
My friendship with Flaran is not just about being a member of the association, Les Amis de Flaran, as you will discover if you read the next few paragraphs.
An Unconventional Friendship
It’s not every day you make friends with an opinionated abbey. But then again, the Abbey of Flaran in Gascony isn’t just any abbey. This 12th-century marvel isn’t content with merely standing stoic in its golden-stoned glory. No, Flaran continues to whisper long-forgotten secrets to anyone within hearing distance, hums along with its concerts, and, if you’re really paying attention, might just sass you over your far-from-impeccable taste in music, making you feel both reverent and oddly rebellious at the same time. And that’s exactly how it stole my heart: when Flaran hosts a concert—it’s simultaneously a royal gathering and an intimate soirée.
Our friendship began years ago, on a still-warm, languid autumn afternoon, when I attended one of its classical concerts. I’d expected an outstanding performance—something about Rachmaninoff and the enchanting setting can do that to a person. What I hadn’t expected was that Flaran wasn’t just hosting a concert; it was alive with the kind of energy that made the music feel less like sound and more like a well-kept secret being shared.
That particular afternoon, a promising young prodigy with more ambition than finesse, was deep into a Rachmaninoff prelude (G minor.) His fingers danced across the keys with the determination of a sprinter but the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. As the notes cascaded down the nave—some elegantly, others like a toddler tumbling down a hillside—I could have sworn I felt the air around me… shift. A raised eyebrow in the echoes, an impatient frown in the acoustics.
I leaned in, half-joking, and whispered to no one in particular, “Alright, alright, not every note has to be a life-or-death decision.”
“You’ve noticed?” came the reply, soft, resonant, deep and ancient.
I blinked, and glanced around. Full pews, hushed audience. Nothing but the music rising to the vaulted ceiling. I shook it off, convincing myself it was my imagination, tried to concentrate. Then, a particularly flamboyant chord sequence hit, and I swear the Abbey sighed.
“Now he’s just showing off,” Flaran said, voice low and wry, like an old friend rolling their eyes at a bad punchline.
I almost choked on my surprise. “Excuse me?” I whispered.
“The pianist,” Flaran rumbled. “Technically flawless, emotionally constipated. It’s like watching someone try to flirt in a language they can barely speak.”
I bit my lip to suppress a laugh. “You have outrageous opinions.”
“I’ve hosted pianists, young and old, playing Bach. Beethoven. Mozart. A pianist should play to seduce the keys, not strangle them.”
“Bit harsh,” I whispered, though I agreed. “He’s young. Give him time.”
Flaran paused, the silence almost as heavy as its stone columns. “Talent doesn’t come with time. I suppose he’ll either figure it out – or he won’t.”
The prelude stumbled to a close, the pianist bowing with a grin that suggested he thought he’d nailed it. The applause was muted, the audience murmured its discontent.
“Usually these concerts are excellent. You’ll just have to come back,” Flaran said.
“I will. You’re the most unconventional host I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.”
“Certainly the most discerning,” Flaran replied, with a chuckle.
Our friendship matured with each passing concert as we assessed performers, admired the acoustics, and yes, occasionally cast judgment on the audience (you’d be amazed at how judgmental a 12th-century abbey can be about someone unwrapping cough drops mid-sonata). Flaran’s wit could be sharper than a violin’s pizzicato, but beneath the irony lay a deep reverence for the art it hosted.
Our connection isn’t just about sound, it isn’t just about music; it is about the shared experience of something transcendent, something that can momentarily dissolve the boundaries between us.
Flaran is more than a glorious setting – it is a sanctuary for my soul. Its quiet wisdom wraps around me like the embrace of an old friend. It taught me that even the most formal of spaces can reflect your awe, resonate with your laughter, and light up as you celebrate life’s small but intense joys—like the beauty of the perfect final note.
Solid Foundations
The unconventional friendship between me and the Abbey of Flaran might seem like a whimsical tale, but beneath its humour and irresistible charm lies a deeper truth about what makes any relationship stand the test of time.
Accepting Each Other as We Are
Flaran is unapologetically itself: a 12th-century badass abbey with a faiblesse for grandeur and the occasional sarcastic comment. And I would never expect it to be anything else. Similarly, I suspect Flaran accepts me, flaws and all, as someone who shows up with opinions about pianists and an occasional tendency to fidget during long sonatas. This acceptance is the foundation of our connection. A true friendship doesn’t demand perfection; it thrives on embracing the quirks that make each of us unique—whether we’re human or an ancient architectural wonder.
Mutual Interests Create Lasting Bonds
At the heart of our relationship is a shared love for music—its power to transform, transport, and occasionally terrify (looking at you, avant-garde composers). It’s this shared passion that first drew us together and continues to unite us. The concerts we experience together are more than just events; they’re friendship-sustaining rituals, moments of connection that reinforce our bond. Like any friendship, a mutual interest provides the fuel for countless conversations, shared experiences, and the sense of being understood without having to put what you feel into words.
Regular Contact Makes All the Difference
The Abbey of Flaran might have a solid heart of stone, but our friendship flourishes because I make the effort to visit, concert after concert, year after year. Friendships need tending; without regular contact, even the strongest connections can fade. Whether I’m attending a concert or simply wandering its quiet cloister, my time with Flaran is a reminder that showing up—literally and figuratively—is the simplest and most profound way to honour a friendship.
Humour is the Glue
Our conversations—Flaran’s dry wit and my occasional banter—add a lightness to our connection. Humour is the secret ingredient that turns shared moments into cherished memories. It’s a reminder that even the most ancient, solemn places (or people) can have a playful side, and that laughter is often the shortest distance between two souls.
I’ve grown as a person in Flaran’s presence, learning to listen more carefully, fully appreciate subtlety, and treasure the quiet power of a well-tuned piano note or a well-placed pause.
Friendship should be a celebration of the timeless principles of connection: acceptance, shared joy, consistency, humour, and growth. It may be unique and unconventional, but perhaps that’s what makes it real.
“A true friend unbosoms freely, advises justly, assists readily, adventures boldly, takes all patiently, defends courageously, and continues a friend unchangeably.”
— William Penn
Les Amis de Flaran
If you too would like to become a friend of the Abbey of Flaran, you are very welcome to join Les Amis de Flaran. The association, created in 1978, plays a crucial role in maintaining the abbey’s status as a vibrant cultural centre and ensuring that its rich heritage continues to be appreciated and explored by the public.
Membership comes with several benefits, including regular updates about the activities and events organised by the association, as well as free permanent access to the abbey for visits and exhibitions.
Membership fees are structured to suit different levels of support: €30 for individual members, €50 for couples, and €55 or more for benefactors.
The application process is straightforward. Just fill in the form on our website and send it along with a check made payable to “Amis de Flaran” to our treasurer, Olivier Hiernaux, at 5 rue Coiffard, 33200 Bordeaux. If you prefer, you can make a bank transfer to the association’s account and email us your details for a new membership registration.
I’m sure Flaran will be most grateful for your support.
The Abbey of Flaran is recognised as part of the “Grand Sites d’Occitanie” network and stands as a testament to the rich historical and cultural heritage of the region.
