While attending the Franciscan University of Steubenville, I had the privilege of spending an entire semester studying and traveling in Europe. The spring of 1992 was the second semester of the inaugural year of the study-abroad program based in Gaming, Austria, at a thirteenth century Carthusian monastery in the foothills of the Austrian Alps. It was an unforgettable four months.
You can view the photos I took during the semester by clicking on the image below.

The Kartause in Gaming, Austria: the monastery where we lived, studied and prayed
At the end of the semester, I made this entry in my journal:

Thursday, April 30th, 1992
There are only dim echoes in the Kartause today.
The rain lands gently
upon thirsty buds,
while the whole house sleeps
after a busy semester of life with family.
Many brothers and sisters left this morning;
“goodbye,” we said,
like we’d say any weekend,
conditioned for their prompt return.
But our time in Gaming is finished now.
They return to their homes and their lives —
many we may see again,
but never again will we walk the same paths
so closely and for so long…
It gives me a deeper hunger for heaven;
after all, this is a foretaste and a portion
of the family we will meet there…
My brothers and sisters:
we whistled a tune together while we we here,
a beautiful tune.
I want to whistle it often
so that I may always remember.
But I know that Brother Time has his ways —
and a day will come when I whistle that tune no more.
I will remember its beauty,
but it will be impossible to return to whistling it.
I must wait for heaven to whistle it again.
It is a song we whistled and sang:
We sang it at the noon hour,
when the bells rejoiced before the breaking of the bread.
We sang it in the evening,
when we joined together to adore our Eucharistic Lord.
We sang it as we traveled to Rome and Assisi,
in the churches and especially on the castle-crowned mountain in Assisi,
where the fire sparked joyfully before our song.
We sang it in our daily activities,
our daily drawing together —
our daily growth.
The song we sang may never again touch our lips in this world,
but it will be forever engraved on our hearts:
the song of our life in the Kartause.
Bless the Lord for the song that he gave us.