I did a stint at an old monastery in Estonia that was converted into a sort of hostel for international programmers. I was assigned a dorm where I spent much of my time wearing simple muted clothes, quietly writing code on an old computer with an IBM mechanical keyboard, just like all the other programmers.
When we were not writing code, we did chores around the monastery, usually I was sweeping the cobblestones or fetching supplies from the small town near by.
Some took to more technical chores such as managing the local area network of the monastery; there was no internet access but computers at the monastery could still communicate with each other locally.
Most days we would start off by listening to sermons from wise old programmers in the grand hall. The past Christian iconography had been taken down. The simple stone architecture that remained with its thick pillars holding up soaring ceilings far above our heads encouraged pure creative thought.
We did not sully our thoughts with pointless conversations, a brief nod while passing another programmer in the halls was enough social interaction for the day. Anything else could be taken online to the monastery’s IRC channels.
The best part was the libraries. Books upon books about programming that you’ve never heard of or even seen, that were never sold commercially. Binders filled with notes from ancient programmers printed on pages now yellowing with the passage of time. All manners of topics and languages were available here. Floppy disks with ancient programs, old punch cards, vintage machines and peripherals. Secrets that you could not learn anywhere else.
Maybe some day I’ll return and spend my days pontificating over a new generation.