Six of us—locked into a small, sweltering room. We’d done interviews in the convent refectory all day, first Bob, then I. Some of the walls were swaddled with blankets, as was the floor. Bright lights had been burning and the room had heated steadily. It was past 8 p.m. by the time we finished and the crew began to break down equipment.

Someone had closed the iron door and we were now locked in.

This hotel, a former monastery originally carved into the mountain in the 16th century, is a warren of rock tunnels and staircases among public rooms and halls. The clean, newly plastered surfaces are a stark contrast against the ancient rough stone that is visible and usable by guests. With a flashlight, the number of nooks and crannies and almost-hidden accessways begging for exploration must be endless. Lucky for us, one of these stone backways led off a tiny nook in the side of the refectory. Up, down, and around a few corners, heads bent, and we came into the yellow light and fresh air of a tiled hall.

Part one of this story. — Next installment