North Americans rarely associate beer and religion, but for centuries, monastic orders like the Augustinians preserved the ancient art of beer making. The monks were craft brewers in the literal sense: they relied on scientific principles, and paid strict attention to quality. Some of Europe's finest beers have their origins in monasteries.

The Augustiner monastery was founded in 1605 by Wolf Dietrich, Salzburg's prince and archbishop. Dietrich was, to say the least, a larger-than-life character. Like a true prince of the Holy Roman Empire, he ruled the city with an iron hand, and spent lavishly on the arts. And he didn't let his religious vows get in the way of earthly pleasure. He had 15 children by his longtime mistress, Salome Alt, and built the lavish Mirabell Palace and Gardens in her honor.

In 1835, the emperor handed the monastery over to the Benedictine order, who decided to cash in by inviting the public to drink their beer. The residents of Salzburg have flocked there ever since.

I began my own pilgrimage to Augustiner Bräu along a footpath on the Salzach River's east bank. The walk proved longer than I'd expected; before long, I started questioning my navigation skills. Eventually, I encountered smiling people walking toward me, some more steadily than others. At the Riverside Café, I turned away from the Salzach and walked toward the monastery.

Although I've drunk beer in plenty of out-of-the-way places, I did a double take when I stepped inside. Had someone transported me back to my parish hall in New Jersey? And why was it was 1962 again? It was like The Wizard of Oz, only in reverse.

A few moments later, the sights and sounds brought me back to earth...or, more precisely, the heart of Europe. The conversations around me were in German; the air was filled with the aroma of sausages, soups, and other food sold at a row of stalls.

I made my way inside the beer hall, which seats more than a thousand. It had a traditional European atmosphere, but none of the honky-tonk of a tourist trap. No brass bands, just a loud, steady buzz of conversation.

Virtually all the patrons were from town; they ranged from teenagers in baseball caps (16-year-olds can drink in Austria) to long-retired gents. All were hearty drinkers, but they seemed to know their limit.

Although waiters roamed the hall, I followed the lead of the regulars: I headed outside; picked out a ceramic mug called a krug; bought a ticket from the cashier; and turned in both mug and ticket at a pouring station, where fresh, unfiltered lager was drawn from a wooden barrel. When it came time for a refill, I made another trip outside, rinsed my mug at the water fountain, and started the process again. 

Augustiner Bräu was offering two beer selections: a Märzen, an amber-colored lager; and, because it was Lent, a stronger brew called Fastenbier, which cost a few schillings more. For a city as expensive as Salzburg, the beer was quite cheap: about $2.50 a half-liter.

The party was still going strong when I headed back to my hotel. Though it was late, a surprising number of people were still out, strolling along the river and buying sausages from snack stands. The temperature had dropped below freezing, but the sky was clear and the air was fresh. In the distance, floodlights bathed the city's historic buildings and the fortress overlooking downtown. It was Salzburg's way of inviting me to come back.

Augustiner Bräu is located at Augustinerstrasse 4; the telephone number is 0662 43 12 46. In addition to the indoor beer hall, there's a 1,600-seat beer garden, open much of the year. From the train station, the monastery about a 20-minute walk; you also can get there by city bus. If you're staying in Munich, consider a day trip to Salzburg. It's a two-hour journey by train, and German railpasses are honored both ways.

This article originally appeared on Suite101.com in May 2001.