NOVALESA, Italy — In the solemn cloisters of a crumbling 8th century monastery, church bells shatter the crisp Alpine air and call the hooded monks in their flowing black habits to prayer. A half-hour and hundreds of years up the mountain, cow bells herald the exploits of snowboarding acrobats.

The Olympics are a world apart from austere monastic ways, but the spirit is alive even here.

"I like freestyle skiing," enthuses Brother Giuseppe. "It's spectacular!"

Nestled amid snow-covered farmland and embraced by the majesty of the Italian Alps, Novalesa Abbey seems lost in time and haunted by history.

Charlemagne stayed here before attacking the Lombards. The abbey was once an important stopping point for pilgrims crossing the Alps from France on their way to Rome. Today, the monks occupy themselves restoring priceless medieval codices handwritten on parchment.

When a reporter called to let the monks know he was running late, the reply was: "Don't worry. Here, time doesn't matter."

For the six Benedictine monks living permanently at Novalesa, however, the Olympics do matter.

While they may not be glued to their one TV or have the firmest grasp of Olympic history — "Is Stefania Belmondo competing?" Giuseppe asks of the retired gold medalist cross-country skier — they have taken a keen spiritual interest in the games.

"The Olympics are a cause for joy because of the reunion of people from all different nations. This is important for peace," says Brother Daniele, 65, who is in charge of restoring ancient manuscripts in the monastic library. "We look very positively on the Olympics."

More than winners or losers, the monks appear concerned about stories of suffering.

Brother Daniele was moved by the struggle of Zhang Dan, the Chinese skater who fell in a split during the figure skating pairs final, then went on to skate through pain to win the silver medal.

Brother Paolo's thoughts are with American skiing star Lindsey Kildow, who had a spectacular crash in a practice run but came back two days later to compete in the women's downhill.

"The American woman, the skier who fell, she was in terrible pain," he says, wincing.

While the monks don't pray for individual athletes or teams, they do pray for a peaceful Olympics and harmony between nations. They even lobby God to keep athletes from the temptation of doping.

"They shouldn't be putting that sort of thing in their bodies," Paolo said.

If the monks don't watch the Olympics, it's partly because they follow a rigid schedule.

The day starts at 5:30 a.m. with a reading of psalms. Then it's breakfast; morning prayers; mass; personal prayers; three hours of work; noon prayers; lunch; rest; afternoon prayers; two hours of work; vespers; personal prayers; dinner; after-dinner prayers; and bedtime.

Talking is not allowed during lunch and the food is frugal: couscous with peas, a meager slice of fish, fresh fruit. Throughout the meal, a taped recording echoes through the refectory, recounting tales of people who have been freed from diabolical possession.

"The exorcism taught her how to fight off Satan," intones a woman's voice, narrating stories of triumph over the devil. "Now my wife has reclaimed the joy of living after 15 years of suffering."

As he walks past the fruit orchard and a Romanesque chapel with magnificent frescoes, Brother Giuseppe explains his belief in the reality of the devil.

"This battle is never-ending," he says. "A great deal of my life is concerned with fighting temptation, fighting against the devil."

Even monks aren't immune to a bit of partisan cheering, however.

Asked if he feels joy when an Italian wins a medal, Paolo — who used to cry as a child whenever his favorite soccer team lost — smiles shyly and confesses: "Just a little."