Mass exodus
Jul. 20th, 2008 07:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blamebramptonAnother day with limited pilgrim interaction, in fact I saw only two groups all day. The first were unidentifiable as to nation, with only the backpacks to mark them as pilgrims, sitting in a cafe scarfing coffee and grinning. I guessed they had made the trek over from Randwick after a night of minimal sleep and then this morning's Mass. I walked on by and made my way to my friend deense's house for brunch, where everyone agreed that despite s few bad apples, the pilgrims were mostly the nicest group to descend on the city in our memories (certainly far superior to the Rugby World Cup crew from the other year).
deense's J (all good homes should have one) recounted tales of drunken American pilgrims, who have been ecstatic to discover a legal drinking age of 18 over here. Hot!Fake!Jesus was also a keen topic of discussion. We were undecided on the wisdom of choosing a hot fake!Jesus, as there was a certain frisson of excitement as he had his clothes torn away that I am not entirely sure was appropriate for the solemnity of the occasion.
A and D, who were both there, made a declaration that the French pilgrims were by far the worst. I would like to defend the French, if only to be less of a cultural cliche, but the pilgrims who have stood in front of the train doors preventing anyone getting off, and left their packs in the stairs, and prevented anyone getting in or out of cafes have mostly been French. This has doubtless been because the evil French Catholics have been billetted on my train route, while the nice ones are elsewhere (yes, I am applying the nun rule).
After a delicious brunch I trotted down the street in search of microfibre cloths for dusting, but was thwarted by the hippie homewares shop being shut. So I strolled back up the street and popped into the cake shop for a couple of pastries. There were two women who had been working on the catering at the WYD racecourse campout last night.
"No, they were all very good the ones that I saw," said the first to the second.
"Lots of snogging up my end," replied second. "It was like the Big Day Out, except all HAW."
"HAW?"
"Hands above waist."
Trying not to laugh out loud, I eavesdropped on the kids behind me, who were pilgrim-aged, but probably ferals (it's hard to tell today, since the pilgrims were all wearing many layers and had no showers last night). The oldest girl was telling the others that she had done "the sexing style quiz, I got motherly."
"Geez," her friend drawled, "what's motherly sex? 'You're not putting that there! Pick that up! What time do you call this?'"
Luckily the cake woman handed over my pain au chocolat at that point and I was able to flee.
I stumbled down the hill towards home, patting stray cats and limping a little from last night's misadventures, only to be accosted by two pilgrims in the square outside my home. One of them was wearing the tricolore. "Pardon," one asked. "What is the fastest way to Central?"
"Cross the road to the train station, there will be a train from platform one in five minutes."
"Thank you very much, you have all been so kind to us in this city."
"You are very welcome," I replied, happy that my last WYD event was finding the nice French.
Tomorrow morning the Pope goes home and the remaining pilgrims revert to being tourists.
deense's house for brunch, where everyone agreed that despite s few bad apples, the pilgrims were mostly the nicest group to descend on the city in our memories (certainly far superior to the Rugby World Cup crew from the other year).deense's J (all good homes should have one) recounted tales of drunken American pilgrims, who have been ecstatic to discover a legal drinking age of 18 over here. Hot!Fake!Jesus was also a keen topic of discussion. We were undecided on the wisdom of choosing a hot fake!Jesus, as there was a certain frisson of excitement as he had his clothes torn away that I am not entirely sure was appropriate for the solemnity of the occasion.A and D, who were both there, made a declaration that the French pilgrims were by far the worst. I would like to defend the French, if only to be less of a cultural cliche, but the pilgrims who have stood in front of the train doors preventing anyone getting off, and left their packs in the stairs, and prevented anyone getting in or out of cafes have mostly been French. This has doubtless been because the evil French Catholics have been billetted on my train route, while the nice ones are elsewhere (yes, I am applying the nun rule).
After a delicious brunch I trotted down the street in search of microfibre cloths for dusting, but was thwarted by the hippie homewares shop being shut. So I strolled back up the street and popped into the cake shop for a couple of pastries. There were two women who had been working on the catering at the WYD racecourse campout last night.
"No, they were all very good the ones that I saw," said the first to the second.
"Lots of snogging up my end," replied second. "It was like the Big Day Out, except all HAW."
"HAW?"
"Hands above waist."
Trying not to laugh out loud, I eavesdropped on the kids behind me, who were pilgrim-aged, but probably ferals (it's hard to tell today, since the pilgrims were all wearing many layers and had no showers last night). The oldest girl was telling the others that she had done "the sexing style quiz, I got motherly."
"Geez," her friend drawled, "what's motherly sex? 'You're not putting that there! Pick that up! What time do you call this?'"
Luckily the cake woman handed over my pain au chocolat at that point and I was able to flee.
I stumbled down the hill towards home, patting stray cats and limping a little from last night's misadventures, only to be accosted by two pilgrims in the square outside my home. One of them was wearing the tricolore. "Pardon," one asked. "What is the fastest way to Central?"
"Cross the road to the train station, there will be a train from platform one in five minutes."
"Thank you very much, you have all been so kind to us in this city."
"You are very welcome," I replied, happy that my last WYD event was finding the nice French.
Tomorrow morning the Pope goes home and the remaining pilgrims revert to being tourists.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-07-21 11:33 am (UTC)You know that the pilgrims have now spread out around the country in search of a holiday. Keep an eye out for those orange backpacks coming soon to a cathedral near you!
no subject
Date: 2008-07-21 11:55 am (UTC)No tourist ever goes south from Sydney. They will all head north to the sun and the reef, where their orange backpacks may even be ahead of fashion and certainly will not earn them derision. Bless 'em.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-21 02:44 pm (UTC)It's not true, you know. I met two who were headed your way. I told them the beaches on the Yarra were excellent.