Faceless Crowds

When you're backpacking, you soon find yourself bumping into the same people over and over again. It IS a small island and backpackers tend to tread similar paths. I knew it was only a matter of time before I'd be recognized by someone whose name I'd forgotten. It seems yesterday was that time. A very cheery Scottish lass walked up to me in the hostel asking me how my time in Dunedin had been. I completely blanked. She did look familiar but I hadn't a clue where we'd met. I appologised profusely but she muttered: "It's OK, you were far more interested in that French lad back then anyway." Now that comment totally fazed me. Which French guy?!? When?!? And then... in walks Monsieur Paris and everything clicked.

"Ah voila ma petite Belge, comment ca va?!"

*groan*

I think I finally understand why people take notes of names, faces, facts and characteristics of the people they encounter. Although there is something to be said for forgetting certain encounters...

Anyway, this reminds me of a particularly funny incident last week that clearly shows that while we may all be united under the European flag and are more alike to each other than we are to the rest of the world, we are still inherently different and each european nationality has its own brilliant little quirks. We're in the hostel kitchen when some of the english people walk in trying to rouse everyone to go to the pub for a few drinks: "Common guys, it's happy hour, time for drinks. How bout you Monsieur Paris, are you game?!?!" To which Mr.Paris replies: "Ze French zey eat first and zen zey drink". Everyone burst out laughing and the collective decided it would indeed be wiser to eat first. So we all start cooking. I make a vegetarian pasta, the Swedish girls make toast with kippers, the Brits stick to bangers and mash, the American pours himself a glass of coke to accompany his plate of chips and Mr.Paris... well, he starts kneeding the dough for his bread, has a steak on the fire and a cake in the oven for desert. QED.