Monday dawned, I don't remember if it was bright and clear. Dorothy's younger sister Leah spent the morning sampling my 127-track MP3 CD, while I fought to fit my pillow in the same duffel bag as my spiffy new Swiss Army sleeping bag. A random relative visited, and then we proceeded to the airport. And waited around for hours. And bought Starbucks. Mrs. Merrill finally decided it was time to send us to the gate. Dorothy and I both needed some gum, and I needed some light reading. My eye lighted on Harry Potter. For yes, up to then I had never read or watched any Harry Potter. Why not see what was so captivating about this series that made it nearly a cult, that fired Tolkienites with such disgust ("Rip-off!"), that sent wary Christians into hysterical cries of witches infiltrating our youth...Yes, I bought the first book. I can tell you now that it was depressingly ill written, whatever encouragement it may or may not offer young minds to investigate witchcraft. We spent ten hours on the plane, the meals were good, I watched Miss Congeniality 2, which at times was about as amusing as Harry Potter in a puerile sort of way. Neither Dorothy nor I slept at all during this, my first transatlantic flight. And yet it was Tuesday in Frankfurt before we knew what hit us.

Yes, Tuesday Morning is a sort of thrift shop, or something. I've never been inside it. The moment I disembarked, disorganization wafted it's acrid, exhausting odor towards my sensitivity. Mainly, this was brought on by the fact that someone was supposed to meet us at our gate. No one did, and furthermore, nobody can get up to the gate anymore without a ticket. So I determined we should claim our luggage without further ado. I got my first stamp in my passport. After loading our prodigious luggage on carts, Dorothy and I conferred on how to go about meeting a Juventutem rep. A later email had suggested the airport chapel. We therefore set our minds, hearts and faces towards the chapel. Or at least we tried to. It took a bit of going around in circles and asking for directions on the part of Dorothy. I left her at the bottom of the stairs, walked into the chapel just as Mass was concluding. In answer to my inquiries one young lady named Vanessa raised her hand, and so we were three woebegone and lost members of Juventutem instead of two. Around lunchtime Vanessa set out in search of Juventutem. Eventually she came back and guided us to the WYD welcome center. We were safe, for here the rest of Juventutem also congregated. At 3pm we were ushered onto a bus. However apparently two people were AWOL, so we had to wait an hour for them to turn up. And then we found out that the bus ride was five hours long. Ouch. I was a bit too tired to make an effort and socialize on the bus. When we stopped at a convenience store I had ice cream and chatted. A few of us were alerted to the fact that there was a small playground adjacent. So we scampered over there like so many five year olds and swung on the swings, just so we could say we had (well, that's what we SAID. I just wanted to swing.). Yes, I proudly declare that I have swung on a German swing. Which is more than most of YOU may say, isn't it! Ahem. Back to the bus, an uneventful ride ensued. I spotted a bunch of animals and called them sheep aloud, and whoever was in front of me told me they were goats. And then later I saw some big white things in the fields, and called them sheep also. On closer inspection they turned out to be plastic bags...I dunno, I must have had sheep on the brain. We arrived in Wigratzbad, at the FSSP's (Fraternal Society of St. Peter) seminary doors safely. It was cold and around 9pm. So they sent us up to the dinner tent that was mostly deserted. I'm still not sure why we were being yelled at in French through a PA. Having completed dinner we got back on the bus, which took us through Wigratzbad, down a hill to a hay-drying factory and an open field with an outhouse. Across the field we were permitted to drag our luggage to some tents. Ladies on the left, gentlemen on the right. It being dark, and wet, the weird smell did not encourage optimism. I�ll leave you with my primary stream of thought� Oh goody...there's no ground sheet. Good thing *I* brought a picnic blanket to keep me dry! Man it's cold...change...where's my flashlight, must go to bathroom...hey, my finger's bleeding...hey, your finger's bleeding, do you need a bandaid? ... Yes please! Thank you ever so much, stupid sharp edges on buses...man it's cooooold...oh glorious nylon sleeping bag, envelop me!

And it's Wednesday. Wow. Wednesday got here fast. Whatever sleep I had wasn't worth much, being continually interrupted. Remind me never to sleep flush up against the side of a tent. My pillow is so wet. Ew, and dirty. It. Is. SO. COLD!!! I am NOT moving. Never mind I haven't showered. Not moving not moving not moving... Luckily for all my acquaintance and I, brave adventurers of the female variety announced that the showers were quite hot. What a motivating admission! I collected my toiletry and made it to the shower in time for the hot water. Deo gratias! Without that shower, I would have never moved. Having organized my belongings for the day, I caught up my backpack and headed out to the open, non-segregated part of the field. French guys in blue over shirts guarded the way out. I didn't care much, even if I had wanted to make my way back to the seminary I couldn't. So we all waited (not certain for what) and socialized. Found out that someone's bottle of water had been frozen that morning. Charming state of affairs. I had to go back to the tent for something, and while I was there a French girl poked her head in, and stated that she was only there to see if there were any French stragglers; the "foreigners" were having breakfast later. Foreigners! We're in GERMANY, not home sweet France! That set us "foreigners" fuming. At last a priest appeared and led us in a morning prayer, and we were allowed to march up the hill to breakfast. Fun? I wasn't really in the mood for talking but people were friendly. The breakfast tent was well populated by the time we showed up, and it seemed to be mostly French. Grabbed a continental breakfast and a sack lunch, since we were going to Mass at a Benedictine abbey of Ottobeuren and would be gone all day. Gradually I realized that nearly all the people in the tent were not Juventutem, but Jugend 2000. It's very hard to communicate the confusion we went through, being shouted at in French, and English, instructions that sometimes were for us and sometimes weren�t. When the schedule for the day was posted up it was a little better Just show up for the bus... but even then... A bunch of us visited the Adoration Chapel and said a Rosary. Patrick brought out his frisbee while we were waiting for our bus, as the non-choir Anglophones were the last to leave. Since TAC's rec periods I've developed quite a hankering for Frisbee, so that was a welcome refreshment. For the bus ride Jerome, who thereafter disappeared for most of the 12-day program, entertained me. According to Gregory he cut a very intriguing figure, being found in the tent doing yoga in his kimono while smoking a pipe...yes, we love you, Jerome...
We had a picnic on the monastery grounds prior to Mass, which was celebrated by Bishop Rifan, of Compos, Brazil, the only Traditional diocese in the world. It was a stunning church in the busy baroque style. The Reverend Mister Deacon Joe Lee gave an amusing little conference to the Anglophones on "Why the Latin Mass". (Thomas succinctly retorted, "Why not?") I hope he doesn't hate me for calling it amusing. But who can resist "Qui est tua pater nunc?"! However, during Mass I crashed. Felt sick and dizzy and outrageously tired. Having the homily in foreign languages did not help the situation. I retreated to the last pew (the only empty one) and lay down, quite simply because I couldn't keep upright. I think I was actually asleep through part of the homily. I was awake for the English, but I only vaguely remember it was about prayer. Maybe I'm getting it confused with the Mass in Lindenberg. Anyway. More towards the Consecration I recovered. I am such a drama queen, I know. ("Oy, stick a plum in it!") The people in front of me laughed at me. Didn't care at that point though. Moving on...we basically were free to roam the streets until the buses got back. So I joined a group and we made a little tour of the area. Half the group split off at a beirgarten. When we got back Antony gave a lovely conference on Chastity ('What did we do to deserve this talk?!"). Our bus wasn't ready just yet so out came the frisbee and Germany's shortest Ultimate Frisbee match. Score:0-0. Oh well. We had free time the rest of the evening, in Wigratzbad. Except we couldn't go down to the tents, which were guarded by the much beloved French Jewish Masonic Nazis in blue shirts (well, who�d really WANT to go back to the tents?). Jugend 2000 apparently had some event involving the dedication of a cross, a procession, and a bishop. I pieced the story together and it seems that the parish priest who had invited Jugend 2000 had struck some sort of agreement with FSSP, for the FSSP group to show up and impress the bishop who was going to preside at Mass and Benediction, and a candlelight procession, and then bless the concrete cross outside. (Clarification on this subject welcome!) I was extremely tired and whatever I said while waiting for the procession was probably very annoying. Juventutem split off and processed down the hill and to bed ASAP.

Rumor had it that the girls were moving into the Pilgrimheim Thursday night, though the gentlemen who couldn't or wouldn't charm their way into the seminary would have to stay in the tents. However, I had slept solidly and told myself that even were this rumor to turn out as trustworthy as other authoritative statements (read: more likely false than true) I would survive. Casting that aside for the moment, we reenacted the previous morning's pre-breakfast-procession socializing and were led in prayer by non-clergy. I think the cassocks forgot we were down the hill or something. Juventutem breakfast and lunch were not the same as Jugend 2000's breakfast and lunch, which was very confusing. Happily, Jugend 2000 and their riotous charismatic music were leaving. Gregory, the UK leader-turned Anglophone go-between divided us into teams. I don't think we wanted to be in teams. Because we didn't stay in teams. So much for that. We went to Mass in a little Church named Maria Thann all by our "foreign" selves, because the French had a separate itinerary. No way Maria Thann could have held us all anyways. I was awake for the homily, which was in English and regarding Confession. After Mass Bishop Rifan had a conference. I loved it. The Bishop has a wonderful, precise way of teaching, and his subject, Faith, tied in perfectly with my TAC summer program discussions. Even referred to those AWFUL bees of Fabre's... Bubbling over with delight at the bishop, we proceeded onto a town on the banks of Lake Constance called Lindau for a picnic lunch and free time. Lunch was delightful, and my picnic blanket came in useful for neither the first nor the last time. It also came in exceedingly heavy. I had to drop it off back at the bus, and when I got back into town I couldn't find anyone I recognized. However, I had a nice walk, some gelato, and some quiet time on the edge of the lake. Which latter thing was a welcome change to French PA's early in the morning telling French stragglers to get their lazy selves out of bed�but you foreigners, it's not time for YOUR breakfast yet, so the Nazis will keep you down here! Yeah. Don't wake me up at six in the freezing morning if I don't have to be up for another hour and a half. I returned to the bus in time to rescue my pack before a bunch of French descended on the aforementioned bus and drove away. Then another bus came back, and more French got on that one. And I think the Brazilians got on a third, but I'm not sure. Maybe there were no Brazilians and it was more French. Whatever was happening, the Anglophones were once again last to leave. I didn't mind though. The conversation kept my spirits and eyelids up. Back at Wigratzbad I was told to bring my bags up to the Pilgrimheim. I am NEVER packing so much again. I may not have had access to a washing machine for 2 weeks solid, I may have used every article of clothing I brought, but I tell you, lugging my suitcase and sleeping bag and backpack up that hill unaided...never ever again. Then I had to drag it down two flights of stairs. S'all worth it, it's warm and dry in here... Hmm. Yeah. So we show up and find three big rooms with about 50 beds each and plenty of floor space besides. And a bunch of French girls and luggage already down there. Ok, that's cool; I can live with the French if they can live with me. One of us Anglo girls asked for help, and were told to leave our luggage and come back in an hour, while the French organizer lady Katrina sorted out the chaos. Now go be good girls and attend your conference. (Present tense emphatic imperative) Well what else could we do? To be honest I was at the conference, but was too exhausted to attend. Dorothy, Christine and I roamed a bit and then dropped into Pilgrimheim at the appointed time, and were promptly banished because Katrina wasn't there. So Doro suggested we go for drinks at the Wigratzbad pub. We recruited Breier to help us order, I think. Only Dorothy and Breier had drinks. Being the open minded, unprejudiced, adventurous sort, I tried two sips of Dorothy's lemon beer and once more decided that alcohol is Not My Thing. After much insistence Christine also tried, and promptly gagged. Apparently it was Not Her Thing, either. Jerome showed up with Lionel just as we were about to leave for dinner. Hadn't realized till then what a riot Lionel could be. Maaaan. Right before dinner we dropped in again. This time, we were told there was no room for foreigners. The French had packed it to capacity. There was a little storage room and the hallway we could possibly use, since there were only fifteen foreigners, as compared to a hundred and fifty French. Except, contrary to Katrina�s estimates, there weren't fifteen; there were fifty. The rooms weren't packed to capacity; they were sprawled all over. Foreigners and French should be kept separate, as they had different schedules and should not disturb one another (funny, hadn't noticed any such delicacy that morning!). After complaining all during dinner the Anglophone girls went on the warpath, recruiting FSSP Superior General Fr. Arnaud along the way. I'm not sure what office he filled with regards to Juventutem, Gregory just told us to pick on him. Katrina tried to force us into finding some other rooms. Amanda maintained that out of a sense of fairness, the French could move into the hallway and two rooms, and the foreigners could have one room. I was becoming hysterical with exhaustion and followed everybody around giggling uncontrollably, yet on the verge of tears. I HAD been looking forward to having somewhere to nap during free time. Katrina took us to the Adoration chapel, where there were rooms. The rooms were locked, but supposedly they'd be ready by the time we got back from Adoration that night. I was ready to settle for it, until I found out that a) the seminary would have to pay extra for those rooms to be cleaned, and b) there were no showers and c) we weren't allowed to use the toilets. ("You should be grateful you are getting rooms at all! And so much space, we do not have zis much space!") We'd have to walk up a slope to the Pilgrimheim and pick our way through prostrate slumbering French girls to the bathroom in the dark and bitter nights. After that I was all for storming the castle and just moving in. Fr. Arnaud discreetly slipped away during the altercations between Katrina and the Anglophones. We had to assemble on the buses before we thought a compromise had been attained, but once on the bus it was announced that Katrina had won. Ouch. The Anglophone bus was bitter against the French, at least until Justin got up and taught us the Green Rushes song. I was unconscious for a lot of Holy Hour. I would have been chagrined on account of this but I was too tired. At something like 11 we got back to Wigratzbad. Supposed to go get our luggage from the Pilgrimheim and move it to this other room by the krypta. Except the doors were locked and the French PA was issuing orders again. Oooo, that was frustrating. Fr. Arnaud came up to us and announced that he'd found us better rooms, with more showers, and various other amenities, separate from the French. Shocking. He disappeared with some vague indication that Katrina would tell us were to go. Three minutes later Gregory turns up, gets on his knees, begs our forgiveness, and tells us that we may, in fact, move in per the original plan (the deputation of French-speaking Anglo girls had to further negotiate with Katrina, who issued the stipulation that we not use the showers until the next morning. Which was odd, because before we got to bed the French had stopped using the showers...)! Knew those showers were too good to be true. Those among us who could understand French related that the displaced French girls were murmuring about pushy English malcontents. Which point of view amused me as I once again fell unconscious.

My shower at 5:30 in the morning turned cold on me. Oy vey. We had to get up somewhat earlier than the French to head out for Mass in Lindau. I'm afraid that the atmosphere without the constant demand for my energy, which state of affairs was usually provided by bus rides and church functions, ensured that I crash during both those. Yes, I felt dizzy again and retreated to the back of the church until the Eucharistic prayer. Right after Mass we piled on the bus again and headed to King Ludwig�s crazy castle, on which the Disney castle was based. Robert gave a conference on Hope meanwhile. We arrived safely at the town below the castle as we had hoped, and were supposed to wait for the Brazilian bus. So we picnicked meanwhile. Then we found out the Brazilians were an hour behind. That was then end of all our hopes for a organized tour of the castle. Many of us charged up the hill (Forty-five minute horse-drawn carriage ride, but we beat the horse by at least fifteen minutes.) At the top of the hill we found out that we needed A) tickets, which could only be purchased four hours in advance at the bottom of the hill or B) our guide. Allegedly, we had a tour guide. We waited for him, ambled about the outer courts and a parapet. A couple seminarians were presented with free tickets and used them. I went with Joe, James and Robert to the bridge and beyond. The way was steep, but the reward was gorgeous. At the climax of our...climb...we met a Jesus-lovin' Texan. We chatted gaily for a while, then I, being somewhat more conscious of the time, trooped back down on my own in order to be back as recommended at 3:30. And you know what, I was back at precisely 3:30:30. Congratulate me. However since most people were NOT punctual, I had time to buy a tourist-trap cuckoo clock and an ice cream bar, AND time to rub them in certain cassocked persons' faces. Sadly, I lost the cuckoo clock at some point between Friday and Sunday. Once we deciphered which bus was ours, we departed for another church, which I liked less than the others because of the touristy atmosphere. Also, I was rather sick of baroque. Down the hill was a pub. I didn't drink of course, but Dorothy got a very odd picture of me surrounded by beer... The Spaniards were with us, on the bus and regaled us loudly with Spanish songs. People in the back struck up Irish songs, and it became an intensely entertaining sort of competition of who could be louder. The Spaniards fell asleep though, and the Irish ran out of songs. So we were quiet when it was announced we'd crossed the border into Austria. The bus pulled to a stop on a quiet street. You could glimpse Lake Constance through the trees. Beyond us the French and Brazilian buses were also parked. We disembarked gratefully, but no sooner were we off than Gregory turned up and said we had to get back on the bus and go back to Wigratzbad due to scheduling malfunctions. Quite before we'd gotten over the shock and even considered tramping back into the bus,(feeling rebellious after all the misinformation), the story changed and we were having a picnic down by the lake. Hardly had our squeeful cries died down when we were informed the lake was out of the occasion. We went to...I guess it was a park since there were benches and wastebaskets; it seemed like someone's yard though...and had dinner on the grass. It was dusky when Bishop Alencherry, from India, arrived to talk about rites and liturgies of the Church. My favorite concept he presented drew an analogy between the fact that there are a plurality of Gospels, and the fact that there are a variety of valid Liturgies. Each Gospel emphasizes a different aspect of Catholicism to a different group, and Liturgies can do the same, so we should not seek to annihilate other Liturgies but to accept and learn from them even if they don�t appeal to us as strongly. It's one true application of tolerance. Anyway, 'twas a brief bus ride hence to Wigratzbad; I was regaled with the Story of the Patient Mississippi Father. I don't know what I did to merit such an edifying tale. Oh well. We were late for Compline, and rumors of a bonfire ("It's impossible to get a fire permit in Bavaria." notwithstanding) were squelched immediately thereafter. It rained that night.

I had the beginnings of a cold. Apparently I looked so miserable Dorothy threatened to force coffee down my throat. I let her borrow my sweater so she would shut up. (kidding! kidding! About the shutting up, not the sweater.) I wasn't going to drink coffee, but hot water would have been spectacularly nice... Gregory introduced us to Louis, who was 18 and wanted to practice his English for a competition. Also he wanted to be an engineer. He had a blue shirt. And after my recent experiences with the French I didn't feel like being terribly friendly, but hey. I ask questions and he wades through answers, it's nothing I'm not used to, having helped taught siblings to read, and I'm stuck here at breakfast anyway. We got him to tell us what the French thought of the Spaniards and English. The Spaniards and French were considered quite showy, but the English were...not...not...not so..."Opulent?" Cue blank stares all around the table. I guess that wasn't such a brilliant adjective after all. Moving on. So what about Americans? Nothing. Didn't think anything about Americans. Gosh that was anticlimactic. Our table parted ways to get on the bus for Mass in Lindenberg. Once again, the homily in three languages was too much for me. I can't say I was unique in that respect, though. For once we came directly back to Wigratzbad and STAYED all day. We had a talk by Bishop Rifan on Confirmation, a pro-life talk by Swiss Catholic health insurance providers that was a mess of data in German or French, one by Robert on St. Edith Stein, and Fr. DeMallary had a seminar on religious art. That one, however, I missed on purpose. Because I was busy playing soccer with a bunch of Spaniards, French and Anglophones. Maria, Julie and I were the only girls. The guys played hard, and we had monstrous scores. This one French guy was a joy to watch (and more a pleasure to relieve from the ball). A French boy joined in the second half who was absolutely, stunningly aggressive. Not aggressive like me, who knocks people twice her size to the ground from sheer careless impact...oops. The Spaniards took great delight in Maria, who could actually understand them. Every time she made a save they took up their typical chant, "Maria! Maria! Maria!" (The Spaniards were generally considered to be adorably stark, raving mad. ) It was wonderful to play with so much talent, and maybe even more wonderful to get some real strenuous physical exertion after a week of sitting in planes, buses, and churches. With a nice shower to follow, it was worth missing the art class. Somehow though, I managed to look sufficiently pathetic at dinner...never mind. I was quite ready for bed, but Saturday night was Campfire night, minus the campfire. Each nationality or at least language group had to share some entertainment. We warmed up outside the tent with a few rounds of I Am Spartacus, which helped us realize how truly pitiful was our grasp of each other's names. Ahem. We sang the Green Rushes song (same concept as the Twelve Days of Christmas) on stage and were applauded off at number ten. The scouts did a skit,;the Germans poked fun at everybody (unfortunately I didn't hear a word of it); Bishop Rifan showed up with an accordion and played French songs; the Spaniards put Fr. Raoul in a cage on wheels, rolled him up to the stage while he tosses bananas at the audience. They also called up Maria to execute a dance. Bishop Rifan accompanied one of their songs too. The Africans did their own dance, but towards the end of that was when I had to walk out. French jubilation was too much for me. Yes, I'm pathetic. I went to bed early. I couldn't take anymore shouting, and particularly not shouting in French.

Sunday was supposed to be another slow day. We had Mass in the Wigratzbad parish church...which to be honest beats out even the Taj Mahoney for utterly flabbergasting design. Apparently its roof was supposed to symbolize the twelve tribes of Israel by resembling twelve tents. In all seriousness, it was regularly referred to as "The Teepee", "The Spaceship", and "Ikea". Ikea was only once I got inside though, having slightly more to do with the indoor materials and color scheme than the overall architecture. I honestly don't know what the real name of the church was. We had conferences on the grass, Charity by Edward, which turned into a seminar on fraternally correcting friends who were cohabitating, and Justin on Baptism. I was in line for confession for that one, so I only heard about half of it. I liked Confession though. Speaking of Confession, I think the priests were quite amused at all the Anglophones confessing impatience with the French. Nobody HATED the French, I myself decided the majority of the problem was there were so many of them, and they were slightly better organized. The two "Frogs" in our group, Lionel and Louis, were absolutely the sweetest, most hilarious people and everybody adored them. We didn't even hate the �Nazis�, who were pretty nearly as confused as we were about the whole affair. Still, most of them did have a superiority complex. Anyway. With a ratio of four French to every foreigner, we lived on in superficial discordance. At lunch a bus left for Weingard Abbey. I wasn't going to go, but Dorothy said there was a relic of the Precious Blood there...who could turn that down? It started raining on the way there. I think the bus was a little more than half French, so the French priests led us in mostly prayerful song. Before the relics seemed a good place to pray the Divine Mercy Chaplet, so I did. I hate organs now though. Every church we went to the organ was being played, half the time it was improvisation and had no melody. The inexperienced find it very hard to pray with chaos assaulting their ears. We probably spent close to an hour there, before I had a coughing fit and went outside. The Anglophones went to find a cafe in the town below. Personally, I had a lovely time and some delectable gelato. On the bus ride home, though, the French predictably broke into boisterous song. The whole way. It was a good thing I didn't have any duct tape with me...oi. At Wigratzbad many Anglophones headed over to the pub, Dorothy and I included. I was hyper. Uhoh. We walked inside to find the next room densely populated with French who were, what else, singing loudly. Good grief, didn't I just leave this party? Providence was merciful, however: they left almost immediately. So we had the pub all to our dozen or so English-speaking selves. It was a delightful situation; conversations theological, comical, intellectual and nonsensical were initiated, pursued and terminated in English. I was having a hard time sitting still. James got the proprietor to put on some true Bavarian music. Not long afterwards Clemente the French organizer came up and asked me to dance. I don't know what the dance was, but it was easy and I caught on fast (which means in essence that he was an excellent lead). I was rather dizzy at the end of it as he kept us going round in tight circles. Great fun though. I tried to play my Celtic CD, but once again Providence was looking out for me and the CD didn't work. This saved me from embarrassing myself beyond redemption. I think. Maybe it was too late by then. At any rate, I do believe I spent the most delightful two hours in Wigratzbad in that little pub on that rainy Sunday afternoon. We only left when it was time for the conference on Mother Teresa by Bishop Alencherry, who knew her personally. We were out on the patio, it was windy and cold and wet and there were the biggest slugs I've ever seen all over the grass. As his talk wrapped up the party of hikers who'd been gallivanting about the countryside the past five days arrived with much fanfare. On the one hand, it was nice to see the dozen Anglophones who'd gone on the hike were still alive, on the other, the meal tent grew exponentially noisier. I grabbed my dinner and went to bed in an awful mood. I got up again to pack, though, because the next morning we had to leave early. As in 4:15am. For an eight-hour bus ride.

Yes, at 4:15 Katrina tramped through our room and told us to get up. I was all ready and waiting by 5. The buses didn't come till 6. And we didn't manage to leave till quarter past 8. Not much happened on the bus ride in general, individually though I think a lot of people enjoyed themselves immensely. I know I did. It was nice not to be rushed around and be able to talk to people. Heh. Enjoy it while you can...our eight hours reduced to five, I think because we didn't take such long stops as the French had to, and because our bus driver quite literally raced to D�sseldorf. We turned up at the school where we were to be lodged. It started raining. The registration was at a church, St. Antonius, three blocks up the street. The bus driver smugly refused to drive us over there, so we had to run. And quite frankly, I was the only one who was even mildly prepared for rain, possessing a raincoat and a small umbrella. Only the raincoat was in the luggage compartment. The ironic end result was we showed up to St. Antonius cold and wet just as the rain stopped. Gregory eventually found out that since we were early, the registration people hadn't even set up yet. While waiting for them, he sent the girls inside to pray a Rosary, and led the guys back to the school to unload the bus come (more) hell or (more) high water. The somewhat bedraggled girls singing the Rosary in Latin was probably the prettiest thing I�ve ever witnessed. Luckily for everyone else, I myself was mute, my phantom cold having been aggravated into very noticeable reality by the weather. My voice was terrible for days. The guys got back after what seemed an interminable period. Gregory and Kristin and Tara and David got their respective countrymen registered, and brought back backpacks full of WYD goodies. The WYD events booklet was very popular, inviting us to odd concerts, mainly. Mostly, though, we were just in a hurry to change out of our wet clothes, have dinner and show up for Mass. Ironically, out of the maybe two times I went to Mass in jeans, the Feast of the Assumption was one of them. I don't remember anything about the Mass. I don't really remember anything about anything after I climbed up those four flights of stairs with Joe helping me carry my prodigious luggage. I think I had a hot chocolate somewhere...heard Juventutem was having trouble getting whomever was in charge of deciding who slept in what classroom (it was primarily by nationality) to segregate the sexes in all cases. Next day Gregory said he'd got it worked out, so props to him. But yeah. I was so gone.

After dropping into bed like a boiled, refrigerated frog, I slept solidly for seven hours. Which I believe was a record for the trip. At 6:15 a German guy barged in and told us to get up. Later I heard he'd walked in on girls dressing in the next room. I believe they kicked him out ungraciously. A woman awaked the guys. I think there was enough outrage over this, because later a sign was posted indicating there would be no more wake-up calls unless specifically requested. Happily, most of us Juventutem people realized we were on pilgrimage. Because the next thing I heard, the water in the building didn't work while the water in the communal showers was running. There were already only two toilets and a sink to two floors of girls (same for the guys). Outside there were about twenty adjacent to the showers. Exclaim in disbelief, realize we're on pilgrimage, laugh it off, cope, move on, rinse, and repeat. Then we found out the school was locked from 8:30 to 8:30, for security reasons. There went all our glorious dreams of a laundromat... good times people. Good times. Apparently there was a Low Mass scheduled (scheduled on this trip was synonymous with proposed and possible and sometimes unlikely) in St. Antonius (our home base in D�sseldorf) at I don't remember, 8:30 I think. So I walked over there with Amanda. I ended up walking in on the wrong side of the church, found a Low Mass concluding, and decided the next Low Mass was the right one. Except I didn't see anyone I recognized. Then this WYD guy turns up with a guitar, sings, and then reads from a WYD book. I was told later he was doing WYD Morning Prayer, and that some people had asked him to please stick a plum in it because there were two Low Masses going on. And he wouldn't. I felt quite lost and decided to go outside and look for someone who might know what was going on (an unjustifiable hope given our history, but.) I was stopped by a Nazi at the door, who insisted I did not really want to go outside, that I would much rather attend the Juventutem Mass which was going on at the side altar. So I went to check it out, and sure enough there were a few Juventutem people there. Except, they were at the Consecration, too. *Bangs head* So in effect I was in the same church with three different Masses, and didn't really assist at one. That was frustrating. But on to breakfast. Breakfast was slightly different from Wigratzbad's continental rolls-with-jam-and-coffee (or rolls with soft cheeses and unidentifiable foreign cold cuts [UFCcs]). The difference being there were a small variety of breads and yogurts. Still, for most of the rest of the week I ditched every Juventutem meal I could and bought something else. It was a failure on the part of my pilgrim's mindset. I am ashamed. Or not. The Anglophones had a great big meeting on the front steps of St. A's. We got on the train to the middle of town, visited a couple churches, said the Rosary before the Blessed Sacrament in Latin. Proceeded to a garden and lounged around an artificial pond with a seriously contorted statue while team leaders attempted to retrieve lunch. Only one returned victorious. It seemed that while there were ten thousand people waiting for their food, the caterers could only churn out a whopping two hundred and fifty meals per hour. Riiiiiight. We headed back into town, patronized the vendors who'd set up in front of St. A's. and picnicked merrily by a fountain across the street. I cannot lie: it was good to have rotisserie chicken again. Ah yes. On account of the lunch fiasco, the Higher Ups concluded it would be more reasonable to divide into groups (again), which would fend for them selves and just meet back for Juventutem events. Like Mass and Vespers. And FURTHERMORE, Gregory had some vague idea that the half dozen minors should stay with him. Immediately after that announcement we had free time, and minors could go with any adult... I went walking with Joe and Ryan and Dorothy looking for a mailbox during. That was...fun...haha. We met back by the fountain for a conference by Antony on Piety. I am now corroborated in my belief that Latin Massers should not consider themselves more pious than non-Latin Massers. However, it is possible that the Latin Mass itself is more pious than certain...other...Masses... We had a bit more free time after the conference before we had to meet up at St. A's for a "Spiritual concert". The concert was quite nice; they had a very talented choir. In fact the choir was so talented and professional, no audio recording was allowed during liturgy. It was also so professional it sang a 36minute Bach Gloria in true operatic style, and more than once had to be told to please stick a plum in it by the MCs. Showers are wonderful things. Even communal ones. And sleep is even better.

Actually made it to Mass this morning. Gregory true to his word split us into groups, and took the minors with his group. Or maybe his group was the minors and everybody else was tagging along. I dunno. Whatever. We went to St. Anna's to pray a rosary together. On the way a lady walked up to Gregory, saluted him with "Welcome to D�sseldorf!" and handed him a bag of candy. Sweet! St. Anna was a rather plain church, but it was peaceful unlike everywhere else. No organs, no crowds, no supercalifragilisticly enthused operatic choirs, just God and us. After Rosary we took the train downtown and wandered around "the most beautiful street in D�sseldorf". Ookay. It was well populated with such familiar names as Armani and Starbucks. We stopped at a park bench for about half an hour. Fr. Michael Lang spoke about the Oratory of St. Philip Neri in Canada, from whence he hailed. He also shared a few anecdotes about St. Philip. The more I hear about St. Philip the more intriguing he seems. What sort of priest asks the altar boys to tell him jokes in the sacristy so he won't go into ecstasy while celebrating Mass?! I am determined to read more about him. Be that as it may, we moved on in the general direction of lunch, stopping in at a random church that crossed our path. It was packed with people attending some indeterminate event. Whatever it was all about, it was noisy. We took advantage of the bathrooms (a scarcity no matter where you went!) and moved on to lunch. According to Gregory's schemes (for once), we beat the crowd and actually procured a Juventutem lunch, which I found impressively palatable. Unfortunately, we were still hungry afterwards and ate our Juventutem dinners, too. Oh no, now we�d have an excuse to go buy real food for dinner! O, the horror! Photographers found our lounging selves good enough to shoot. Some of us played cards or hackysack. Eventually we had to plod back to St. Anna's, to attend a Rosary with meditations by Cardinal Francis George. I heard the meditations weren't all that spectacular, but first hand information I have not, for I could not hear them. We were supposed to have Vespers with Cardinal Pell at 4, but then we found it was changed to 3. Actually, that was the originally scheduled time slot. Sometimes you'd swear someone was sadistically messing with us... So anyway, we had our Meet Cardinal George session in the parking lot and had to rush back down the street to St. Antonius. Being barely on time didn't cut it; Australian WYDers had taken all the seats. Oi. Pontifical Vespers seemed to have even more pomp and circumstance than Mass. I must confess I like the simpler version much more. I think most of us were tired of our talented choir and would have been more edified by just some Plain Chant. (I was under the impression the Tridentine rite mainly relied on chants and an occasional hymn for its music, but I may be very mistaken.) And what was with that...Litany of Loreto (?!) that went on for half an hour; every time you thought it was going to end your hopes were dashed. For at least half of it all they said was "Maaariiiiaaaa. Maaaaarriiiiiaaaaaa. Mmmmaaaaarriiiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa". Not saying Our Blessed Mother's name isn't a beautiful prayer, but geeez, annoy a saint into a temper, that song could! Still, the Psalms were comforting. We splintered off into groups again as Cardinal Pell came out for a photo op and graciously offered to answer any questions "that weren't too difficult". No takers. Everyone just wanted to cheer, receive his blessing, and take pictures. What a pity. I ended up with a group at the Mexican restaurant. Ryan and I harbored an obsessive craving for ice cream, mostly out of lack of something else to do and/or out of total exhaustion. Our plaintive expressions and not so subtle hints harassed Amanda, Joe and Gregory until they finally gave in. However, since none of us had any idea where to find an ice creamery after the fashion of Baskin Robbins, and since all the markets were closed, we ended up getting ice cream bars at a corner convenience stand. Darn, I had no more goals left in life...and if you know the feeling of being too exhausted to sleep, you'll know the state I was in. I bought some dinner and went to go eat by the fountain with a bunch of other Anglophones. Wasn't very sociable though. Still, real food was good, settled me down, time for bed.

Thursday was Cologne Day. We had to meet at St. A's around 7 and have breakfast, board the train to the central station, and get on another one to Cologne. At the Cologne station we had to wait a while for another train. The posters kept us amused. They included a: Scriptural exhortation to adore God and Him alone, courtesy of some evangelical group; Pope Benedict's face; and a stark "Abstinence has a high failure rate.� Which statement, besides being absurd, was quite demoralizing. Gregory took a knife to it and was promptly arrested by a rookie officer, who I guess was told or realized that since Gregory wasn't German there was hardly any point in pursuing the matter. We departed. We arrived. We walked through the station, looked up though the window before going underground and...

Oh. My. Gosh.

I have never, EVER seen such a drop-dead-gorgeous, such a stunning, such an uplifting building as the Cologne Cathedral. Magnificently edifying architecture. All I could do was stare until the crowd pushed me on. My jaw would have dropped to the floor, but that being anatomically impossible... wow wow wow.

Mass was in another rather plain church, too small to hold us all, with many booths outside and some considerable construction next door. At the beginning of the homily we were informed that those who did not understand English or German could please take advantage of the homily that was printed in English on brown paper and distributed in the pews. I wasn't sure whether to feel snubbed or relieved. Saved me the trouble of having to listen to the homily! After Mass we had Confessions. Then we found out that we had no clue where the Juventutem meal stations in Cologne were located. Gregory declared it a "lunch on your own" situation. I somehow found myself in a group of ten led by an Institute of Christ the King priest, Fr. Buchholz, who is German but lives in...Chicago, I think. He was wonderful fun. He took us on the train back to the middle of town. We tried to go into the church just outside the station, but they had a Mass or something going on, so we went on to another of his favorite churches, St. George. I remember it chiefly for its beautiful Pieta and for its octagonal nave with the soaring ceiling. We made a little visit to the Blessed Sacrament. Outside we found a meal station, with soup. I felt like a typical pilgrim having a bowl of soup on the ground outside a church. haha, 'twas wonderful. On the way back we stopped at that church again. I found out what was so special about it: we went into the krypta and visited the tomb of St. Albertus Magnus! We were late for Vespers on account of that stop but I feel it was quite worth it. That afternoon the Pope was coming in by boat. As soon as Vespers was over a large party of Anglophones headed for the square outside the cathedral. We found space to breathe by the water tower. I decided to see what would happen if I sat down. Yes, I was trampled. One guy tried to walk quite through me, and it wasn't till several attempts had been thwarted that he looked down and apologized. I told him not to worry; it was my own stupid fault. Heh. In spite of it being standing room only, it was an excellent location for glimpsing the Pope. However, the Higher Ups decided we should go down to the Rhine and look for a place to watch the boat come in. Why they decided to do that after spurning that suggestion in the first place they may email me and explain if they can. We headed through a bunch of tunnels reminiscent of the Mines of Moria. After some probing, some people got in line for the security tent so they could go down closer,. Other, more sybaritic people (myself included) realized the whole thing was useless and bought out a gelato vendor's wares. Soon thereafter most everybody else gave up on the river and either headed back to the square or to the train station. I went with the train station people, because I hate crowds. There were crowds at the train station too. As our train pulled up already half-full, Juventutem joined the crush. But people were being pushed off the train, and if you weren't emphatically enthusiastic (i.e., desperate to die of heat exhaustion), you wouldn't get on at all. Again, I was one of the latter group. Robert also managed to not get on that train. Being clueless, I let him figure out when our next train would arrive. It turned out the train he picked took the LONG way around. This was a good thing: there was comparatively nobody on with us. In D�sseldorf I decided the trains had it in for us. First, we didn�t know which one to take. Robert finally decided it was 74. A 74 turned up. But then Robert had some misgivings, and by the time he'd reassured himself, it was pulling out. Sigh. Okay. NEXT 74. Made it on. Yay, here we go back to home base...what was THAT?! Yes, the train BROKE at the next station. Off we go. Waited forever for the NEXT 74 to show up, which did take us back to Barbarossaplatz and St. A's. St. A's was deserted though. I ambled back to the school intent upon a shower before heading out again for dinner and drinks. I got to the school just after 8; the school opens at 8:30. Okay, I'll wait. 8:30. No sign of life. 8:45. Nobody. Maybe they're all at the Jim Caviezel conference in Cologne. Who knows? 9:00. I gave up reluctantly on my shower in favor of finding food and more people than the few who were hanging outside, waiting like me. I quickly found Julie, Lionel and Lloyd willing to patronize the Mexican restaurant. Lionel had us in hysterics the whole time, which made up for the fact that my pina colada was a nasty waste of 7 euro. A lesbian couple crossed the street to right behind me, gave each other a resounding smack on the mouth, and then strolled back to the bar, giggling. I guess they were making a statement in the face of our WYD backpacks. Pfft. Company and a shower were a comforting end to a distressing afternoon.

There were no plans for Friday, other than Mass and Vespers at four. I was early to Mass. The organist was practicing the newly composed Mass. Outside, the general consensus described it as creepy. ("Who let him in?!") A large detachment of Anglophones decided to go back to Cologne and attempt to see the Cathedral, but still be back in time for Vespers. Yeah. Right. Most of the seminarians were going for a �seminarians only� audience with the Pope. I didn't feel like battling crowds again and various people were staying behind. I begged to tag along with Andrea and Carrie on an excursion to the town of Wuppertal, where ostensibly there were no crowds. Justin, who wasn't going to the papal audience, and Breier rounded out our party. 'Twas delightful. We rode the main attraction, a hanging train, which was suspended over a lovely little river. Then we went gallivanting about town, bought gelato, walked into a randomly impressive building, and found the man at the desk couldn't speak English. However, we did find out it was a government building, and that it had a 1900 mechanical elevator in fully operational order. Well, the receptionist indicated we should ride it, so we did. All the way around. Very interesting, as it had neither door nor grating, you stepped on and off at will and could see the gears working if you peered up. While looking for a church, we ran into a Juventutem lunch. And monkey bars, and the oddest little playground. At least I think it was a playground. I hope it wasn't some sort of modern art I scampered all over... We did find a church. Suddenly it started to rain. Breier had to leave for choir and Justin had to leave for practice; I stuck with Andrea and Carrie. We rode the train all the way to the end, but by then it was raining in torrents so we couldn't comfortably go sightseeing anymore. We were back in plenty of time for Vespers. The presiding bishop was supposed to be Cardinal Arinze. Immediately before, however, we were informed that the elderly Cardinal was exhausted from the day before and had not been able to make the trip to D�sseldorf. Kinda disappointing. Bishop Rifan stood in. Bishop Rifan being my favorite contemporary Bishop, I wasn't too heartbroken. Since dinner was once again "on your own", I accompanied a party to a cafe downtown. We sat outside and were surprised by a sudden downpour. Those whose clothes and other items were drenched have my sympathies. I was ideally situated. Pardon me while I gloat...okay I'm done. Anyway. Dinner was good, I found out I talk too much, a half dozen of us went out for coffee, or something, and ended up talking about vocations. We broke up for Compline, which was very soothing. I skipped out to bed as the announcements afterwards were in French. Apparently the Nazis stopped everyone else who tried to leave. I'm just...special. Or remarkably slight and inconspicuous. Or something. I packed as much as I could, because we had to take our luggage to St. A's next morning before Mass so we could take it to the field where we would be spending the night in vigil for the Papal Mass on Sunday. Incidentally, the Vigil was news to me.

I got up considerably earlier than I had to, took a shower (sort of) and trundled my voluminous impedimentia to St. A's. The only Anglophone in sight at that point was Justin. ("Does anybody know of anybody who knows what's going on?!") I think I waited outside for about an hour before anything resembling directives was presented to me. Apparently, contrary to the information the night before (or is that disinformation?) we were only allowed to bring a sleeping bag and a small bag onto the field for security reasons, rather than dragging out there with us every article we could honestly refer to in the possessive case. We would come back Sunday afternoon to collect the remainder at St. A's library beneath the rectory. Well, that's much less of a hassle. I learned the art of packing only necessities (�necessities� did not include a change of clothes). Took me several trips between sidewalk and library, but I did it. Primarily, the debate was about the weather. It really looked like rain, and it was already cold. Some people were determined to go, others wanted to rent a hotel room, some had flights they wouldn't be back in time for and so had to stay. I waffled and wavered and contradicted myself several times, but finally convinced myself it was the insanely right thing to do, in spite of the rain. Miserable stuff. The Gospel that morning was extraordinarily pertinent, speaking of "the salt of the earth". I figured since we were doing something insane in large numbers, people might actually take the trouble to ask "Why?� and we would have planted the seed that God could cultivate into a conversion. It would be a sort of martyrdom... After that I was happy. (Trust me, I had 37 minutes of an operatic Bach Gloria to think it all out, it was much more eloquent in my head than it is here.) Well, Gregory wasn't going, so a few of the seminarians donned very distinctive headgear and led groups of crazy Juventutem Anglophones to the train station. We said a Rosary while waiting for our train. There was quite a rush to board: everyone seemed to think there was only one compartment. Justin realized there was another and began issuing orders into the chaos, which I'm sure he did entirely for my amusement. At any rate, it was thoroughly effective. I even was offered a seat through the kind offices of Justin and Joe. Our compartment was quite spacious compared to most others (not saying much); still, we weren't about to let anyone else on, to "anyone else"'s chagrin. Our stop turned out to be 2.5 miles away from Marienfeld. So began a march through cheering towns and stubbly fields as we joined the biggest queue we'll probably ever join. As it turned out, I think we could have drug an elephant in as luggage if we wanted to: there was absolutely no security. Maybe there was no way to secure so many people. Also, the field was divided into sections, and we had been given tickets at the beginning of the week telling us to go to B12. Which was an excellent location as far as proximity to the Pope's pavilion was concerned. However, it was on the honor system. B12 was completely packed when we showed up around 3pm. On the flipside, Juventutem had staked out plenty of space back in F11. French in the back, Anglophones in front, everybody else I have no idea, probably farther back. And as a final touch, guys on one side, girls on the other. I could barely move after that trek with my cumbersome bag. There was some sort of world music programme going on as we settled in. I liked the Irish girl, but the Middle-Eastern group was...something else. Geesh. Was the guy's family all captured by pirates, for him to be carrying on like that? Had he just died and gone to hell? Had he just found out God doesn't exist? What was wrong with those people?! I think the desert does things to your sanity. Anyway. We basically just hung out. Sirens wailed intermittently to get people off the roads. Liturgical dance and campy songs ensued. I bought some cotton candy and a lot of water. The Pope arrived and delivered a homily on the Magi, I think. We listened to the non-English installments on Aristotle's radio. They had the Gospel in about eight thousand different languages, but we were used to that by then, after all the Latin/French/German/English/Spanish Gospels and homilies at our Masses. I went out like a light around 10:30, having nothing left to prop my eyes open.

Woke up again at 2am. My sleeping bag was wet, but since it was nylon, it didn't matter. And since I was on my famously useful plastic-backed picnic blanket, the underside was also dry. Thank God it didn't rain. I was the best-prepared person in the whole group, and I wasn�t prepared for rain. Some people's sleeping bags were soaking just from dew and condensation. Many people never went to sleep at all. I stayed up talking to several such insomniacs till 6am, to the annoying accompaniment of mindless drum beating. At 8:30 we packed up and headed towards the beta section in order to be closer to the exit after Mass. A multitude of people filed out all morning, before and during Mass as well as after. I'm not sure what the point of camping out was if they weren't going to stay for the Papal Mass. hmm. Where I ended up I was out of line of site of the big screens and much too far away to see what was going on at the altar. Most of us didn't get to Holy Communion. Overall, it wasn't terribly edifying, people sleeping or goofing off or walking out, journalists snapping pictures and having interviews... As soon as we'd received the Papal Blessing we headed out. World Youth Day was officially over as far as we were concerned. I had a nice first class ride back to D�sseldorf, with hilarious entertainment provided by Louis and Juan... I probably should have gone to Mass again back at St. A's. I didn't. I slept on the floor of the rectory library for a little while, and then went in search of food. Steak and chocolate, in particular. I ended up at Zapata's, with most of the other Americans who weren't at Mass and hadn't skipped town yet. Steak wasn't bad, and neither was the virgin colada. However, most everybody persisted in remarking on how drained I appeared. So I paid my tab and went back to the rectory, around which place I drifted wearily, bored, wondering where Dorothy had got to, watching the French depart, and looking for Louis. Never did find him. On my earlier expedition in search of chocolate I had finally stumbled on the elusive gelato, so when Joe suggested a party for that purpose, I readily agreed. We found a third Juventutem detachment having dessert at an Italian cafe. Joe and Juan promptly deserted me and my plebian delights for a sophisticated dish. Their loss. My scoops didn't even remotely taste like the advertised flavors, but that didn't detract from the delectability. Then it was time to go collect our luggage and say godbye. We received two travel blessings, which ensured our safe return. Return where, I can't say. Anyway. It was nice how everything had gone. I was conscious of being sorry to say goodbye to the people who weren't going to Frankfurt, but the two weeks had been exhausting and I was mostly just vaguely happy that home was only a day away. Everyone had a bench to himself, except Cortney and Rob. Most people fell asleep right off. For a while Andrea and Carrie sang Irish ballads sweetly. Irish talent, to be sure! We pulled over before we left town. Gradually people began to realize that the bus wasn't moving, and began clamoring for an explanation. Apparently, Kristin and Breier had gone off in search of cold medicine just before the bus left. We collected the stray Juventutemites and proceeded onwards without further ado. The bus stopped at a little travel stop or something, where the population tended to be more Asian than French. I got my chocolate (though not nearly enough. I hate buying under stress!) and probably slept a little more.

The bus to Frankfurt Airport left at eight and arrived at midnight. Once inside we made tentative plans for meeting places, so when we'd gotten our tickets we could socialize some more. Uhm. Well, for one thing I had no idea what meeting places were being indicated, and for another Cortney was leading people to a hotel, and for another we were leaving on various airlines. The Reverend Mister Deacon Joseph Lee, Dorothy and I were all Luftansa patrons, along with two other girls whose names escape me presently. We stood in line for a while, only to find out it was the wrong line, and that in fact there was no chance of tickets till five in the morning. It was then nearing 2am. We set up camp directly across from the checkin. I went downstairs in time to farewell Cortney's hotel-bound compatriots. Edward was the only one left so he came up and joined our camp for the time being, I think he had to get to a different airport later. Perhaps if I hadn't been so tired (having people continually laugh in my face at my zombielike behavior didn't exactly HELP matters...) I would have been more sorry that Dorothy's and my extremely early flight had made the midnight busride necessary, even for those people whose flights didn't leave till the afternoon. First time I've ever slept in an airport. Edward left while I lay unconscious on half Dorothy's mat. Joseph, Dorothy and I got our tickets as soon as they opened for business, bid each other adieu, and made for our respective terminals. I'm still flabbergasted at the total lack of retailed bottled water. A few random WYDers spoke to us a little. We got to see icebergs on the way back this time, as it was all daylight. I didn't sleep, and probably disturbed Dorothy once or twice with importunate demonstrations of restlessness. We waited forever for our luggage in Houston, and were met by Dorothy's family, who straightaway rushed me over to the other Houston airport. They were very nice and I am very grateful that they took the time to make sure I was safely on my way. I'm sure Dorothy and I smelled wonderfully, not having showered or changed for three days. My family met me in LA, probably were a bit astonished at my nearly-dead behaviors. Actually I had expected to come home mostly dead, so eh. And yeah, nothing spectacular to report on that account. I showered and changed and slept on a futon for about six hours. mom took me to Mass at the Abbey where I was able to speak to my brother at boarding school. I also had an orthodontist appointment in the afternoon. Thus it was quite late when we finally left my Dad's apartment. Then we stopped at my grandparents' house for dinner. from there, Mom sipped caffeine, I ate chocolate and ice cream, and we arrived back at home two hours before I had to leave for my first community college class. Good times.

And now my saga is done.

Was it a spiritual experience? I can�t say it was like a retreat, but I guess it did remind me of the unpredictability of life. heh. heh. heh. It was a pilgrimage, so there�s a sacrificial aspect to it. And I got to hear some wonderful Catholic talks and visit some wonderful pieces of Church history. Do I think Juventutem did what it was supposed to do? Yes, it made some headlines, it was edifying to many people who came across our Masses and Vespers. We weren�t being irreverent or wild. (Don�t. Even. THINK about it!!!) And certainly we were edified by each other�s example. Did I have fun? oh yes. In the interests of brevity and sanity I have not really conveyed the spirit of fellowship that encompassed nearly all the Anglophones. They made even the annoying aspects fun. I am so blessed to have met my fellow Juventutemites!

Anymore questions I�ll be glad to answer them, [email protected].

(Why are we so far apart?" "So we can meet again somewhere else.")