From national pride to national disgust

April 25^th is the commemoration of Anzac Day – ANZAC being Australia New Zealand Army Corps. It is similar to Memorial Day – essentially a day to acknowledge and respect the sacrifices of our troops. I knew that I was going to be in London this year and knowing how many Australians are in the UK, I did a quick Google search about a month or so ago, to see if there was anything going on. One of the options which popped up was complimentary tickets to an Anzac Day service being held in Westminster Abbey. I’ve been to the outside of the Abbey before but hadn’t felt the need to spend the money on the entry fee. This seemed like an ideal opportunity to not only do something to mark the occasion whilst so far from home, but also a cost effective way to do something that normally would cost money.

My friend and I arrived early and it was possibly the worst weather day we’d had in London – ridiculously windy, proper rain rather than just a bit of a shower. I took a few photos in the surrounding areas, including one of me with my umbrella inside out, and we sheltered in the Westminster Tube station for a little while longer before heading back to the Abbey, finally figuring out where the entrance for services was and soon after being allowed inside. We were seated in the nave, and scored front row seats due to our prompt arrival. It was almost an hour before the ceremony started however we were grateful to be inside and sheltered from the rain and wind.

The service itself was a fairly religious based service – hymns and bible passages and the like. I don’t have religious background, which perhaps isn’t adequate justification for my ignorance, but for me it was a bunch of guys in robes and some with ‘sticks’ walking through. We couldn’t see the main service, we were seated further back in the second section of the Abbey where the seats face toward the aisle. It wasn’t too long, an hour in total for the actual ceremony, and some of the readings were very poignant and relevant to the occasion.

The part which for me was particularly poignant was at the end, when the Australian National Anthem played. I hadn’t been sure what the demographic was in the room, I mean, I assumed that there were a lot of Australians. But it was in that moment when the anthem played and we joined together in chorus that it felt surreal. All of these Australians – backpackers, travellers, people who are working or perhaps have relocated to the UK – took time from their lives to gather together for the commemoration. It was a humbling moment, a moment where I felt a great deal of national pride.

That night, our dorm room lay asleep – it was mid week, mid week is generally quiet in most hostels, even the party animals take a couple of nights off to recuperate. I awoke to the sound of this incredible racket from the corridor, and moments later, some men came barging into our room in a drunken, messy pile of shouting and laughter. I think there were four of them and I immediately recognised their Australian accents. This isn’t uncommon – Australian backpackers drunk and stumbling into a hostel room. Now, I’m accustomed to hostels and to different people keeping different hours and I actually have no problem with people coming in drunk. I understand that a certain amount of noise is required to change and settle into bed. But these guys were on this whole other level of disrespect. Their conversation was loud, lewd and foul. You would think it was 6pm, not 2am, with how loud they were speaking, with utter disrespect for the fact that anyone else was in the room. And it went on long after they’d all collapsed into bed.

There are lots of Australian backpackers – I think it’s just a representation of being so far from the rest of the world, that you don’t just go on a two week vacation, it makes more economic sense to take a longer, extended trip. And drinking culture is prominent in Australia, so it’s hardly surprising. But frankly, you wouldn’t encounter this sort of behaviour from English backpackers or German backpackers – whenever you come across people who are incredibly lewd or loud or annoying or inappropriate, nine times out of ten, they are Australian. It’s amazing how in 24 hours, I can be so struck by a pride of my country and national spirit; and then in the wee hours of the morning find myself equally struck by a sense of embarrassment. The Aussie bloke at his worst, multiplied by four, backpacking in Europe and representing us in this way

 To say the least, it was an interesting mixture of directly related and yet incredibly contrasting emotion and reflection. It's funny how when I'm travelling the smallest of events or moments can be the spark for a subsequent series of far deeper emotions, reflections and contemplations.