You must be prepared for a pilgrimage. An adequate rite to conciliate market forces is to visit a local tourist office and bring a satisfactory offering. I knew how to act. I confessed my sacred intentions to a priestess of the travel agent who interceded for me typing my prayer into an online booking system. The Invisible Hand smile upon me and I might make a necessary sacrifice: A neat pile of paper, originally released by faithfully defined source of central bank. As a proof for my sacrifice I was handed a ticket for reclaiming my piece of cloud nine.


There's no way that a pilgrimage could start any better than this. Numerous pilgrims like me gathered in a huge shrine with an access to the Heaven! And this was just beginning! I couldn't wait how great this will be in the end.
After those heavenly moments I arrived in Paris. It can be hard to think that something better than the Heaven exist but it really was there: It was the Heaven full of sexual symbolism! Think about a dense groups of people full of life who fill up a tube and the tube enters into the mystery dark hole. It was like I became a spermatozoon inside the French letter; a total return into primary factors! The ovum was Sacre Coeur waiting inside the womb of Mont Martre.


Champs Elysee was disappointing but I'm myself one to blame. It is a main shopping street but I didn't buy a watch nor shoes. It's impossible to catch the spirit of the consumers' paradise without giving yourself in a shopping fever. Then I continued to the Eiffel tower which was for my great surprise non-spectacular. The tower belonged perfectly in the landscape; it was right there where it was supposed to be.
The afternoon was spent inside the corridors of Louvre. The paintings looked just like they do on the pages of book of history of art. The big difference is you cannot break the wind inside the book but thanks to my pilgrimage I have an additional dimension of senses when enjoying the art. After hiccough of Notre Dame I had the Holy Communion in a Pakistani restaurant.


Saturday was devoted to soul treatment. I caught the saintly atmosphere in a grove and I was given an extra strength to defend the Mammona against the God. Later, my good deed was remunerated with a possibility to pay the indulgence to get the ticket for a afrogospel concert.


In a sacred place you may travel randomly without fear of evil and enjoy the surprises of the paradise. I drifted to Versailles via Convignon. Because you really cannot have a pilgrimage without a symbolic sacrifice, I decided to buy a t-shirt for my mum; a t-shirt that symbolizes euphorically concealed banality of consumption. Finally, the nectar of the day was poured in the pint in a Irish corner of cloud nine.


My pilgrimage was in the end but I was a new person when coming back. Actually I was more than a human person, taken the descent from heavens like Jesus himself. My heavenly troops were the bunch of fellow pilgrims and we were dispatched to give the tidings of joy of tourism and consumption. According to recent studies the consumer confidence is on the increase - the fact inversely proportional to the credibility of old, irrational fairy tales of gods.
So, by no means was my pilgrimage in vain; the pilgrimage that ended symbolically with a bottle of Fanta -- more than half of fantasy!

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