The invitation was late and whimsical, but I didn’t mind. Three weeks before the Winter Olympics began, I bought a ticket to Vancouver. Tickets to all the major events were sold out of course, but there were plenty of second hand ones to be found. We picked the ladies figure skating finals, one of the most popular events. They weren’t cheap, but we were at an age where we had begun to realize the importance of experiences over things.
The entire city was filled with the warmth of Canadian hospitality. Even if you had no tickets to an actual competition, there were plenty of activities to be found. You can check out the history of past Olympics or take a peek at the Sochi plans 4 years away, go sit in an official bobsled or hold an official torch. Every sports bar was showing the action all day long, and a festive spirit was definitely in the air.
There was this one day where I ran into a hockey in front of my hostel. They had closed down Granville street and made it pedestrian only, and a group of people young and old simply decided to bring their hockey sticks and two nets and held an impromptu match. I don’t remember which team won. I don’t think it mattered.
Then there was the night where we heard the faint familiar melody of YMCA and decided to find the source. Apparently there was a block party, and volunteers brought their old school boom boxes, tuned in to one station, and roamed around the city streets to tunes of the eighties. A fairly large crowd gathered, eventually attracting the attention of the police. They were chill and seemed to enjoy watching the harmless group having fun, even when at one point someone took the lead to jump into a fountain to dance. In February. During the WINTER Olympics.
Then there was the actual event, one I had watched many times on TV, and read about in books. There was a time when I could tell you the figure skating champions of every Olympics since the event began, as well as where they were crowned. It seemed almost surreal that I was there to see it in person.
Although looking back, it wasn’t even watching the event itself that was most memorable. It was the atmosphere of just being there, the excitement of the entire city, and the spontaneity of it all, that epitomized the joy of a childhood dream coming true.
Japan 2020? Perhaps.
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