No, I don't speak English

Carol, BJ and I got into Paris a day before the team so that we could meet the players and other staff upon arrival the following morning. That meant meeting in the lobby at 7:00 a.m. to head to the terminal for the first arrivals Friday morning. But it also meant that we would be able to spend a few hours in the afternoon walking around Paris, looking for the storybook character Madeline and her friends.

We stayed at the airport hotel, which is a block from the train station. Carol and I had both been to Paris before, but BJ had not, so we purchased our train tickets and headed into town. It was about a 20-minute ride that put us right at the Notre Dame. First things first, a meal was in order. After sandwiches and coffees that added up to over $50, we felt a little more refreshed. We also realized that Paris was expensive. Nevertheless, the café was situated on the corner by the Notre Dame so we took our lives in our own hands and crossed the street to the entrance of the cathedral.

No sooner had we started walking across the plaza when we were approached by a teenaged girl asking if we spoke English. Don't remember who said yes (not me, I'm the insensitive type and ignored her), but then we found out that all she wanted was money. Something about Bosnia, etc. Turns out that was to be the theme of the day, "do you speak English?" was asked whenever we were nearby any type of monument or artifact. It got old. "NEIN!" I barked once.

Okay, so the Notre Dame is very lovely. But it's way too commercial in a sense. They ask for money for just about everything. Entrance is free, but every chapel has some sort of sign asking for Euros. It's supposed to be a house of worship, but people were gawking, talking, being loud and taking flash photography. That never would have happened at St. Peter's Cathedral in Vatican City. Trust me, I've been scolded there by a young altar boy, who then led me to the back of the cathedral to Michalangelo's La Pieta where he motioned for me to kneel, pray and think about what I'd done. But I digress. That's another story.

We left and wound our way up the Seine, past the Louvre, to the Arc de Triomphe and finally to the Eiffel Tower. Along the way, walking down the Champs Elysees, we were approached by a girl who asked us if we spoke English (go figure). This girl was Asian, which differentiated her from the other girls. But not by much. There was still some sort of scam going on. She wanted us to go into the Louis Vittan store and buy her a purse ... something about them only selling her one and she wanted he other color also, but they wouldn't ... whatever. I finally told her that the store was in the opposite direction (two blocks down) and that we were late for something (with my voice definitely giving the message to shut up, we're not falling for this scam). By the time I had finished talking there were two or three other people around us and it seemed as if they were going to try and pickpocket us or something like that. Dude! We just want to see the city!

We finally continued to the Arc, all the while I'm looking at the cobblestones of the Champs Eleysees and marveling at how guys with skinny tires can actually RACE on the street! And the final day of the 2005 Tour de France was in the pouring rain, no less!

After having a look around (we didn't go up, but we did go through the tunnel and popped up under the Arc), it was time for the Eiffel Tower. Maybe it's age, maybe it's over-thinking things, but I think I've developed a very small fear of heights. I did not like the top. Not at all. So we headed back down. Partially on the stairs, which was cool ... but never ending. After a stop for a pastry and coffee (when in Paris afterall), we found the train station, hopped aboard and snoozed practically all the way back to the airport.

I got one more day in Paris since our coach was delayed a day and I had to stay behind to meet her on Saturday. However, I didn't venture downtown. Maybe I should have taken advantage, but after a 6:00 a.m. wake up, followed by several hours running around the airport meeting players and staff (by the way, Taj was right, "Charles de Galle is SO ghetto."), I returned to the hotel for a nap and then worked the rest of the afternoon and into the evening.

After meeting Anne, who looked ghostly ashen at baggage claim, we found our driver and headed north and into history.

But more on that later.

Game On!

Game on!
Vienna - Sopron - Vienna
After my little 36-hour layover in Colorado Springs, I found myself in Vienna. I'm not sure if I had jet lag or I was just tired, but instead of working out or doing work I decided to check out the back of my eyelids. Four hours later I awoke feeling a little better. Carol, Ellis and I ventured across the street to the airport and hopped on a train bound for Vienna. Ellis has never even been to Europe before and Carol spend a semester abroad in Vienna so she gave the quickie walking tour (I've been there several times, but it's always a good place to visit) and I was freezing and hungry. All I wanted, all I had dreamt about for the past week in fact, was Nurenburger bratwurst, kartoffelsalat and a large German beer. While that dream was not to be realized, we did eat underground in a nice little bomb shelter-turned beer hall. Good times.

The team arrived the following day and we were off to Sopron, Hungary (pronounced SHOW-prawn). After a couple of days of practice we took the entire team, minus one person with a sore back, across the border to Vienna. It was snowing so the walking tour was out of the question, but we did drive around the city and saw most of the sights from the comfort of the tour bus. We had to hit a Viennese café and then ended up back in the bomb shelter for dinner before returning to Sopron.

I'm not sure if it was the same night or the next night, but Carol and I walked to a pub a block from our hotel. There were two four-tops, numerous two-tops and the bar, which had a restaurant on the other side. I mention the tables because Carol and I took one of the four-tops, the other one was in use already, and settled in with a large Soproni beer. Enter four Hungarian men. They look around and can't find a place to sit so we give up our seat and take a two-top. Throughout the course of the evening whenever people left the restaurant, walked through the bar on the way outside, they'd stop to talk to one of these four men. The same one. Shake hands, jovial chatter, kiss kiss on the cheeks, the whole nine yards.

So as we're leaving we stop by the table to look for Carol's diamond on the floor (it fell out of her ring and I noticed it while we were there) and we start chatting with "The Mayor," as we've dubbed the guy, and his friends. Turns out they don't speak much English, but we get by with German and this is what we know:

• They're all friends from waaaaay back
• One guy lives in Budapest, but his wife (who's back at the house in bed) lives in Sopron and he comes home on the weekends (obviously to see his friends and not her)
• Another guy has been married four times and will never marry again (but wouldn't mind a girlfriend)
• The Mayor is actually a photographer for the local paper.
• Carol's diamond was never found :-(

Here are a few more musings on life on that trip ... people I travel with (team members, etc.) when walking around Vienna had this to say about shops like Swatch (Swiss) and The Body Shop (English), "hey! This is like being in America! They have all these American stores!"

Three of us went out the final night and hung out with the management of the Sopron team. The picture of all of us in the English pub is what you see above.

And so it goes.

FYI

Just to let you know ... I really do like to tour and see new things. The issue with this trip is that I have yet to make it to a town that I haven't been to before. Of course the exception to that is Sopron, but that's five square blocks and doesn't really count.

If It's Tuesday, This Must Be Poland

I am reminded at times like these of an old movie of a similar title. At any rate, we're now in Poland on the Baltic coast, in the tri-city metropolitan area (and I use that term loosely) of Gdynia, Gdansk and Sopot. For you history buffs, this is the land of Lech Walesa the Polish labor leader who started his play at the shipyards about a mile or so up the coast from where we're staying. There's a large granite memorial on the pier commemorating his labor movement (I surveyed it last time I was here). The Gdansk airport is now officially the Lech Walesa International Airport. My room couldn't get any smaller. Well, I suppose it could. I HAVE had one room smaller than this, but it was in a tiny hotel in Tokyo. I haven't been in many hotel rooms smaller than my kitchen, but this definitely would fit into that space. Put it this way, I could sit on my toilet and work on my computer that's sitting on the table that serves as a desk. I could also work on the computer from my bed. It's that small.

As mentioned, we're staying near the coast, about eight blocks from the Baltic Sea to be exact. After lunch and a quick post-lunch nap I ventured out for a 45-minute run along the beach. There were people strolling everywhere, older women in fur coats and hats, older men in their wool coats and hats, young teenagers in love making out on a park bench (no wool or fur, purely synthetic), families kicking a soccer ball around, much of what you'd expect to find in the summertime along a beach. Only these people had many more layers on. I've run along beaches all over the world, from Florida to California, Australia, Portugal, Spain, all around the Med Sea area, Greece ... you get the point.

Until today I have NEVER run on a snowy beach. It truly was an exhilarating experience. The cold wind was blowing in from the north and every now and again the packed snow gave way to frozen sand. There were a few spots where I could run for awhile right down by the waves lapping at the beach. It became a source of amusement for me to move at just the right moment so as not to get my shoes wet because, as you can only imagine, it's pretty freezing in these parts at this time of the year. Normally in the summertime I take my shoes off at the end of a run along the beach and wade in the water. It's usually a refreshing feeling.

Not so much this time.

I thought about Ernest Shackleton and his experiences in the waters near the South Pole. No matter how miserable it would have been to get my feet wet, which would no doubt have resulted in something close to frost bite at these temperatures, unlike Shackleton I would have still had the luxury of a hot shower and warm, dry clothes awaiting me at the end of the run.

Life is truly good.

Do Not Leave Your Bags Unattended At Any Time

Sounds like sage advice, especially when you're traveling internationally and your bags are marked "USA" everywhere.

It would seem, however, that the crack security staff we have here with the team doesn't seem to think it's a problem to simply walk away from a cart full of large USA bags. I believe there were five in all. I was still out at the bus helping to unload and organize things, sending people in with bags and full carTs of bags, things like that.

So I'm walking inside with our doc when I spy, in the corner right inside the doorway, the abovementioned cart. Needless to say I was a little miffed at that. I mean, come on! Who in their right mind leaves a pile of bags unattended at a busy airport in this day and time?

Why, it would have to be our security force of course. Unfreakinbelievable. When I asked him about it I got some lame excuse about how the wheel was not working. Hello! Don't you think someone in our party would be walking through the door shortly and would be able to fetch a new cart? Can't you deal with a broken wheel!?!? Irritating. (Sidebar: I pushed the cart to where it needed to go, despite the phantom bad wheel.)

My Gold Medal Day in Torino

Final Days
So I'm a little delayed (as usual) in updating this blog. Sometimes I'm just having too much fun living life!

Passion Lived There
In the mountains that is. You couldn't really tell that there were Olympic Games taking place in the city until you approached the venue. About two blocks from each venue signage started to spring up like springtime daffodils. Spurts of color among the dreary grey of the city. That's about I have to say about that for now. It was strange, walking around this city during an Olympic Games I could easily go 10-20 blocks without seeing a person or a sign pertaining to the Games.

THE GOLD MEDAL DAY ....Final Thursday of the Games (Feb. 23, 2006)
Okay, so each Games produces one day where everything comes together. Whether it's getting tickets you never thought you'd see or making your way through the Mag & Bag without incident or simply having fun with friends, there's always that one day. That one glorious day when you face not a hitch or a problem or even a slight blip of a trip-up. My Gold Medal Day in Torino was February 23, 2006.

Choco Tour / Gold Medal Day
Before I give you links to the day, I must tell you how I came to find out about the Choco Tour. I was taking a break on Wednesday evening, fought my way through the smoking hall and found myself ordering a slice of pizza (who would have thunk!?), when I turned and saw two newly-made friends standing in the pizza place eating a slice of their own. Being the shy, silent type, I went over and joined invited myself into their conversation.

The duo were talking about this fantasy I had only before dreamed about ... a Choco Pass for a Choco Tour. Wow. My eyes bugged so far open that I think the guys were worried my eyes would pop out and go bouncing down the hall of the MPC. But no, I just stood there stunned at the idea that you could pay 10 Euro for this booklet containing chocolate coupons and a map of the city. The map has points on it that coincide with the various confectionaries around town. All you have to do is follow the map, walk into a store, hand them a coupon and say, "choco pass?" in an unassuming tone and THEY GIVE YOU CHOCOLATE!!!

Mind you, this is no ordinary chocolate. The chocolate you receive from these gods of cacao is orgasmic. It's like nothing that's ever passed through your lips, melted on your tongue and slid down your throat. Wow. I've had some good chocolate in my day, but the different choices we were given that day makes a Milka bar taste like dried up 10-year-old Easter candy. Yes, it's that good. Ginger, marshmellow, pepper, milk, dark, almonds, hazelnut, cinnamon ... you name it, they have it.

But I digress. The two asked if I wanted to join them (as if they could stop me), and so I did. Because I don't make a living doing this like they do, I'll let Joe & Vahe explain the pleasures of the now world famous Choco Tour. They were going with another guy from the USOC office and I asked if Charlie could come along as well. So with that, the five of us set off Thursday morning on an adventure of a lifetime!

Joe's take on the day // Vahe's Choco Pass postcard


Holland House / Gold Medal Night
After finishing up whatever work we had that day (and following our chocolate-induced comas), Charlie and I decided we were going to go to the Holland House. Actually, it was our mission for the past few days but by the time we were able to make it out of the MPC it would have been too late. We were told to get there before 8:00 as it gets really busy after that. Anyhoo, we finally had a chance to break free from the shackles of the MPC. We took Laura from figure skating along with us.

There were three reasons we wanted to go to the Holland House. First and foremost, there was this hat that I HAD to have. It was the Dutch ski hat - white with an orange band around the bottom of it, a small orange tulip on it, the Netherlands Olympic Team patch and, of course, the requisite Asics logo large as life on one side. Secondly, rumor had it that they served hamburgers. I know, I know. Hamburgers!? In Italy? Am I nuts? Yes, apparently I am. And so is Charlie. And Laura. But when you've been living on nothing but pizza, pasta, wine and coffee for the better part of two and a half weeks, a hamburger seems like a really good plan. The final reason for wanting to go to Holland House was the simple fact that we heard it was a great time, a giant party if you will. Complete opposite of the USA House in fact.

So we hop on the No. 1 bus right outside of the MPC and take it to the stop where we think we're supposed to get off. A bunch of Orange People were getting off at that stop so we figured we were heading in the right direction.

"Is this where we get off," inquired Charlie.
"Looks like it," I replied.
"Do you know where it is," asked Laura.
"Not exactly, but I figure we can follow the Orange People," said I.

So we disembark and begin to follow the Orange Horde when a very fine looking guy asks us if we're TRYING to get into the Holland House. We were puzzled by the way he said it, but he explained that it was not easy for non-nationals to get into the place. Soon we found out why.

It seems there is an entrance for non-Orangers and another one for natives. The Dutch line was non-existent. However, the non-nationals line featured a huge horde of people, easily hundreds, trying to make their way in. Waiting is more like it. Only a wee trickle of people were granted entrance every five minutes or so.

This fine looking guy, wearing a yellow Right to Play jacket introduced himself as Yeeeeeeeeeeee S-----------------f. Or at least that's what we heard. We asked him again, but it still came out the same. Turns out this guy competed in both the Summer (track cycling) and Winter (speed skating of course) Olympics, is an athlete rep on the board of his National Olympic Committee (or equivalent thereof) and works for Right to Play. Charlie told him that it was us who gave them the Joey Cheek audio when he announced he was giving his Operation Gold money ($25,000) to Right to Play. So Mr. S----------------f tells us that Joey, along with Johan Olav Koss of course, will be there the next night to be recognized by the Dutch for his efforts with Right to Play. I pack away that tidbit of info ... it might come in handy the following night (note: HEAVY FORESHADOWING).

Yeeeeeeeeeeee whisked us in without a hitch. Hooray for Orange!!!!

We walk into this humongous tent that has an ice rink in the center, the hot dog / hamburger stand on one side, a Dutch buffet on the other, at the far end of the rink is an elevated platform with a restaurant on top and beyond that is a rather large dance floor and then a massive stage. They also had a VIP tent off to one side ... more on that later.

There was also a skate rental place (rental is not the right word ... the skates were free) with hockey skates. Orange hockey skates. Not just the uppers / shoes were orange, but the blades also were orange. I can't stress enough how much the Netherlanders love their orange.

We decided upon the Dutch buffet instead of the burger. Good choice. Then we sat down at a big round table with an older couple wearing hats filled with Olympic pins and also covered with patches. Guess what color the hats were? Hey! You're picking up on a theme. This couple, as it turns out, has gone to every Winter Olympics for the past 45 years. I asked if they also attended the Summer Games and I got a very strange look to go with the response, "there is no skating in the summer."

‘Nuff said!

The store was sold out of nearly everything but bottle openers, men's deodorant (in orange packaging of course) and a few fleece jackets. I was bummed. No hats. But wait! There's a guy in the corner with a hat on! I ask him about it and he asked if I wanted to trade. I had been wearing the WADA faux-fur hat, creating a big buzz everywhere I went of course, for the past three days. The Games were coming to a close. I made a judgement call and agreed to the swap.

All-in-all it was a very good Gold Medal Day.

I returned to Holland House on Friday night and found out what Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee's name really was. Wanna know? You might have to check back in a couple of days (if the next blog isn't up by the time you read this one that is). I promise it's another classic story.

peace out

Thoughts from the Field

THE WALKWAY BETWEEN THE TWO BUILDINGS & ONLY A FEW SMOKERS OUT THERE TONIGHT (figure skating is going on, they're smoking outside that building now)

While I can't take credit for this, it's got a tongue-in-cheek truthful ring to it.

*No matter what time you go into the bathroom at the Main Media Center there will always be someone coming out of that small door at the same time. Or vice versa. There is a rumor that there are people living in two of the stalls. They are never open. (MY SIDEBAR: Additionally, no matter the time of day, if you have to go really, really, really bad, the bathrooms are closed for cleaning. Noon, midnight, 10:35.18, whenever. If you're ready to burst you'll have to find one through the smoking hall)

*There’s also a rule that smokers can’t be more than two feet from the swinging glass doors between pavilions 3 and 5.

*A police car set a new speed record between pavilions 3 and 5 yesterday hitting 63 kilometers per hour. 28 smokers were almost injured, three of them children.

*Somebody subtly changes the directions of the escalators in the Main Media Center each day. However, during lunch, they are turned off.

*The return media bus from Ice Hockey got lost the first day and is still on a round about on Via Nizza avenue. There are hockey writers on that bus that think they are going to a U.S.-Canada gold medal game.

*Journalists in the mountains are on a different planet. Torino and Sestriere are the alpha and the omega of experiences.

White Night

ME & KATE POSING LIKE THE STATUES BEHIND US. I KNOW IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A WHITE NIGHT, BUT THERE WAS LITTLE LIGHT FOR OUR PICS

So the Italians have this thing in Rome one night every September that's translated to "White Night." Last Saturday Torinos decided it would be great to have one here during the period of the Games. The theory behind this event is that shops and restaurants are to stay open all night long, all the lights in the city are kept on and the night is no longer dark.

It's fun! It's Festive! Or not.

We headed down to where some friends were hanging out, drinking beers and people watching. When we got there and ordered beer for ourselves we were told "Basta!" That's one of my favorite Italian phrases (it means 'enough' and you do it with your hands out and palms open almost as if you're pushing something and in a loud voice). Last call. At 1:00 a.m. Not good. We have our beer and depart, thinking that perhaps we'll go to the Swiss House. Afterall, Kate was just there and knows EXACTLY where it is. Or not. Kate's friends departed leaving her, me and Charlie left to wander the streets in hopes of some food and drink. But, since everything was supposed to remain open through the night -- it's White Night you know -- it shouldn't be a problem.

After walking aimlessly down one street and up the next, we realize that Kate has little to no idea of where she was when she at the Swiss House. So we proceed to look for a restaurant. Herein lies the rub. White Night? Everything open until 6:00 a.m.? Are you kidding me!?!? This was a bad joke meant to bring out hundreds of thousads of people down into an area roughly the size of Acacia Park. We wandered in circles, covering each and every street in the downtown area until about 2:30. Shops? Closed. Restaurants? Closed. Neidermeyer? Dead.

We finally decide to head towards the train station. Surely something's open near there, right? As a sidebar: every block I hear Charlie's voice telling me that,"hey, there's a cab stand" or "there's another taxi." Something tells me he was tired and wanted off this ride. Did I mention all the people? Many drunken soccer hooligans also. One came up and tried to kiss me, but Kate and Charlie pulled him away ... or just stood there and laughed. It's not hard to figure out which direction they took!

We found a little coffee shop that was packed, but I managed to find a table while Kate and Charlie managed to purchase saandwiches for each of us. They would have been great cooked, but the little man behind the counter must have had a good laugh when they simply brought the un-panino'd (as in cold, not toasted) sandwiches back to the table.

Our gourmet experience behind us, it was now time to figure out how to get back home. Kate lives on that street so she ended up walking since now there were NO cabs to be seen and about 500,000 people trying to jam onto the buses and trams (think 4th of July following the fireworks on the National Mall). But wait! There's a media shuttle! Sitting there across the street!!! YES!!!!!! So we got back to the MPC, caught a cab and I was in my room with my head on my pillow a little after 4 a.m. Several other people from our office decided to experience a little Italian culture that night also, but it took them until 5 a.m. to get home. Turns out there were a lot of reporters who got sucked into the whole "White Night, everything's open until dawn" scamp. It certainly made for a quiet morning in the MPC.

Walking to New Orleans (not really)

In the media goodie bag we got at the beginning of the Games was a cheapie pedometer, compliments of that great health-conscious eatery, McDonald's. (Note to readers: I do not condone the eating of that greasy crap. I eat fast food about twice a year -- the last time being in Argentina back in August. Nasty. Gross. I'd rather starve than punish my system with 'food' that has been processed and frozen five months ago in a factory somewhere in Iowa.) I've put the pedometer on every day for the past couple of weeks and my record so far was 28,000 and change (see my future note on the White Night for why it was so high). I've broken 20k one other time and was close to 19k yesterday. For the most part, my steps hover around 12-15k per day. That's a lot of steppin folks! I've decided that when I return to the States a couple months from now I will purchase a decent pedometer and track my daily steps. I haven't had a chance to run except for one day, but if I'm walking that much there should be no need to hit the running trail!

Bonnie Blair Tried to Kill Me

Ok, well ... sort of. So I'm standing at a light at a very busy intersection trying to cross the street. I keep looking and waiting and looking and waiting when I hear a Wisconsonesque woman's voice behind me saying, "I think we can go now."

So I start to cross and she's right next to me when we get about halfway across the intersection and THE CARS START COMING STRAIGHT FOR US!!!! Yeah, not so good. We make a mad dash to the other side and as I'm feeling as if I've just won the top level of Frogger, having been missed by a killing machine by just a hair, this woman turns to me, puts out her hand and says, "hi! I'm Bonnie Blair!" To which I reply and give her my name. We shake hands and, since she's been tailing me since the USA House a few blocks back and knows I'm somehow related to the team, she proceeds to ask what I'm doing, etc. And we have a lovely conversation. It's as if we've known each other for years in that brief blip of time. I guess when you go through a near-death experience with someone else you'll always have some kind of connection. At least that's what I'm going to tell myself.

Playing Catch Up

NOTE: Most of this was written on my Blackberry while heading around town last night and then updated / added to this morning, which is why the tenses keep changing...The image, however, is from my day in the village last week.
So I've broken away from the MPC and was going to go downtown, walk around and see if I could do some interviews. However, because I tend to sometimes change my mind about things (spontaniety is a good thing!), and the #18 tram happened to stop directly in front of me going in the direction of the 4 & 63 lines, which run right past the hockey arena where the USA chicks with sticks are currently in semifinal action...take a wild guess at what I did?! Yup, I'm on the tram headed for hockey. So far I've seen (live) too many press conferences, aerials, speed skating and figure skating. I suppose it's time to add another sport to my line-up.

More on this later...first I feel I must tell all about my last few days and other oddities.

First...the bathrooms in the mpc. The way they're set up is such that both men & women pass through the same doorway and about 3 feet of a 'hallway.' Then women turn left and men turn right into their respective rooms. Then you pass the sinks and make a u-turn around a wall to go to the stalls. Not noteworthy. However, on the way back out you stop to wash your hands and check yourself out in the mirror. At least that's what most women do. Come to find out that if I glance to my left while washing, I see that men do it also. A little window into another world. It's pretty humorous to see men looking at themselves, making sure their hair is in place -- especially those who have but a scant few hairs on their noggins.

Next... About 4 nights after getting here I moved hotels. Good move, bad move. I now have my own room, although I had a good roomie before, but now I also have HOT water for morning showering! Crazy. Bad move because the place is not really that nice, the bed is not comfy and every morning for about 20 minutes starting from between 8 & 8:30 there is massive noise from the construction project on the street below. The jackgammers seem to disappear by the time I begin my morning walk to work at 9:30/10 am. They love to wake me up-Italian version of ring and run, perhaps? (SIDE NOTE: I woke up this morning at 8 am and couldn't get back to sleep. It figures that it's the ONE day I've been here that there was NO construction going on.)

So I can catch the media bus home at night, but it doesn't always stop at the hotel in the morning. Being adventurous, the first morning I made my way to the office through the city streets. It looked to be a straight shot north and it was. I didn't even have to consult the map!

The next day I decided to take a little less direct route, but a more scenic one - following the river Po. That was much better and only about 10 minutes longer (45 mins). Since I've only been able to run once since I've been here, a brisk walk is welcome on a daily basis. If not for that, the food would add 10 lbs in three weeks! Yummy!

Walking or running through a city is really a great way to get to know it. I've seen little old ladies in their stockings and furs and little old gentlemen in suits and hats, some of whom remind me of grandpa Pete, walking along the city streets. I've seen fruit stands, bakeries, paper carriers, essentially the hustle and bustle of everyday life in Torino. The path along the river is great. Little kids, barely able to walk, playing soccer with their dads; people running, walking and cycling; others who are out there walking their dogs; still more people doing their morning yoga or other stretching; horses ... pretty much everything you'd find on a path along a river. I have received odd stares b/c I'm walking with my iPod Shuffle, usually singing to myself, with my 'silver bullet' coffee cup filled to the brim with Peet's. They're not wont to drink coffee in anything larger than a thimble (think Jason Lee's coke in Mallrats), so I'm sure they're trying to figure out what I've got in there.

So now I'm back on the bus (14 to the 18 tram) after 2 periods of USA women's hockey team vs Sweden. I saw the first two periods before getting called back to the MPC.Bummer.

I made it back in time to watch the third period, OT & shoot-outs. Not a good finish to the game :-(

It's now Saturday morning and I'm wicked tired. We had a big dinner last night with myself and five friends, including Kate & Spletzer - woo-hoo!! We've found this place that's pretty freakin good about two blocks from the MPC and they have really, really good food. And wine. And lemoncello. That will put a hurtin on you when you're already tired. This was my second really long night here that was long because of me and not because of work. Can't have too many of those, or I'll never make it through the day.

It's finally warmed up here. Good thing, too. I was beginning to wonder about the 2006 Olympic Spring Games. Daffodils are blooming. Birds are chirping. Life is good.
peace

Lost in Translation

I went next door tonight to watch Chad Hedrick and Shani Davis in the 5k long track speedskating event. It was pretty cool. You'd think we were in Holland (Netherlands, whatever) with the sea of orange around the track. In fact, three corners, both 'end zones' and one entire length of ice were filled with orange. I saw an Italian flag here and there, but take my word for it: this place was ORANGE.

So, you're probably wondering why just three corners and one side was orange.

The Olympic Family / bigwigs / sponsors take up most of the space on the finish line side of the oval. The media take up the rest. Media are unbiased observers so they can't wear orange. The members of the bush family in attendance wore dark colors, as did most of the Olympic Family. And the sponsors? They're not big into the rules and regulations of speedskating (Rule No. 1: You Must Wear Orange).

BREAKING NEWS ALERT: News.com mentioned the work we're doing at usolympicteam.com regarding podcasting ... BEFORE NBCOlympics.com or any other site. See? I really AM doing work here!

BACK TO YOUR ORIGINALLY SCHEDULED PROGRAM ...
So these Orange Fans (OFs) made the oval the place to be tonight. In speedskating two athletes skate at the same time, swapping the inner and outer lanes and essentially racing against the clock since their next closest competitor might not be skating at the same time. In one heat there were two Netherlanders. I chose this guy named Sven, since he looked cute and his name was better than his countryman skating alongside him. Turns out Sven is the world record holder in this distance. Every single time Sven and the other guy sweep around the oval you hear loud cheers ring out from the OFs. It's like a loud giant wave, which of course breaks on the sponsors, Olympic Family and media sections...then gets gigantic again two sections beyond where I'm sitting. The amazing thing is that they cheered two heats later when Chad Hedrick was up. He was even going up against a fellow Orange guy, but they STILL cheered him on like madness!

So, we're down to the final heat. There's Chad, safely in the lead .02 of a second off Olympic record time, followed 1.72 seconds later by my boy, Sven, and finally Carl Verheijen (orange, of course) in third place. The final heat features someone from who knows where and an Italian by the name of Enrico Fabris. Enrico doesn't skate very well through his first few laps and doesn't look like he has a medal shot at all. However, with probably 3-4 laps to go he's moved up to 6th place. With one lap to go this cat's in 4th and the Dutch are going NUTS! I'm talking St. Elizabeth-style, certifiably nuts cheering Enrico on. Mind you, if Enrico pulls ahead and onto the podium he'll knock Dutch into 4th. Doesn't matter. Enrico rides the OF wave of emotion to Italy's first medal of the Games -- a bronze -- by a mere .61 of a second ahead of Verjeijen. Wow. And THAT, my friends, is the spirit of the Olympic Games and why I'm a crack-headed junkie of the five-ring circus.

peace out

P.S. As a confused (and extended) post script ... I attended the press conference and we were told that it was going to be held in English. That's the rules. I figured it was just the rules for Sven, who came out first and spoke first. Normally they have translators for international press conference, "but it's Dutch and how many Dutch translators can there be working in Italian Olympic Venues anyway," I think to myself. Sven exits stage right. In comes Enrico. An Italian. Competing in Italy. Winning Italy's first medal at these Games. And he has to attempt to decipher questions in English, translante them to himself, think of his answer, translate that to English and finally give his answer. While Enrico did a phenomenal job of speaking, he's not exceptionally fluent in English (his English is MUCH better than my Italian though). I found it entirely too rude to expect him to speak in a non-native tongue ON HIS HOME SOIL!

It gets worse. One of my scribe friends told me that she attended a presser the day before and the question was asked in Spanish (?) to a Russian. The translator translated the Spanish question to the Russian athlete, who responded in Russian. That, of course, was translated back to the press. Only it was in English. I wonder if anyone bothered to tell the Spanish writer what was said? Perhaps it was better off left lost in translation.

Opening Pagentry

I went to the Opening Ceremonies with a couple other people last night. We arrived at the stadium at about 7:40 and were continuously told to go in different areas - our tickets were in the media seating area and nobody could figure out how to point us in that direction. (No, you go there! No, you can't come through here, try that way.) Well, the next thing you know it's starting and we're in an aisle in the middle of the IOC VIP section (one section from Prince Albert & the drunk Bush daughter, two from Rogge & the Italian prez, etc.) and the volunteer lady tells us to just sit anywhere. There were about three rows up front with nobody sitting in them so we took them and had GREAT seats for the performance.

It was AWESOME! (Did you see us? We were the three in the white rain slickers, you couldn't miss us.) The seats could have been about 4-5 rows further up, but we got the IOC goody bag which was a little different from the bags that were passed out to everyone else in the fact that we got a thick fleece blanket (as others were leaving we could tell that the blankets were NOT passed around to the entire stadium). The blanket came in handy when the temperature dropped 50 or so degrees during the festivities. There was also the cow bell we were to ring at the appropriate time and the flashlight (or torch as they called it) for waving a the appropriate times. It also included a seat cushion (very thin) and the program for the ceremonies.

And then on the way out we were interviewed by Telemundo and then a NBC affiliate out of Portland. When the woman found out we three were from the Springs, she said that KUSA (Denver station) was right behind her and she'd give the feed to them. I was laughing my ass off!!!

Peace

I Got the Golden Ticket!

Woo-hoo!!! I just found out that I'm going to be able to go to the Opening Ceremonies tonight! It's a general admission ticket for press peeps, but it gets me in!!!! Should be a good show. I brought one set each of hand warmers and toe warmers for just this occassion :-)

It's 5:53 now and it's strongly advised that we're there by 6 pm. Hmmm. I think I'll be a few minutes late. But it doesn't actually begin until 8 pm so no worries.

peace out!

P.S. on the non-sun

By the way, no sooner had I posted the last blog when I looked up (ok, walked around the corner and looked out the window ... but who's counting?) and saw that today was a beautiful clear day with sunny blue skies. I think the sun read my blog and got pissed. Apparantly it's not just an orb that passes by and gives us light. It's also big, round and yellow. Who knew?

Torino as Host City

Torino is not what you would expect to see as host of a Winter Olympics. When I think about the Winter Games, I think of tiny little mountain towns nestled deep in the Alps. Something out of Hansel & Gretel. Instead, Torino is an industrialized city of about a million people. The sun has peeked out of the haze and clouds a couple of hours here and there, but for the most part the sky is grey and gloomy, there's a type of cold in the air that sometimes crawls into your skin and stays there (think Right Coast cold) - just enough humidity to make you go "brr." Additionally, the city has a layer of grunge on it that you would expect to see in places like this. The older buildings that were built with a light tan color of stone are now grey to black. I'm hoping the snow will hit sometime down in town here. I'll go up to the mountains a few days for some of the events up there and I'm sure it'll seem more like winter in Sestriere.

Also, all the reports of the place not quite being ready are totally true. But that's the way it is for every Olympics. Heck, pretty much any international event I've attended isn't actually ready until the first ball is tipped, puck is dropped or starting gate crossed. Trust me on this one. I have seen light posts being painted, posters being hung and cement being slopped down. Every single day I see a new piece of signage walking home that wasn't there in the morning on the way to the MPC (Main Press Center).

This morning was the press conference for the 2006 U.S. Olympic Team flag bearer. Chris Witty, a five-time Olympian who has competed in both the summer and winter Olympics, was selected. She was also a victim of child abuse for about seven years starting at four years of age. She now spends time working with "Good Touch, Bad Touch" and making the rounds talking to kids, parents and other groups about the issue. I'd say she was well-chosen by her peers to carry the stars & stripes Friday night.

peace

Five-Minute Strip Down

Aside from the fact that they're smaller, have fewer events and less people, the Winter Olympics are decidedly different from the Summer Games in another aspect: The Five-Minute Strip Down. Going from indoors to outside in the elements forces one to layer. For instance, I've got a long-sleeved t-shirt on right now. Under my work area is a sweater, fleece vest, wind breaker, hat and gloves. Oh yeah, and a scarf (red, of course). At the end of the day when I pack up, I put on all my layers and head to a restaurant. Once I get to a restaurant I can't sit down and relax before I go through the "five-minute strip down." In the summer, the most I would have would be a light jacket that might get put on if I'm inside in an air-conditioned building. That takes about five seconds to remove or put on. Not nearly as fun as the five-minute strip down!

Interviews & Press Conferences

So over the past three days, I've been to numerous press conferences and have learned some nifty tricks regarding editing and posting audio on the web. A few of the files are a little rough around the edges, but I've gotten much better over the course of three days. In addition to the curlers (which I've edited after posting it the first time), I've been able to get interviews with the figure skating pairs team of Aaron Parchem & Marcy Hinzmann, Gretchen Bleiler (boarder), Danny Kass (boarder), Ted Ligety (alpine stud - to hell with that other guy), Anders Johnson (ski jumper), Carl Van Loan (Nordic combined), Shaun White (boarder) and Tyler Jewell (PGS boarder).

It's been pretty interesting sitting in on the press conferences (with many more athletes than listed above). Some of the athletes are very well spoken, some have different cultures (think: figure skating vs. snowboarding) surrounding their sport, some are shy, others are outgoing. The one similarity that courses through all their veins is their passion for competition. Each and every one of them is driven to be the best they can be and are totally stoked to be here. As am I.

I know I never finished up about my travel day, but that was two days ago and I simply can't be bothered to remember what happened Sunday. Except for two things. The first was an observation made as people were boarding the plane in Chicago: I could tell the Americans from the Euros by their attire. One set was fairly chic. The other? Jeans and white shoes. I'll let you figure out which was which. The other thing was the Torino airport's baggage claim. I don't think I've ever seen such a cluster in my entire life. There were gobs and gobs of people everywhere lugging big bags around. And in the middle of it all was a table set up for Olympic credentials and guess where the line formed? Smack dab in the middle of the chaos. Definitely made for great people watching.

Today was the U.S. flag-raising ceremony in the village. This is done with each and every nation and normally several nations take part at the same time. Today they were going every 30 minutes like clockwork. Guess which two countries were with the USA? Armenia and Iran. I got a chuckle out of that. I also ran into a couple of friends who live in Colorado. They were supposed to join me in learning how to telemark this season, but we never were able to hook up on the mountain. We had to come all the way to Italy to bump into each other in Torino.

So far the red wine and Italian food (they just call it food over here) has been outstanding. As if I expected any different - ha!

Peace out for now.

p.s. Here's the Olympic podcast page for your audio pleasure

Smoke 'Em If You Got 'Em (And Even If You Don't)

You sometimes forget that there are a lot of smokers in this world. Until you attend a sporting event. There's no smoking allowed inside the main press center or in any of the arenas. However, every single time I step one foot out the door of the MPC I find myself fighting through a stream of smokers. There is no 50-foot no smoking area, not even a two-foot cushion around the doors. You walk in or out ... you're inhaling. I think I might pick up a pack or two on my way home tonight. Hell, instead I'll just stand in the doorway for a few minutes :-)

Interview with Rock Hurlers

So I show up in Torino and go straight to work. Yes, I am a zombie right now. It's 11:30 Sunday morning in Colorado Springs and I have been, with the exception of about a 15-minute cat nap here and there, up since my alarm went off at 5:00 am on Saturday. We're trying to figure out this audio posting gig, if anyone out there can offer help, give me a shout out.

But until we do, here's an interview I did today with three of the members of the U.S. Women's Olympic Curling Team.

More on the travel day later. Suffice it to say my luck has definitely turned with regards to seatmates on long flights. (Does anyone remember my story about being surrounded by young Mormons trying to convert me en route to their mission in South America on my short 11-hour hop to Argentina last summer!?). Here's a start. I'm on the aisle of a five-rower. There's a German couple taking up the two seats at the other end of the row. Along comes a woman with an infant, a toddler and something so odorous clinging to her body that I think she's got a dead skunk in her bag. And guess what? Oh yeah. Right next to me. Put the baby in a car seat carrier on the floor in front of her for take-off. Flight attendants didn't like that one bit. I'm reeling from the smell that manages to permeate my nostrils, which are stuffed up beyond belief, when I happen to glance to my right and am staring straight at the woman's ... nipple.

It was less than six inches away from my face. Not exactly what I was expecting to see. Mind you, I know it's a natural thing and babies must eat, I just wasn't ready to see it so up close and personal.

And that was just the first 30 minutes of what would be the smelliest 8.5 hours in a plane I've ever encountered.

I'll check back in tomorrow for the rest of the day's adventures :-)
Peace

Italy or Japan?

Ok, I just heard some disturbing news. It seems that restaurant in the hotel I'm staying in for the first week in Torino has its bathroom out back. Hmmm. Out back. I've seen places all over Europe where you have to leave the joint to use the facilities. So that's not so bad. But the fact that it's a hole in the ground? Literally a HOLE. I've been to China and Japan and seen my share of squatty toilets. I've looked into the eye of the beast during hut trips in the back country and at the base of Pete's Express lift at Vail. But in Italy? This should be interesting. I hear the food at the restaurant is pretty tasty though, at least I've go that going for me.
Peace

Getting Started

Whether I'm in the United States or traveling the world, I've been to very interesting places; seen some signs that have made me chuckle, turn around and snap a photo (Friendly Indians Behind You); have heard a wide variety of worthy and worthless factoids; and thought I'd share with all of you some of these sights and sounds from around the planet. My first stop in 2006 will be in Torino, followed by international stints in Australia, Austria, France, Hungary and Poland (not necessarily in that order) and a brief visit to Boston. I'll be checking in at least once a week to give updates, post photos and, if I can figure out how to do so, add a little sound bite or two. Hopefully you'll find this at least a wee bit interesting. If not, oh well.
Peace