I didn’t walk far before realizing I had made a major error. I wore the wrong socks, the ones that end up in a ball under my toes. Then it started to rain, just a light sprinkle, no problem, being a seasoned Vancouverite I had an umbrella in my bag. Walking up Commercial Drive to the station, (sixteen short blocks from my house) there is no sign of the pending Olympics. The decorative lights, swirly things on the street lamps, were put up before Christmas and they are pretty non-descript, neither Christmassy or Olympicky. I'll call them winterish looking. It’s what you get for decoration in a neighbourhood that is so tolerant that it is utterly intolerant.
At the top of the train platform escalator, I entered the Olympic zone. Ad signs, featuring Icky, Mucky and Yucky, or whatever their names are, the mascots (wait, I’ll google it, Quatchi, Miga, Sumi and Mumuk) line the corridor.
I wonder if Quatchi knows that yesterday there was a guy gunned down just a block away from his big picture?
As the trained passes the Science World and Athlete's Village everything gets intense, or rather in tents.
Every direction I look there are tents, huge white tents in all kinds of shapes and sizes. I wish I owned a tent company. Quebec has a very large cube shaped tent with a giant Q on the side. Dwarfed between it and another huge tent is the practical looking Saskatchewan tent. Even without the benefit of seeing inside, I can’t help but think of how the tents reflect the culture of each province.
Downtown is becoming less of a construction zone; especially with the fencing on Granville Street that surrounded the Skytrain line construction gone.
There is still work trucks and men in hard hats everywhere but they’re doing finishing touches; landscaping, building scaffolding for video screens and putting up humongous, skyscraper size pictures and flags.
The Vancouver Art Gallery, Georgia Street entrance, is wrapped in what cynically could be called Grandma’s bedroom wallpaper.
The Robson Street side, home to annual marijuana protests and pillow fights, houses a large video screen.
Robson square is a waterfall in Olympic colours. Yep, the whole place is tarted up real pretty like.
On Granville I watched the installation for Lunafest, sponsored by the Public Dreams Society and Asian-Canadian Special Events Association, as part of the Cultural Olympiad. The work made me think of a school science fair, only one where the principal is Terry Gilliam.
At least it’s bright and fun and adds some life to the street that doesn’t include corporate boosterism.
A young Australian man asked me to take his picture by the Olympic countdown clock. The next thing I knew there was a line-up of tourists, most non-English speaking, pointing at me and their cameras and the clock.
I obliged and took their pictures, umbrella in one hand, camera in the other, and a sock slowly rolling under my heel. When I reached down to pull up my sock I was reminded of Gord taking his daughter and friends to a Gwen Stephani concert. He was very funny imitating many of the fifteen-year-old girls at the concert. The ones wobbling on their mom’s borrowed high heels tugging up on their tube tops and down on their mini skirts. I don’t know why my middle-aged sock pulling reminded me of this but it made me laugh out loud. Then the tourists laughed too. This was my favorite Olympic moment so far.
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