I don’t mean to pick on luge. A lot of the Olympic events being held in Whistler are about as spectator-friendly as a shirtless Shaquille O’Neal. There’s a reason the Polish contingent in the stands at ski jump has gained notoriety for its uncanny ability to smuggle in, and quickly consume, tremendous amounts of vodka. Once you’ve seen from a great distance one madman hurl himself off a ramp while travelling at 80 km/h, you begin to think to yourself: this would be way better with tremendous amounts of vodka. Where’d those Polish guys get to?
Yet the crowds—always enthusiastic, always supportive, sometimes even sober—have made the events a blast. The sense of shared experience slows the speed of the blurs, reduces the distance of the specks. That, too, is the power of the Olympics.
Toward the bottom of Whistler Stroll, the winding path that serves as the village’s pedestrian main street, organizers erected a huge set of Olympic rings. It’s become a gathering place—and possibly the most photographed B.C. monument since Pamela Anderson’s chest.
Beneath the rings, a makeshift memorial has been made to Nodar Kumaritashvili, the Georgian athlete who died hours before the Games opened. Most people take a moment to look at the flowers, plants and candles. Many pause. Some make the sign of the cross. Then they all turn and smile for the camera.
Pages: 1 2
