Just over two weeks until the Opening Ceremonies of the 2014 Sochi Winter Olympics!
I’m excited. More so than normal – probably because we were host to the last ones. As I mentioned in the Biggest Whoopsie I was at those Opening Ceremonies. What struck me afterwards was the fact that for the at home viewers once the ceremonies are over they are over. However, for the on site viewers, they are far from over. Folks have to get home.
This is when one realises confusion could be an Olympic event.
Of course, all surrounding streets are closed to local traffic. The dozens of special VIPs and Olympic poobahs as well as the hundreds of athletes are personally bussed out. This means there are a plethora of busses in the area and none of them are for you. None of them. All of the bus choked streets are lined with police officers. Add to the mix the fact that it is pouring with rain. It’s not a light sprinkle. It’s pouring!
To give you a wee soupcon of how miserable it is what it is like I’ve included this vignette of Wayne Gretzky lighting the outside “official” Olympic cauldron. There are much longer, more visceral versions that show our national treasure rocketing about in the back of an open truck, tormented by relentless monsoon rains en route from the indoor stadium. Have a gander at his face – you’ll see that the poor chap is just soaked.
Not just a light drizzle is it? I am also in that rain. With my mother. Who is in a wheelchair.
Let’s back up just a bit. Mom has recently undergone a wee health scare and the family feels it would be wise if she navigated the wonder of the Opening Ceremonies crowds in a wheelchair. Fine. It’s important to note that she’s never been in one before, nor have I ever pushed one.
I’d like you to picture the largest crowd you’ve ever been in. Now double it. Imagine everyone is trying to leave a stadium at the same time via narrow winding ramps and one elevator. It’s overwhelmingly obvious confusion could be an Olympic event.
Spying the crowded, steep ramp Mom declares “It’ll be the death of me if we go down there! You’ll let go and I’ll wing off the side!”
We head for the elevator. Yes, the one elevator. All twelve of us. Not to worry there’s six wheelchairs and fourteen “pushers” already in line. Twenty minutes later we’re still waiting; our numbers have grown dramatically and we’ve yet to have one elevator sighting.
The wiser family members break off with carefree sing-songy shouts of “see you back at the bus.” They are referring to our small rental bus that is parked blocks from the “restricted” area. This abrupt abandonment incites the others to flee. Now it’s just my mother and me hanging out with the original six wheelchairs. Finally after an additional twenty minutes we squeeze onto the narrow elevator.
“We get a gold medal for waiting!” pipes up one wag to the hassled, exhausted volunteer manning the buttons.
The reason for the long delay is readily apparent. The elevator moves with the speed of a lethargic slug. We’re finally dispatched into the rain a good ten minutes later.
I have no idea where the bus is parked. Mom, a self-declared Type A personality, certainly remembers. “Beatty Street!” Frankly, right now she could be talking Italian. Hesitant to let her know I’m none the wiser I careen off in a westerly direction. She’s not fooled. Clamping her thick, shiny souvenir program around her now sodden head, she hunches down into the seat and orders me to ask one of the hundreds of police ringing the roads.
I’m not quite ready to give in. I blindly soldier on for perhaps another fifteen minutes or so. Just typikel. It’s hopeless. Not one street looks familiar.
Unfortunately, the ground is marred with hundreds of tiny pebbles. Her wheelchair isn’t happy – it lurches forward in wildly unpredictable fashion. Realizing I can go much quicker without her I pull over and park her next to a wire fence. Facing inward. To this day she swears I did it on purpose.
With her strident shouts of “turn me around this instant!” fading with each fleeting step, I splash towards the blue suited officers standing along the rain-soaked pavement.
“Beatty? What’s a Beatty?” each and every single one of them asks me. Their confusion is natural. The ID badges on their arms read Medicine Hat, Revelstoke, Toronto, Winnipeg, Thunder Bay … Not one of them works in Vancouver. Clearly all of Canada’s finest have been recruited to defend our streets.
Loathe to admit defeat to my apoplectic mother, I trudge back slowly.
“Get on your phone and call your sister. Now.” I’m surprised she can get the words out her teeth are so clenched.
Not five minutes later an angel appears in the form of my umbrella carrying brother-in-law. He artfully pushes Mom’s chair back to the awaiting bus and we zip through the near empty streets. Naturally. All the other spectators have cleared out ages ago.
I look forward to watching the February 7th Sochi Opening Ceremonies from my dry living room. Afterwards I shall once again phone Mom and apologise for my mass confusion of that evening four years ago.
Yes, confusion could be an Olympic event.
Enough about me and my soggy confusion. I’m curious about you. Have you ever been totally lost or abandoned in your own city? Are you looking forward to the Olympics? Or will you be exercising in your own fashion? If you’d care to share, I’d love to hear.
22 Responses
I always watch the ball drop in Times Square on New Year’s Eve, and think there is no way I would ever be in that crowd. Ever. But a few yeas ago we took the kids to NYC a few days before New Year’s, and they were already closing off the street. The bottleneck on the sidewalk in front of our hotel was terrifying – I thought my youngest would be trampled.
I have been lost many times, in many places. It’s pretty much my natural state.
Yes, I think that the Times Square ball drop would be the equivalent to the after Opening Ceremonies crowd… I’m with you – I’d rather watch it on tv.
I am loving your memories of the Olympics. I never thought about what it must be like to try to LEAVE an event like that at the same time as tens of thousands of other people. Add the wheelchair that you’re not used to and THE RAIN…Oh, my!!
I am not great with direction so I get lost plenty, even in my own town! I’m used to it! (but not with that many people!!) –Lisa
Yes, it was such a delightful experience Lisa. I firmly believe I am wonderful with directions however there is no way in hell I can convince my mother (who knows me best) that I’m am.
Oh my goodness. So sorry to laugh at your dear Mum’s expense, but that was hilarious ! While I have never had an adventure quite as dramatic as that, I have been lost in my own city many times, as I have the world’s worst sense of direction !
Oh Jane let me tell you – it was an experience for the books.
My husband loses the car in the underground carparks all the time, you know the same ones I lose the ticket for. Clearly we will never win The Amazing Race.
Oh those underground carparks! They infuriate me. It’s especially hard when the ID numbers are teensy tiny and I forget to look at them in the first place. Love The Amazing Race – sadly I shall never win it either.
I am that mother and I write to say that Kelly now informs me that she has reorganized the geogrphic part of her mind – and that she will never be lost again. We then procede north when I know the shop we are seeking is in the southern part of the area. Ah well, it’s a treat to count the Christmas lights that are still up. I still love ya, gal!
Hahaha! Laughing at your blatant honesty. I fondly remember “the wheelies” on those antique shop appraisal days … “Kelly will you stop and ask for directions …”
Okay. I know the word you don’t need to choose: adventurous! (referencing your word of the year post) Kelly, you are a fun one. I would have been crying! I cannot begin to imagine being in your situation!
Me? Navigation is not a strength. I’m usually confused in new places.
You see though – this is the story of my life. Truly. It’s just typikel for me to be in such a situation.
Tee hee hee…. again! Your poor mum! I once visited a newly opened Ikea store with my mum – we bought a futon and mattress and trundled the shopping trolley into the lift – the store had the most awful multi-storey carpark… and we forgot which floor we’d parked on.. We went up and down in the lift with an overflowing trolley ( why do the wheels never work?) causing chaos – it was so busy and we always seemed to be going against the flow of people! In the end we gave up and had to get a security guard to find the car. Not been back since!
Nooooo! I’m sorry Helen but this is hilarious. I can well imagine it. The heat, the confusion and the overwhelming frustration. You know you parked it somewhere! Not only that but you’re dealing with an incalcitrant trolley. Very resourceful of you to enlist a security guard. Did you follow him or did he wander around on his own first?
We followed him. I must add that my mum tends to naturally cause confusion wherever she goes so I’ll blame her this time!
Talk about adventure!!! I totally enjoyed this post…at your expense, I know, but my goodness, perseverance…not confusion. Everyone else was confused, that’s all, you were on a mission! And a terrific mission it was. Thanks for sharing this one. Looking forward to the games here as we stay bundled up against the frigid temps. Aloha from New York State.
Of course, I was on a mission! Brilliant. Thanks for your kind words. Warm Alohas winging their way to you as well!
Grinning like a fool at the visual of you pushing your mom through the rain….lost! One of those “it’s funny now” scenarios I’m sure. I never thought how crowded it must be to attend one of the big ceremonies! I mean, it makes sense, but you don’t see that side of it until you’re actually there. I’m glad for both of us that we’ll be viewing this one from our warm, dry family rooms!
Indeed – clutching a warm toddy or two as well…
Oh it may have been soggy but how incredible to witness the opening ceremonies, in person, in your own city! I volunteered for a couple of years with the Chicago 2016 Olympic Committee as we tried, unsuccessfully to secure the summer olympics for our great city.
I love everything about the Olympics and can’t wait for the opening ceremonies in Sochi!
So cool that you volunteered on the Chicago 2016 bid Mo. Keep trying! It was amazing to be at an early morning swim practice in July of I think 2003 and to have the coach crank up the radio so we could all hear the announcement of the city chosen for 2010. Amazing.