The Jetpacker

Imagine if New Year’s Eve wasn’t just one day, but 16 — unexpected bursts of cheering, people sneaking alcohol into water bottles, streets so crowded you can hardly move, random appearances by marching bands, sociable people striking up conversation with anyone and everyone, an electric excitement that keeps the city awake all hours of the night.  That’s what Vancouver is like during the Olympics.

Last night we were awakened by the sounds of people singing the Canadian national anthem.  This morning we were awakened by the same sound.

You can’t resist getting caught up in the Olympic spirit when you’re at the Olympics.  It’s addicting and thrilling and it makes you feel like you’re part of something historic.  On the flip side, Olympic spirit is bad for the wallet.

We feel like we need to buy everything with an Olympic logo on it to remind ourselves in the future that we were really there.  More irresponsible, however, is that each of us has chosen our favorite mascot and we can’t stop buying products that feature them.  A small can of authentic Canadian maple syrup brandished with the image of Quatchi seemed like it was worth $14 at the time.  Now I have buyer’s remorse… even though the bottle is adorable.

It kinda feels like being addicted to gambling except there’s no help line to stop us from spending money we don’t have.  Hopefully the landlord understands.

Know how far we walked down Robson Street in three hours?  3 blocks.  3 measly blocks.

Every other store was a souvenir store that contained a pin (I’ll never wear) or a luggage tag (I’ll never use)… but at the time I felt like I needed to have them to feel complete.  I keep telling myself “this is once-in-a-lifetime, buy every piece of memorabilia you can because it will vanish off the face of the earth and you’ll always regret not buying it!”

Truth is, most of this stuff will wind up on eBay for a fraction of the cost in a few weeks when I no longer care about finding that elusive Quatchi beanie or USA hockey pin.

We heard a place called London Drugs was selling Olympic paraphernalia for half price — which is still four times as expensive as it should be — so we darted over there and melded into the crowd of people ripping any item with the Olympic rings off the shelves.  I took a step back for a few moments to evaluate whether I really needed to buy kid-size Quatchi slippers I’ll never fit into — I determined yes — and noticed a guy wearing a German hockey jersey right next to me.

So I decided to say hi and tell him that we recently visited Germany and loved it.  We got to talking about his country and the Olympics and how his teams were doing.  I asked if he went to the Finland-Germany hockey game the previous night and he said, “Yes, but it was hard for me because I love my country, but I was rooting for Teemu Selanne and Saku Koivu. I’m a big Anaheim Ducks fan.”

Whaaa?  I took a quick glance above my eyebrows to see if I was wearing my Ducks hat, figuring he was just saying that to pander to me, like, “You poor Anaheim fan.  You have no fans so I’ll make you feel better by pretending I’m a fan too.”

Alas, I was not wearing any Ducks gear.  He was genuine.

The Ducks don’t have a substantial fan base back in Southern California because reality is most people don’t know what hockey is nor do we have many places to play it.  Hockey is a religion in Canada and many parts of Europe.  In Southern California, it’s a scheduling inconvenience in between Bon Jovi and Britney Spears concerts at Honda Center.

So I was more than surprised to find out that we not only had other serious Ducks fans attending the Olympics… but a Duck fan in Germany of all places.

His name was Daniel and he said he arrived in Canada a week prior to the Olympics just so he could travel to Edmonton and Calgary to watch the Ducks play.  He said that the last time he had seen a Ducks game live was 13 years ago when he visited Anaheim for a 4-game home stand for his graduation gift.  Back then, they were still the Disney-owned Mighty Ducks.

Since then he’s only been able to follow the Ducks by watching highlights on NHL.com.  Now that’s dedication.

Eventually we ended our conversation to continue shopping along Robson Street when two police officers blocked our path.  We thought we were in trouble because Jackie has been conspicuously walking around with a USA Hockey scarf that looks stolen.  It still has the security tag stuck to it because the guy at the sports store forgot to take it off, and every time we walk into a store the alarms go off.  One of these days I’ll yell “THIEF!” just to embarrass her.

Figuring the worst, Jackie was already preparing an excuse, conjuring lachrymose eyes, when the cop unexpectedly said:

“Did you buy those scarves to WIPE AWAY YOUR TEARS!?”

Yes, the Canadian cops are Canadian hockey fans.  And like most Canadian hockey fans, the cops figure Team Canada is going to wipe the floor with Team USA, so they couldn’t resist an easy jab.

The cops were playful and hilarious.  It’s becoming redundant to use the word “nice” and “Canadian” in the same sentence.  Their definitions intertwine.  So I’ll try to refrain from nice Canadian from now.  Just know it’s fact.

For about 10 minutes we talked about hockey, complementing each other’s teams and hoping for a good game.  They even said if Canada wins, they would give us a police escort back to our room.

Come nightfall, we made our way to the Olympic cauldron.

We may have been here for four days, but we really didn’t feel like we were at the Olympics until we finally saw the cauldron in all its glory.

The news has been making a big deal about how inaccessible the cauldron is thanks to a fence, but after seeing it in person, it just seems like the news is doing its usual thing by trying to find a negative story.  The world could be united by people holding hands and the news would ignore the world peace angle to focus on the transmission of germs instead.

Yes, there’s a fence, but it’s at a reasonable distance of about 100 feet, maybe a bit more.  And there’s an opening in the fence so people can take pictures of the cauldron unobstructed by chain link.  Plus, people are polite enough to snap a picture and move out of the way to give others a turn.

We were at the front in about 2 minutes, and we were so close that we could feel the heat emanating from the Olympic flame.

For dinner, we went to a place called The Keg.  It reminded us of a nicer BJ’s and the place was packed, so we knew it had to be good.

Some of the patrons were skinny women wearing authentic Canada hockey jerseys as dresses.

While waiting to be seated, an older gentleman started talking to me about his Olympic experience.  When he said, “I’m from Southern California,” I responded, “Me too.  I’m a Ducks fan.”

He laughed and said, “I’m a Kings fan.”

As much as we don’t like each other’s team, the rivalry doesn’t exist at the Olympics.  We’re united by our love of hockey and that’s what brought us to the Olympics.  Plus, both the Kings and Ducks have players on Team USA, so for two weeks we’ll be rooting for players we don’t usually want to see succeed.

After that, the rivalry resumes.

Just before leaving, I overheard a man say to another man, “Crazy out there, isn’t it?”

The other man responded, “I’ve lived here all my life… and I’ve never seen the city like this.”