The Jetpacker

What’s the longest you’ve ever waited in line?  2 hours for a ride at a theme park?  3  hours for concert tickets?

How about SIX HOURS?

That’s how long we waited in line to touch the Olympic medals at the Royal Canadian Mint.

Six hours.  Of standing.  Moving up a foot or two every 15 minutes.  No benches.  For Six.  Hours.  A quarter of an entire day.  That’s saying a lot considering I sometimes sleep for two quarters of a day.

Luckily, we were standing with some pretty cool Canadian gentlemen who took the day off of work to see the medals as well.  So it made the six hours feel shorter.  Even though my legs kept locking up.  And I was developing a disturbing case of dry mouth from yapping more than Oprah.

The best part about talking with Canadians is that it gives Americans like us time to introspect.  We often feel like we can’t say anything negative about our country without being called unpatriotic or un-American.

Crossing the border to the north was like permission to vent.  We vented so much that Cameron said, “Wow, you guys have more complaints about American than we do!”

I think it just comes down to jealousy.  The city of Vancouver seems to have it all figured out.  As Cameron and Blake pointed out, sometimes they’re amazed that we’re still debating about things in America that they resolved years ago: gay marriage rights, leniency on recreational marijuana use, nationalized health care, etc.

They eat better.  They’re more fit.  They’re more green.  If they can just solve that pesky cold weather issue, I’d consider dual citizenship.

By the time we finally got inside the Mint, we had to wait another hour until our group could enter the room where the Olympic and Paralympic medals were kept.

Fortunately there was more to see and do inside.  We got to hold a real gold bar, see a giant million dollar coin — it’s so heavy it would take four people to steal it — and get a pin from a lady who was a stickler about people saying “please.”  This is Canada; I assumed everyone said “please” anyway.  Must have been the Americans.  (Kidding!  Or are we?)

If you read our post about what makes the Olympic medals so cool, you remember that they had an undulating design.  We were reminded of this no less than 10 times once inside.  It made us painfully aware that someone needs to invent more synonyms for “undulating.”  After a while it just sounds unnecessarily sexual.

Speaking of, I still can’t stop laughing about this.  Before we entered the room with the medals, a security guard gave us directions on how to handle the medals:

“Do not touch the medals with anything other than your gloved hand.” (They gave us a white glove to wear.)

“Do not make a victory sign with your hands next to the medals.”

“Do not put the medal in front of you and make it appear as if you have won a medal.”

“Do not lick, bite or kiss the medals.”

Then Blake asked aloud, “Can we still dry hump the medals?”

Our group of 20 or so people was given about 10 minutes to touch and take pictures with the medals.  Suddenly the six hour wait for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity seemed worth it.

Jackie stayed back because she was feeling ill, but Ashley and I quickly jotted from one medal the next, weighing them in our hands — they felt heavier than a pound — and snapping pictures.  10 minutes wasn’t enough, but we tried our best.

Before we were kicked out, a woman offered to take our picture standing next to a case featuring all three Olympic gold medals.

A few hours later, Ashley and I walked to LiveCity Yaletown to visit the Coca Cola Pavilion… and who do we see?

The same woman!  Her name was Veronika and she was with her husband Ken.  As soon as they recognized us, they literally pulled us into line with them.

The wait to get into the Coke House was about 90 minutes.  Ha!  After standing in a six-hour long line, anything less seems easy.  I’ll never complain about measly 90 minutes again.

We had a blast talking to Ken and Veronika and an even better time inside the Coke tent.  We drank our free bottle of Coke, received a limited edition Coke bottle that glows different colors, and played a Wii-like game where we put on gloves that looked like polar bear paws and guided our respective video game bears across water by paddling quickly — I haven’t had a work out like that since I quit P90X.

The best part was getting our photograph taken with an Olympic torch!  I’m not particularly fond of this picture.  Here’s another once-in-a-lifetime opportunity marred by unflattering appearance.

I’m sure you’re curious what the torch looks like in the hands of an ordinary person, so I’ll post it.  But I’m not happy about it.  I’ve been growing this double-chin like fatty pocket under my face — I call it the Gobble Gobbler — even though I’m of normal weight, and my neck pouch is totally accentuated in this photograph.  Avert your eyes to the torch instead.

There were a few other things to see and do inside LiveCity Yaletown besides listen to local bands on the main stage.  Vancouver House was closed.  The line to get into the Panasonic Pavilion which showcased a 3-D TV was too long.  No one cared about the Acer Pavilion.  And a brief tour through a tiny sustainable house called West House was lackluster.  So we said goodbye to Ken and Veronika — hopefully we’ll see them again soon! — and went back to the room to see how Jackie was doing.

A day of rest served her well and she was ready to check out the big lighting and pyrotechnic extravaganza taking place just outside in Robson Square called Ignite The Dream.  We heard the fireworks and cheers every night at 9:30 and 11 from our room, and we knew this was our last night to see it, so we had to go.

We’re obviously not gonna win an Academy Award for cinematography on this video, but at least you get to see the show from our perspective.

After the show ended, we waited about 20 minutes in line to buy some Olympic memorabilia at the Hudson’s Bay Company store downtown.

Even though I support my country, I consider myself an equal opportunist.  I bought a Russia hat and a Canada shirt, and I was already wearing my USA hockey scarf.  I must have looked like a confused Olympic mascot.

Before we went back to the room, we had to do two things…

First, get a Japadog.  I had been curious about the Japadog since before we left, but the line was always so long — almost a full city block — every time I looked out the window.  This time the line was about half as long, so I had to seize the opportunity.

It still took an hour.  Was it worth it?

Heck yeah!  A Japadog tastes like a combination of sushi and hotdog.  I know that sounds utterly disgusting, but in some mysterious way, the geniuses behind the Japadog defied food logic and made it work.

I wasn’t going to wait another hour to try other types of Japadogs the next day, so I ordered three:

Ume – raw red onion drenched in plum sauce draped over a bratwurst

Oroshi – a bratwurst covered in soy sauce, green onion and grated radish

Okonomi – a pork hotdog covered in a secret sauce, Japanese mayo, fried cabbage and bonito flakes (thin pieces of dried and smoked tuna)

Jackie tried the bratwurst stuffed with edamame (soy beans).

I loved it.  Jackie wasn’t a fan.  Ashley deemed the food cart untrustworthy.

The second thing we had to do was get a box of Smarties.  In America we have M&M’s.  In Canada they have Smarties.  They’re basically the same thing except the Smarties have a thicker and more flavorful candy shell.

I’m convinced that candy shell contains fruit flavoring.  But so far, I can’t convince anyone else in my party of such.  I swear I taste a faint orange taste when I eat the orange colored Smarties.

Even though the official Smarties website doesn’t explicitly say they have a fruit flavored shell, I looked around on the internet and found some people that agree with me.  I think we’re onto something.  Some kind of fruity conspiracy.  It’s not psychosomatic and, no, I didn’t mistakenly eat a box of Skittles instead.

It’s just a fact: purple should always taste like grape, yellow should always taste like lemon, and red should always taste like cherry… or strawberry… or red apple.

Canadian readers, we need you for a taste test.  Obtain a box of Smarties through legal or questionably ethical means, tell me the orange color tastes like orange, and keep me out of the psych ward.