A gift for you in the words of American poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)...
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
I'll be watching the Opening Ceremonies tonight with extra pride. Two of my former students, Zach Parise and Ryan Malone, will be in the parade of athletes -- both as members of the US Hockey Team. Imagining what that experience will be like for them brought back memories of my own Olympic experience as a spectator in 2002...
Broadcasters and sportswriters often resort to hyperbole when talking about the Olympics, but having been swept up in it, I understand why. The Olympic Spirit is real. It is palpable. It has the power to move, to shape, and to humble even the hardest heart. A recent article in the New York Times questioned "have the Winter Games outlived their usefulness, given the altered sports calendar, changing viewing habits and the fall of the Berlin Wall?"
And I wholeheartedly say, "No!"
My husband and I weren't supposed to go to the Salt Lake City Olympics in 2002. But with a last-minute airfare and a friend's guest room, we found ourselves in the cold sunshine of Salt Lake on the morning after the opening ceremonies. We really weren't sure what to expect when we arrived. We knew the city fairly well, but neither of us had ever been to the Olympics before. And after three days of immersion I'd say that the Olympics are about one thing: hospitality. We'd arrived without tickets to any events, but a quick trip to a ticket office fixed that. Throughout the city hospitality centers helped visitors find lodging, meals, tickets, services, shuttles -- and everyone we encountered in Olympic gear was both well-informed and incredibly friendly.
We scored tickets to two events, but our first night we had nothing on the agenda, so we headed into town. The Winter Games in Salt Lake handled the medal ceremonies differently from other Olympic Games. Each night all of the medals that had been won that day were awarded at one huge medals ceremony in downtown Salt Lake. And each medals ceremony featured a concert by a big-name band. But the best part: tickets to the ceremonies were free and were available by lottery to Salt Lake residents!
R and I moseyed down to the venue where we bought tickets from a scalper for $40 each. Given what we witnessed that night, I would have paid much more! We were among 18,000 people watching some of the world's greatest athletes receive their medals under the stars. The cold mountain air froze our tears as they played "The Star Spangled Banner" for women's moguls medalist Shannon Bahrke, one of twelve athletes to be honored that night. And when the speeches and flag-waving ended, we were warmed by the Dave Matthews Band in concert. It was incredible!
R and I hardly slept; we were giddy. And we were up early the next morning for our trip out to the Olympic Speed Skating Oval where we watched the women's 3000 meter event. Sitting in the stands we were stunned. Watching the Olympics on TV is nothing like watching them in person. The crowd at the event was small, but they were fierce -- and largely Dutch. We positively fell in love with the Dutch fans who were easy to spot in their orange garb and wild hats. They sang and chanted and shook their cowbells. And they didn't just cheer for their compatriots, either.
Long track speed skating events are raced in pairings; two skaters races against each other at a time. The person with the shortest time in the end wins. Every skater on the ice -- and there were 32 skaters that day -- was cheered and serenaded and supported. Honestly, it reminded me of a middle school swim meet -- lots of love and cheering all around -- except that, well, there were world records being set and broken in almost every pairing.
The next day we went to a hockey game: Latvia vs. Slovakia. Again, the atmosphere was more party and not at all partisan. We sat behind a huge contingent of the Latvian team: other athletes who took time out of their preparations to cheer on their hockey team. They were decked out in wild hats and sang songs that sounded a lot like the anthems sung at European soccer games to me.
Between events we hung out in town where Olympic fever prevailed. And the city fairly hummed with excitement. It looked beautiful, swathed in lavender and orange with the words "Light the Fire Within" emblazoned on anything that would stand still. At night the Olympic rings blazed in the foothills -- huge rings of fire visible from all over the valley.
As a travel writer I say: watch for last-minute airfares to Vancouver. Think about crashing on someone's couch. Here's a time to try AirBnB.com or Roomorama.com for the first time.
But as a human being I say: if you have lost faith in the goodness in humanity... if you feel cynical about the state of the world... if you long for something simpler, purer, better... go to Vancouver. You can't help but be caught up in the Olympic spirit. It is restorative and, like the cauldron that will be lit tonight, it burns bright.
Update: Link Love
And if that doesn't have you in the spirit, check out these Olympic posts:
It’s the bane of every photographer and traveler: the photo op that got away. And I’m convinced the more photos you take, the more often you find yourself wishing, “If only I had my camera right now!”
For me, the Big One happened in Winter, 2001. We hadn’t lived in Sacramento more than a few weeks when September 11 changed everything. The city, the state, the country, and the world were gripped by fear and anxiety, and my husband and I were by no means immune. We had moved to a city where we didn’t know anyone. We didn’t have any friends. Our family was thousands of miles away. We felt very, very alone.
One afternoon we sat together eating a late lunch at Jack’s Urban Eats, one of our favorite local restaurants. Jack’s is in midtown Sacramento, right next to some railroad tracks that are frequently used. The winter sun was low in the sky. The tree branches were bare. And Jack’s was deserted, an afternoon lull. As we sat, chatting away, suddenly a train rumbled past. I looked up and reflected in the restaurant’s windows was a portent: the train passing was loaded with tanks.
We stood up and walked outside. Tank after tank after tank -- painted in desert camouflage -- passed as the train made its way through Midtown Sacramento.
And I didn’t have a camera with me. Here we are nearly a decade later, and that day still sticks with me. If only I’d had my camera...
Every time I’m stopped by a train now, I look to see what the cargo is. And I carry my camera with me much more frequently. But I still wish I’d gotten a photo of the train full of tanks making its way through town.
So, tell us: what’s that photographic moment you missed that you’ll never forget?
