Olympics

How about we start here?

I went to the Olympics! 

Well, sort of. I went to Paris during the Olympics.

But that counts because the entire city was engulfed in Olympic fever. 

Streets were blocked for races, venues were built around monuments, and world citizens gathered together. We rubbed shoulders, snapped pictures, and soaked up the sights. It really didn’t matter that I didn’t have a ticket to an event; I still felt the excitement. (Last-minute tickets were over 200 euros.) 

If I had planned ahead, I could have found reasonably priced tickets (around 35-50 euros). But my visit was somewhat spontaneous. Dazzled after watching the opening ceremonies, I decided that I must go see things for myself, so I traded my trip to Beijing for a trip to Paris. 

Where I could attend a watch party

and take home a little masterpiece.

I hadn’t been to the Olympics since working the Atlanta flights in 1996. But I’m an Olympic-faithful fan. I never miss them. I find the Olympic Games incredibly uplifting. I get swept up in the backstories, the national pride, the pomp and circumstance, not to mention the sheer magnificence of human athleticism. To watch the world’s elite athletes compete and do things with their bodies that seem humanly impossible is… well, inspiring. 

Couple all that with my love of Paris and… I’m trying to remember why I bid Beijing?

Oh well. What little I did see on my lone layover was, no surprise, Beautiful. 

I left with several impressions:

1. The French were excellent hosts. Volunteers were stationed all over the city to assist travelers, and everyone from hotel staff to shop clerks couldn’t have been friendlier. 
2. The police presence was astounding. It seemed like every officer in the country of France was called to duty. Sadly, in this day and age, keeping everyone safe is a monumental task. 
3. I felt a sense of connection. The Olympics is like a string that ties everyone together—locals and visitors. It’s that big. It has energy, and it’s a shared experience.   

Please don’t roll your eyes, but I believe the Olympic Games have the power to bring us, citizens of the world, closer together. Even if we keep count of our country’s medals and puff up when our national anthem plays, we still revel in everyone’s success.  

The crew shared the layover hotel in Paris with the men’s Moroccan soccer team. As they were leaving the hotel to go eliminate the USA from the tournament, I locked eyes with one of the players. He raised his hand to me, and we exchanged a peace sign. It may sound corny, but in that simple gesture, I felt the spirit of the games. 

*I see you. Good luck, young man. I may not be from Morocco, but I’m proud of you.