A City in Withdrawal

The most impressive part of the past 17 days of chaotic Olympics events was not the accumulation of the most medals in Canadian history, nor the final gold in Men’s Hockey we so craved (though we did not actually properly see the game winning goal on television until replays minutes later - thanks for that nice camerawork CTV). Rather. the most impressive thing for Vancouverites about these Olympics was the simple reality that for those brief 17 days, the city galvanized as one and forgot about our own crap for a little while.

We cheered for Canadians like we have never cheered before, whether at home or out and about - people we really do not know, from places we have never been to, nor plan to go to. It did not matter so long as they were Canadian. That same Canadian Athlete could have ruthlessly cut us off in traffic, as is so common, or butt in line, and we would normally ride them like the vultures that they are, until we realized who they were, then the conversation would turn to congratulations, can I buy you a Tim’s? I even saw people from Vancouver cheering for people from Toronto - not me of course, but it happened.

We ultimately became tacky tourists in our own town. We bought anything with a Canada symbol, like we had never been there before. I saw Vancouverites buying our own bad maple syrup and strange dried salmon and walking around asking directions to places we've been to a thousand times, or talking pictures of street signs or curbs or totem poles, or whatever people wanted to remember. We took to the streets like revelers on New Years Eve in Times Square, minus the big ball and frigid temperatures. We chanted and sang our National Anthem more times than we can imagine, everywhere, even in odd places like urinals and port-o-potties. It did not matter.

For once, I heard no separation discussion - I even saw the Fleur de Lis flying at a few events. There was no gruesome warfare as the gangs decided to celebrate instead of whacking each other in broad daylight as they have been doing. There was even minimal protesting and rioting, though not sure the impact of the one major coup, the attack of the Bay (people must have been upset about not getting a pair of red mittens I guess). It was uncharacteristic behavour for this city, but refreshing and different all the same.

It certainly seemed odd to hold the biggest winter event in the city which is afraid of snow (anyone who has witnessed Vancouver declare a National Emergency at the first glimpse of snow knows what I mean). Yet the city pulled it off. In the weeks that follow, the city will return to its normal rainy self. Panhandlers will return, traffic will congest, bad drivers will return and Cypress will go back to being the sucky mountain it is, oh sorry, I guess it never changed during the Olympics. But for that 17 day window, we forgot about all of that, and just decided to enjoy what we knew we would never experience again. For Vancouver, that is better than any gold medal.