I am an Olympian!

Mission accomplished

Gold medals are awarded only to those who excel, who jump higher, or run faster, or are stronger than all the others. Gold medals are heavy--believe me, last night in the volleyball arena one of the Brazilian team members handed me his medal to admire it. Lucky I to have such an opportunity.

Watching the gold medal match in men's volleyball, BRA vs. ITA

I think that all of us who worked to keep sports clean at this Olympiad (and who mostly work for their own national anti-doping organizations, or NADOs) should have been presented with a gold medal. Those of us who stuck it out and worked the long hours, battled the daily challenges, and used our own resources when those of the organizers failed us are, in my book at least, heroes. We were thrown in with and regarded like the regular workforce--the ones who directed the never-ending mass of humanity from the bus and metro stations to the venues, the ones who sat lifeguard style in high chairs with a bullhorn animating the crowd, and the ones who stood at entrances checking accreditations. Those thousands of volunteers faced the same obstacles (while having to provide their own lodging and transportation without being paid). Unlike referees and IF members, our staff of professionals from around the world was generally not being picked up by private cars before or after the events that we monitored, we were relocated from one hotel to the next with no apparent logic, and we did not get to post the pics of scrumptious dinners that my friends from the BMX, track, road, and mountain bike races got to post on Facebook--we worked into the wee-hours and simply could not socialize because of our schedules. When we showed up at a venue because we had received a last-minute call to help out we would be denied a meal ticket for the daily portion of rice and beans and overcooked fish, and if we tried to help out these colleagues who had already put in a 12-hour shift, we'd have our accreditation removed by security and venue management. Yes, it happened to me. Kicked out, for two days, then readmitted with mumbled apologies. Read all those news reports.and don't necessarily believe the official denials. Things were not the way you saw them on TV. The sporting side was fabulous and the warm Brazilian people were gracious hosts, but there is more to the Olympics than that.

Workforce members working the crowd in the Olympic Park

With my old friend Helene in front of the Velodrome

Even if we didn't earn a gold medal, I believe that we did earn the respect and cooperation of the athletes, for whom we were here. Those in charge of us tried their mighty best to improve conditions, and let's hope for all involved that this will be possible before the start of the Paralympics in two weeks. I thank James, Carol, Alexandre, Pedro, and Alexandra for their attempt to keep us going, and I am proud to have been part of their team and our team. We did the job that we came to do under unfavorable circumstances, and we did the job correctly and without reproach--at least I can stand behind everything that I did here. But don't be fooled by the glitz and glamour of what you saw on TV. Not everything was gold.

Action during the men's points race on the track where I was Station Manager

So, with my rant (no, not a rant--simple truths, nothing more, nothing less) out of the way, let me pick up where I had left off in my last post. Over the past three weeks I was given the chance to live in a South American city and start to learn how it moves and breathes and pulses. Thanks to the unexpected move from the hotel in Mares de Goa to the the Monte Alegre in downtown I got to see two completely different neighborhoods during the daytime and nighttime hours. Thanks to my temporary removal of accreditation I had an extra day off that I used to further explore this huge, diverse, totally amazing city. Quite frankly, last night when I returned to the hotel from my last assignment at Macaranazinho in the dark and with rain falling, I felt not only a certain sense of relief but also some pangs of regret of being about to leave Rio.

Arcos de Lapa--the Santa Teresa street car still uses this former aqueduct

Around 8 p.m. this neighborhood comes to life and keeps throbbing until 5 a.m., every day

The same area during the day, all shuttered until night comes

Homeless in Lapa, middle of the day

Idling over a few beers, a very common sight

The inside of many phone booths is used for sex-ed classes

This city has so many different faces, and I am sure I have seen just a few of them. During my sightseeing excursions I passed through many different neighborhoods, some tony, other quite dilapidated. I never feared for my safety, but the possibility of assault exists quite clearly, even if during the Olympics the security forces (police, para-military, and regular military) concentrated their efforts on those ares where visitors would most likely go and thus the incidence of crime was low. Still, my new friend Yuko from Japan was robbed during the middle of the day while walking with a female DCO to the metro station from our hotel. There are a lot of males in the streets who simply don't do anything--I have to assume they have no jobs, and they simply stand there. Others lie on sidewalks, covered with a blanket or not even that--and that's before nightfall when the sidewalks in certain neighborhoods (definitely in downtown, on the way from the metro to our hotel) start to be littered with bodies. I have never seen anything like it, not even in India to this extent, and word has it that the government removed scores of homeless and street children before the Olympics. To where, I don't know.

Streetcar on the Arcos de Lapa, going up to Santa Teresa

It's mostly tourists who are now using this (free) streetcar up the hill

Waiting in the post office, number in hand

Braving the bus and the turnstile

Yet there are those neighborhoods where people are walking dogs and big gates hide big houses and big cars. If you watch the local TV broadcasts you could think that nobody in Brazil has any more than just a bit of Latino in his or her blood (just the same as all other TV I've ever watched in Central or South America). Skin color--just like in the USA--is a determining factor in one's fortunes. The glitzy malls are the same as in New York or Dallas, and those who go there are cosmopolitan and as far removed from the everyday struggle in the favelas as you and I. That's the way the world works. The Olympics were the people's Olympics only when Brazil was about to earn a medal. Even in the tiniest little bars--the ones with the plastic stools and the large beers for $2--everyone would be glued to the 32" LCD screen and shout Brasil. When you don't have much you need to find a reason to party, and maybe that's why carnival lasts as long as it does. The rest of the time? Nobody gave a hoot. They couldn't even give tickets away!

Locals during the closing ceremonies in a small restaurant ...

... while I'm enjoying a Brazilian steak with beans, rice, FF, fabulous salsa, and farofa

The Brazilian people, as I met them, were extremely friendly and warm and always trying to be helpful. They are gregarious and love to laugh. So often I'd see some old fellow play a trick on another one, a woman giving a heartfelt chuckle at what her counterpart just whispered to her. Play some music, and they will start to sway and dance. At the volleyball final, in which Brasil topped Italy in a very tight match, the atmosphere was simply incredible. I would have hated to be an Italian or just an Italian fan. The sea of green and yellow flags in all the venues was stunning--but that did not translate into the streets outside of the bars where a live broadcast might be viewed. For all it's worth, these Games were not the Games of everyday Brazil even though there were moments when everybody did forget life's misery. No, there was no Olympic fever outside of the venues and their immediate vicinity.

The headless Christ

Sugarloaf on an only slightly hazy (humidity) day

The view from Corcovado is simply spectacular and well worth the price of admission

It was as crowded as at any Olympic venue

I visited the places one has to visit in Rio: Christ the Redeemer on Corcovado, Copacabana and Ipanema beaches, and the Santa Teresa neighborhood via the streetcar. The beaches were fun; I strolled along the entire length of the sickle-shaped Copacabana, which I thought was much more scenic than Ipanema, which is straight (even though it has gay sectors). The body watching was pretty amazing, going from one end of the spectrum to the other, while being heavily weighed by large bodies. But the young men and women certainly didn't disappoint. This is where you wear mostly your body and, nowadays, your tattoos. Pre-cancerous skin was evident everywhere, and I do admit that the sight of all those fine boobs made me want to check their firmness. But the accreditation removal episode was still fresh in my mind, so I suffered silently.

Olympic beach volleyball

Ipanema beach without ball

Some people get off on shopping sprees, but for a solitary male at age 60 fashion stores don't hold much appeal. So, instead I spent about 35 minutes waiting in line in one of the two post offices that I saw on this trip to buy a stamp for a postcard (like at the supermarket's butcher section you get to retrieve a number that determines when it will be your turn to be served by one of the various "specialists"). I also tried to visit the much ballyhooed Botanical Gardens, but unfortunately they close at 5 p.m., and with public transport one gets to squeeze in just one or two attractions a day thanks to the sheer interminable transit times. Oh well, I saw the giant palms from outside the fence.

Having an ice-cold Antarctica below the Sugarloaf in Urca

There are so many quiet spots in Rio, like this area in Urca

Visiting Christ the Redeemer was another exercise in honing my patience. When I arrived by about 11 a.m., all the trains to the top were solidly booked (one can do so via the internet or, I am sure, some "app") until 5 p.m., so I shelled out a few extra bucks to get shuttled to the foot of this monumental statue via "private" van. The only reason I can see for their being labeled "private" is that one is in very close proximity to other people's privates, but after the beach experience that was OK. Once you get to the top, the Park Service takes over and sells you another time-stamped ticket to visit the viewing platform proper, so it was around 2 p.m. when I finally got to enjoy the magnificent view of Rio from this high spot. I was surrounded by hundreds, if not a thousand other tourists, who'd lie down on specially placed mats to take pics of their buddies who emulated Christ and spread out their arms. It was all a bit much, but the view was spectacular. If you go to Rio, do both the Sugarloaf and Corcovado as they present totally different perspectives.

Watermelon vendor on Copacabana beach

Wall mural in Santa Teresa

Sidewalk department stores in Lapa

I learned to use the bus system thanks to my transport card and a sense of adventure. I never found any map of the various bus lines, but after a while certain names and landmarks became more than just words, and I started to get an idea which direction I'd rumble off to. If the bus suddenly hooked a 90-degree I'd simply get off and hop on the next one. Most of these buses still have a conductor who sits in a small seat about a quarter of the way into the bus and observes how passengers try to apply their pre-paid card to activate the antique turnstile. If everything fails, you pay cash. The buses drive at breakneck speed, and the Lubbock-like potholed streets mean that one get's jostled around in a precarious fashion. I really loved riding the buses.

Protests outside of the opera house; Brazil spent lots of money that is needed elsewhere

Modern supermarket with prices that top those in the US for most items

Rio has a bike share system, but the bikes don't seem to be used often

To come back to my work for just a second before I close things down: For the entirety of the track cycling events, I was the DCSM (Doping Control Station Manager) for this venue. I was fortunate to be working together with pro-active and organized venue management members who had been working on "their" velodrome for the past two years. They welcomed me into their "velodrome family" as they called it, and together we managed to run all controls despite everything that was thrown in my way. Once I had been told to "deal with it yourself" when I had no chaperones, I simply did what I generally have to do in Latin America: think outside of the box and requisition for myself. Once I had established autonomy, the remainder of my time in this venue was without major stress and almost pleasant. I had fabulous crew members, and I started to think that maybe things weren't that bad--until reality hit and the track races were finished and we had to go to different venues.

Selfie with my friends Iverson and Marcelo

On duty

With colleagues at the conclusion of track racing at a party thrown by venue management

Oh well, it's now all in the past. I am glad that I came to Rio, even if I am not glad that things were so difficult and stressful for all of us, so bad that numerous doping control officers changed their airline tickets and flew home. Most of us stuck it out because the athletes are just so awesome, and we're all in this to make it possible for them to test each other in a clean environment, on a level playing field. We were in a daily battle ourselves, and our own strength was tested, and I am proud to have done the job I was asked to do, and to have it done well.

Oh well ...

It's only four more years until Tokyo!

Jürgen