When we took a trip to the Olympics during my study abroad in Italy, because the Olympics were in Italy, so obviously, we did a few events together such as following the landlady through traffic on her bike, attending and being the loud obnoxious fans at Olympic curling (my request), and wandering the .
Olympic village. The rest of the events we split our separate ways to follow interests.
Mine was skiing.
Since this was a more impromptu trip than perhaps it should have been, we were left trying to scalp tickets for any event we were looking at. Fortunately for me, this was in the phase of my life where I apparently looked perpetually lost and in need of help.
Not sure where to go for curling?
Hey, look there’s an intern asking me if I need any information.
Wondering which way the Olympic village was?
He look, there is a helpful old lady trying to give directions.
Not sure what train to get on to find the ski mountain 40k away?
He look, there’s a person on the way to watch the rescheduled Women’s downhill final who happens to have an extra ticket.
So, off we went on a train into the mountains of Northeastern Italy in the hopes that the downhill final would not be canceled again because of poor visibility.
We arrived and the ski hill, and the event was delayed. Amidst the astounding Alps, the weather where we were at the bottom was actually just fine. Some clouds but mostly sunny (because the sun follows me around). Apparently, the tops of the courses were doing their best to impersonate a summer in San Fransisco.
So we waited.
And then a helpful intern approached me to ask if I needed help.
“Not in this case.”
“Do you want to come dance with us?”
“We are going to dance to help people with their mood as we wait. Do you want to come too?”
I’m not entirely sure why they wanted me to stand in the front and dance as they blasted pop tunes around the alpine valleys of Italy, but I am pretty sure it was not for either my dance moves or the fact that I was wearing a Russian hat, glasses, and a cloak. A full, water-proof LOTR style cloak.
Actually, maybe it was because I looked absurd.
Regardless, I spent an hour unusually letting go of my dancing inhibitions and jiggled around the snow with my hands in my cloak pockets and singing to the tunes of the early 2000’s.
Eventually, my charm extended itself into the upper reaches of the course, and we were able to enjoy the finals and the medal ceremony, which they had on the mountain since they had to delay from the one in the village and didn’t have space down in Torino.