My London 2012 Olympic diary: Day 10 and 11

Day 10: Would you like some more gold to complete your trip?

The tenth and last Olympic day is finally upon us. The schedule is simple. Much like the first day we had, this one was devoted to one of the biggest chance of gold for France. French handball was ruling the world for quite a while at the time, as they were the current Olympic and world champions. They made it to the final, not without fearful moments, where they were set to meet a Swedish team who already overachieved in this tournament.

We took advantage of the late afternoon kick off to add something we truly missed about London but did not have any time to do before, I mean a pub lunch. Yes, I miss my perpetual hesitation when standing at the counter, ready to order. Should I take a burger or go for a fish and chips? It was always the same dilemma and it still is. In order to satisfy our desire but also considering our travelling plan for the day and our knowledge of the London pubs, we decided to go towards the Limehouse basin and settle on ”The Narrow” terrace. This pub, belonging to world famous chef Gordon Ramsey, was amongst the ones we tried, enjoyed and recommended during our London life.

There we enjoyed a delicious burger perfectly accompanied by a real London brewed beer called “Meantime”. Added to the sunshine and the view over the Thames and its slowly sailing boats, this made an excellent last lunch in Great Britain (until the next).

Once the plates and glasses emptied, we went for a digestive walk through the Docklands until we met a DLR station with trains leading us straight to Stratford. The Olympic park was a lot less busy than it was for my two previous visits. The reason was simple: there was not much happening within the park. On the final day of the Olympics, there were only three valid tickets to allow entry to the area: the men water polo final happening early in the afternoon, the men handball final a bit later and finally the closing ceremony late at night.

We took advantage of this relative tranquillity to wander around the park, having a look at all the sports venues one by one. First as you get in, was the curvy aquatic centre which had the particularity of having a few sits on the top of each stand actually higher that the roof over the pool, meaning that people on opposite top rows could not see each other. Facing it on the other side of the main access to the park was standing the cubic Water Polo arena which was hosting the men’s final as we walked by. At the end of this main strip was erected the Olympic stadium looking not so tall even from a close range. Nest to it was the weird steel structure named Orbit Tower which you could climb to have a bird’s eye point of view.

A few steps further, you could notice the BBC headquarters and the Copper box which saw the preliminary rounds of the handball tournaments happen. Still further on this bank was located the Riverbank arena we discovered a few days earlier for a field hockey encounter. Then, when you though you were reaching a dead end, you actually could find an escape over the river Lea, leading you to more venues.

There you would find the BMX track, the cycling track and the bubble wrapped box used for the basket-ball preliminary rounds and the handball finals. This is where we were going.

We eased passed the ticket control to reach the pushchair parking area and moved to our allocated seats in an upper corner of the arena. The room could contain up to 12 000 people and by kick off time there was indeed as many people. The crowd was in its major part composed of French fans but you could also notice a few yellow patches here and there cheering on the Swedish team. Andrew tucked once more against me, was fitted with his noise reduction helmet and once more found it comfortable enough to fall rapidly asleep.

The final started and quickly, the French took the lead to never leave the Swedes come back. The steamy atmosphere was clearly entertaining, as the French team showed so much confidence that every blue fan was cheering for the upcoming victory. Bizarrely nobody seemed to be worried by the narrow lead which never exceeded 3 goals throughout the game. When the final buzz rang most of the arena was already standing and singing for a while.

We decided to walk down a few steps for the celebrations and discovered that the air conditioned was on in the room but sadly inefficient from where we were previously sitting. This was when Andrew decided to put a two hours long nap to an end and enjoy what he seemed to like best, the medal ceremony. In a brilliant mood and delighted my all the smiling faces around him, he joined the party as if he never left it. Sitting on my shoulders and still wearing his hat, he stared at the Croatian, Swedish and French players receiving their silverware while being photographed by many foreign cameras.

A Marseillaise later, we exited the place and started our long walk towards the park exit but decided to have a rest on a bench, enjoying for a few more minutes the Olympic Park experience. While Andrew was having his mid afternoon meal, Alexia spotted a familiar face walking by us. ‘JC’ as he was known to us was a long lived Londoner we met at the same time I met Alexia back in 2005. Other known faces were accompanying him, including a young mum who invited us to her place for dinner with son and boyfriend. Melissa and Fabrice are very influent people amongst the French community, involved in tons of evening activities gathering incredible quantities of French faces. As their were living in the east end, we could not avoid a Indian take-away to have in their living room while the closing ceremony was happening on the background screen. Andrew met Elliott and engaged in a grissini fencing encounter of some sort with him, expressing fully his Olympic spirit!

Then it was time to go home, travelling underground across London one last time, and pack up our things and get ready to face the touristic exodus we should expect at a London airport on the day after the Olympics.

Day 11: And then, they came back home

Monday morning, Gatwick airport, that’s the when and where we waved goodbye on our first ever Olympic experience. Olympic Games are a great thing. Living them from their momentary home is better; watching some of them live is even better; sharing this experience with wife, son and thousands of crazy fans from around the world is topping this up wonderfully. These ten days were amazing all the way through even if I consider the exhaustion we felt every evening of this trip.

I promise I’ll come to see you again dear Olympic torch…

My London 2012 Olympic diary: Day 9

Day 9: How to make it rain indoors?

The second to last day of the London 2012 Olympics did not start as we originally planned it. Exhausted by our Olympic efforts all week long, we decided to give our Saturday morning event a miss and replace it by a deserved rest. We should have wake up when the sun rises and have a long commute towards Windsor castle and the lake where canoe events were happening.

We took the option of staying in bed instead of travelling and watched the event on television while having breakfast. The canoe sprint is one of these events where anybody in the world can register. With the exception of running and swimming, this might actually be the most practised sport in the world outside of any regulation. Everywhere you find a river, a lake or the sea; you’ll find people rowing in the sometimes very unsteady boats.

We could feel this fact while reading the starting lists for these races: Cook Island, Ecuador, Angola, Samoa, Azerbaijan, Iran or Singapore where amongst the countries represented. In true Olympic spirit, these people deserved all my admiration despite most of the time finishing their races in almost twice the world record timing, or even looking very close to capsize their boat...

Once this session completed as well as our preparation for the rest of the day, we took off, walking along Wimbledon Park towards the other Italo-Colombian house we knew in London. Indeed, Erika was in charge of babysitting Andrew while we enjoyed the show I offered to Alexia on the previous day. As it was the first time we left him to somebody outside our parents, Erika and Matteo had the chance to listen to all our advices put together.

Only then we left for the West End. We grabbed a Pret-à-manger meal on our way and entered the beautifully carved Palace theatre was currently staging the world famous “Singing in the rain” musical. Before I met Alexia, I never attended any musical show. Since then I saw a dozen of them in London including a few I volunteered for by purchasing the tickets myself. And of course I began to like it, as long as there was some sort of comedy in it.

This one was fitting in the description, we sung along but we although laughed a lot. The original Gene Kelly movie was already 70 years old but the staging we witnessed made it look like a fresh new show, modern and dynamic. The special effect director required here managed to make it rain on the stage. Twice. Luckily (or not)we were on the balcony and did not have the chance to get splashed as the first ranks did when the main comedian came tap dancing on the edge of a drenched stage...

The next stop was a shop in Leicester square. Why this one? Because it was not here when we left London and because it’s full of blue M&M’s!!! This huge shop opened shortly after our departure from the UK and offered me the chance to make my own bag of sweets containing only the finest of their range, the blue balls. We left the place with a bag full of blue dots and decided it was time to relieve a Colombian girl from her babysitting duty.

Andrew was very happy to see us back even if he had a great time in the park with his nanny. We then enjoyed some delicious Italian pasta before taking the bumpy road back leading to our bed. One day remaining...

My London 2012 Olympic diary: Day 8

Day 8: A birthday girl and a few high kicks

Our 8^th day at the Olympics would most famously be known as the 10^th August. Yes, this is Alexia’s birthday. Then it would be all (mostly) about her and not at all (almost) about sports.

First thing first, she needed a new pair of shoes and so did I. Then the first trip will be to our former living place, Camden Town. Now we are far away from any Gola shoes reseller, we strangely feel the need to have a pair on our feet while we did not look interested while living right next door to a dozen of their shops… The issue was rapidly fixed in Camden High street.

Then we wandered around the market as we used to a couple of years back. We stopped for her first present which would be the fishes feet spa. She always wanted to try it, this time she will be forced to. These tiny fishes are literally starving for dead skin and are wiping away everything they can from your skin. Passed the first giggles of amusement, she enjoyed the treat at full power while Andrew had fun just watching them swimming around.

Next, she wanted sushi for lunch. Her wish had to become true and we stopped at the nearest “Yo Sushi!” where our other Colombian friend Erika joined us. I told her that her man birthday present was delivered in France and was to large to be tucked in our suitcase for the Games. She will have to wait our return to unpack this one. Nonetheless, the girl needs a present on the day, so she found in a postcard 2 tickets for a West End musical happening the following afternoon. Erika will be the nanny during the show.

Then we decided to have a digestive walk we knew by heart, along the Regent canal westward and off its banks to go across Regent Park lazily. Squirrels, ducks, playground and even sunshine were here to rock our quiet afternoon.

With the evening approaching, it was time to finally talk about sports. We had tickets for the late tae-kwon-do session happening at the now very well known ExCeL Arena. We travelled east and stopped for dinner at the self named “best Caribbean restaurant in London” a few step away from our arrival point. The chicken was spicy as I love it and the rest of the food filling the plate was as delicious. It was just sad to be served in disposable plates and cutlery for a dish paid over £10…

Anyway, we were well stuffed when we entered the tae-kwon-do hall within the ExCeL. We found it hard to reach the buggy parking within the hall, but that was not enough to make us miss the beginning of the evening show. The semi finals and the medal encounters of the men and women heavyweight tae-kwon-do events were taking place.

If the men fights stood up to our expectation of impressive kicks, the women encounters disappointed us for their lack of acrobatics. The later ones were most of the time jumping around evaluating their opponent but not taking any action. On the other hand, males’ fighters did not hesitate much before rushing foot first towards their opponents. High kicks were flying from every Olympian. The Olympic rule states that a punch or a kick to the plastron earns you 1 point, a kick to the head is worth 3 while their returned equivalent are worth respectively 2 and 4 points. We managed to witness what seems to be as much rare as impressive, with an Italian contestant scoring a 3 pointer and having a fantastic returned kick to the head narrowly denied by the judges on his way to a bronze medal.

This evening full of kicks and punches did not alter Andrew’s habits as he spent most of the evening sound asleep tucked against me. On the contrary, this very late finishing session combined with an ever longer trip back home had some exhausting effect on us. We went to bed, knowing that our plan for the next day would have to be modified.

My London 2012 Olympic diary: Day 6 & 7

Day 6: Seriously, no event?

Midway through our trip, it was time for a rest. I came back home early in the morning and we decided to stay in the area. No tube, no bus, no crowd today. Just green parks and Olympics on the television!

Day 7: How one man put everything else in the shade

Following this deserved break, we are back to Olympic business with a heavy schedule.  3 events were involved in the day including one unexpected. In the morning we reached the West End for some shopping before Alexia had to leave us. She was expected in Greenwich to attend the equestrian dressage final event with our Colombian host. For what she said about it, it seemed amazing. The weather was Toulouse-like, the setting was great (next to Greenwich castle and overlooking Canary Wharf) and the show was as entertaining as dancing horses can be! She loved it for sure! I had a sight of it when I got back home early in the afternoon for Andrew’s nap.

But beforehand my son and I did a lot. We walked to my favourite bookshop in Marylebone Lane, my favourite messy sports shop in Piccadilly Circus, arranged a surprise for the upcoming birthday of Alexia and then headed towards Hyde Park for a relaxing lunch sitting in the grass. What I momentarily forgot was that the women’s marathon swimming event was taking place in the Serpentine at lunchtime.

The park wasn’t so quiet at all; it was very busy with thousands of people packed along the banks of the lake, taking advantage of the chance offered to watch Olympians at work for free. I obviously joined them. Andrew tucked against me in the carrier; I needed to walk around in order to find a place with less than 10 ranks of people if I was to have a chance to see the swimmers. I managed to find a fourth line position with only kids ahead of me and not to dense to make sure nobody would bump into my son. From there I had a good view on the long distance swimmer.

The race consists in a twenty kilometres swim without ever touching the end of the swimming pool. You have to be mad and/or strong to line up for this event. This is what I thought before watching them pass. It was actually much more impressive. They were going forward at a fast walking speed, around 5km/h, which made me believed I would not stand a chance against these ladies even if I had to race just a hundred metres, following their 20k race...

We watched them speed past us twice before taking a few steps backwards and enjoy our lunches. Once done, we came back in the ranks to watch them in their last Serpentine loop. This is when I met a kid who clearly was enjoying the show.

His mum was actually standing right next to me. She told me they were living in North London and did not have the necessary funds to buy any ticket for the Olympics. But when her overexcited 8 years old son asked her if they were going to the Olympics, she had to explain that they could not afford any ticket but would try to attend every free event the Olympics would offer. And so they did. She told me they went to the cycling road race, the women’s marathon and the triathlon during the first week, before coming today to watch the swimmers and possibly going to the mountain bike event for the closing weekend. That was pure dedication, I love the way she took care of his son’s dream despite the shoestring budget, I love the smile on this kid’s face and I love free Olympic events!

Once the nap done and my thirst of live sports on TV filled up, it was time to plan the third and last live event of the day. I met my Italian host at his office doorstep and we went together underground, towards Wembley Stadium where we were to attend the women’s final of the football tournament.

As you heard about the semi final involving France earlier, you know that world champion Japan will be present. Obviously they will face the USA who have been involved in every Olympic final since the women’s tournament appeared at the Atlanta Olympics in 1996.

The stadium was this time fully packed with a major part of the attendance wearing the stars and stripes flag in some way. Instead of the opposite side lower rank position I had a few days before, I was this time sitting on the substitutes side right under the stadium rooftop. The view, despite the distance, was still enjoyable.

The game was even during the first half, teams were neck and neck despite an early goal by the American striker. The friendly atmosphere felt within the stadium was mainly due to the USA female fans that were used to shout after their team. This was highlighted, right next to us by a guy wearing proudly the Captain America head-to-toe outfit.

Then came the half-time, it’s long queue for a beer you cannot bring back at your seating position, forcing you to drink it below the stand, while watching the screens showing the athletics evening session. This is when something weird happened. Glasses were empty for a few minutes, but most of the people gathered around the bar did not get back to their seats.

The 200m men final was due to start ten minutes within the second half of our football final. The presence of king Bolt was enough to convince roughly half of the people from my block to give up momentarily the reason which led them to Wembley. Every football fan in this room wanted to see the running legend achieve his project of leaving an Olympic stadium with three gold medals for the second time in a row

Following these crazy twenty seconds during which the Jamaican sprinter outclassed every body running alongside him, we all went back to our seats, only to discover that the Japanese had double their deficit. Seconds later they finally manage to get the ball past the most brilliant women goalkeeper to date and sharpen their belief that a gold medal was possible. Until the final whistle they tried hard, throwing everything they had into the fight but still came short of scoring an equaliser. The USA were Olympic champions for the fourth time out of five event (they claimed a silver medal in 2000).

As sadly the French team was not involved in the medal ceremony, conceding a last second goal to Canada in the third place game, we decided to skip it and get an earlier train home, which we did successfully. I got home and slept well following this long and exhausting day.

My London 2012 Olympic diary: Day 5

Day 5: Commonwealth game and a visit to the Old Traff

Tuesday the 7^th of August 2012 will be remembered as a very long day. I started it before the clock could ring 7am. Despite this early wake up call, we knew we would not arrive on time for the beginning of our morning session. On the agenda was the discovery of something new.

If Olympics mainly exist to gather the best of the best athletes in the world, I believe this event is also here to promote sportsmen less used to the spotlights despite sometimes being several times world champions. These fully amateur people usually work five days a week and on top of having a normal life, they train day in day out in order to shine at the only competition where they can actually be seen by anybody. And this chance happens only once every four years. Four years of amazingly hard work for a few seconds under the lights. These people deserve credit and definitely have all my attention.

Today, we are heading to the Olympic park to watch a bunch of these people. Field hockey is on the menu. We travelled through London in a mixed crowd of sport fans and City workers until the later ones got off a few stations before Stratford. The Riverbank arena hosting the Hockey event was at the deep end of the Park, delaying our arrival by a further twenty minutes, but allowing us to have a quick look at the main all the venues especially built for the Olympics. First we walked past the water polo arena, then the swimming arena, the Olympic stadium, the basketball arena, the cycling track and finally our stop. This venue was a hundred per cent temporary, build for the occasion and brought down as soon as the Paralympics Games will be over (the 7-a-side blind football will also take place here).

We were almost an hour late in our session, meaning we only arrived for the final whistle of the first encounter scheduled. The wave of orange clothes heading to the food and drink shops could not let any doubt: the Netherlands team were in action. Actually I learnt on that occasion that the Oranje were one of the best team in the world. They just won their game against South Korea, to the fans delight. We were now in the empty stands, staring at the blue grass with no clue about who’s going to come on the pitch. People coming back from their mid-morning breakfast gave us clues about the next protagonists. To our left, flip-flops, sunglasses and beer, Australia was in the place. To our right, green outfits, green and white flags combined with Indian tans, no doubt, Pakistan would be the contender.

To me it seemed like a top level game, knowing that Field Hockey is a British invention of the nineteenth century (one more) which did not spread as well around the world as football. Basically it is now seriously played only by the former British colonies plus a few more isolated countries making the count for any world tournament. Australia and Pakistan being two of the biggest countries in this list, I believed this was going to be an epic encounter between potential gold medallists. Well I was wrong for one of them. Pakistan used to be a dominant force in the 70’s and 80’s told me my neighbour. And then synthetic grass appeared to replace the natural one. The rather poor Pakistani population was still training on bumpy pitches while the rest of the world moved on to a smooth fast surface. Therefore Pakistan progressively moved down the world rankings.

This was dully confirmed on the blue turf. Despite all my neighbours shouting, Pakistan was trashed seven goals to nil. They will finish 7^th out of ten participating teams while Australia will grab a bronze medal ahead of sporting rivals Great Britain. My conclusion of this hockey session is that this sport must be painful. First for the back as the sticks seem to be a bit too short, forcing every player to spend all his time leaned forward to control the ball. Then for the rest of the body as the ball is very hard (it used to be plain hard wood) and can be propelled towards any body part at violent speed.

Exiting the Park, we jumped into the javelin train brilliantly linking Stratford to King’s cross in just 8 minutes. I then went left when Alexia and Andrew were going right. I was leaving them to travel up north for a mouth watering trip to Old Trafford. I saw in the Olympic football tournament a rare and easy chance to pay a visit to the biggest club stadium on the island.

The plan was ready for a while. A catching up trip with a former colleague but also a good friend, seeing us leaving London early in the afternoon by train, allowing time for some drinks in town before heading to the stadium, enjoying a Great-Britain versus Brazil semi-final, having a few more drinks and go back to London in an overnight bus. That was the plan. What actually happened is that I have been let down twice. First by the team GB who failed to get past South Korea in the previous round, meaning I will probably never be blessed to witness Ryan Giggs playing in his garden. Second by my mate who told me a week ahead of the event that he would not be able to make it. His replacement was a random football fan from the French London community. He was a good companion even if as a Muslim he was not allowed to drink or even eat during daytime prevented us from any pub stop.

We were very early at the stadium, earlier than I have ever been to a stadium. Actually, there were less than a hundred people inside the stadium when I entered, most of them being stewards. I took advantage of this position to complete my stadium pictures collection with a few stunning shots. Then other people started to get in. Many locals who expected like me to see the team GB in action, quite a lot of Brazilians too (always there for football, whatever it is), and a few patches of South Korean citizens.

The atmosphere was nice, very Brazilian with the constant sound of their drums accompanying their players. The final score line (3-0) was very flattering for the South American, as the Koreans actually deserved as much as them to go through. No time to be sad as these too will meet again on the final podium, with Mexico on the top step. More than two hours after the final whistle, we finally made it back to the city centre and a fat greasy burger later I could conclude my fifth Olympic day while stepping in the night bus.

My London 2012 Olympic diary: Day 4

Day 4: Going back to your first love

I knew I would love everything about the Olympics, I have always been following them very closely. The furthest I can remember goes back to 1992 with Albertville hosting the winter Games a few months before the Olympic torch settled in Barcelona.

Every time, during two weeks, I could show what some consider as fanaticism others as madness, swallowing hundreds of hours of sports on television. Even the most surprising ones (yes I have a deep interest in curling and weightlifting every four years).

Despite this long lived love affair, one thing (wife and kid apart) easily makes my heart beat faster and has been doing it ever since I started to store childhood memories into my head : football.

The Olympic Games area huge event but overall football is bigger. And everybody has to agree on this. A football World Cup draws way much more passion (and money) than the Games can do.

What always got me sad is the fact that these two could not get along at all. The world football governing body, scared of losing some sponsorship deals to a top level Olympic football tournament, always did everything it could to make sure the football event of the summer Olympics remained quite uninteresting. Their main leverage to this extend is to forbid players over 23 years old to take part in the tournament. This way, they are making sure most of the best players in the world usually attracting crowds to the stadium are missing out on these tournaments.

Despite all this, I could not help but staying in love with football, even during the Games. This is why my combined passion for stadiums and the people's game led me to Wembley on this evening.

Following some shopping, a traditional east end curry lunch and a goodbye waving to Andrew's godfather, I was turning myself towards the biggest stadium of the island. Tonight, a women's semi final game was happening there with France facing Japan. As Alexia does not love football enough (yet) to join me when she does not have to and as the Wembley stadium policy about babies was a bit unclear, I would go there with Matteo, an Italian friend of us leaving in the Olympic city.

I already came once to the UK largest football venue but I was only here to start a ten kilometres race from the pitch. This time, I would discover it in my favourite configuration.

When the game was kicked off, I was very surprised to notice that large parts of the stands were completely empty. Later on the official count would prove me right with only the two third of the ninety thousand seats having people officially seating on. I knew that football tickets were not all sold for this tournament but believed apparently naïvely that a semi-final encounter would be sold out,

The women's display was interesting, full of will and energy. But even if their abilities improved considerably in the past 15 years or so, you cannot feel sad for the numerous technical and tactical mistakes still happening during the course of a top level game. Nonetheless, the pace of it added to the importance of such an encounter, made it very enjoyable to watch.

The scenario did help the crowd getting emotional though. At half time, the world champions were leading France by a single goal, thanks to a deadly mishandled ball by the French keeper.

A few beer and sandwich minutes later my friend and I came back to our seats just in time to witness the second goal scored by the Japanese. It was 2-0 even if both teams seemed to play on even terms so far.

The remaining 40 minutes would see the France team outrageously dominate its opponent, Japanese players never looked so tired and so small on the pitch. France was creating great chances every minute or so, the atmosphere was rising, even more following the French first goal with 15 minutes to go. Then I could tell for sure that there were more French fans in the stadium than Japanese or British or Swedish (Sweden was eliminated by France in the previous round), Despite some crazy chances to score an equaliser in the dying minutes, the score did not evolve. Japan secured a medal while France will have to play one more game for a potential bronze.

On our way back home I had to face my first and only transport dysfunction of the week. The tube was jammed and we had to wait for almost an hour standing in the Olympic way linking the stadium and the station. The colourful and joyful atmosphere helped the time go by. Mexican waves even took form, until the horse mounted police asked us politely to stop in order to keep the animals calm.

A few trains later I was home and asleep, recharging batteries before the following day.

My London 2012 Olympic diary: Day 3

Day 3: Walking around in sunny London and discovering the BBC coverage

The third day begins with a brunch in the city, at the “Giraffe” restaurant selected by Jean-François. On this Sunday I had tickets to see the evening fencing finals in the men's team foil event. But this time, my wife would enjoy it with our fencing friend and I will take care of our baby. Before hand, we had some sightseeing to do.

The weather was exceptionally kind when we left our empty plates behind us, permitting an enjoyable digestive walk through empty streets. The scariest of all the city veins were the ones used earlier in the morning by the ladies running the marathon. Still closed for traffic at the time we walked by, they really made the place look like a post apocalyptic ghost town.

I took advantage of my location to cast an eye on the site I have been working on for my 18 last months in London. The Heron Tower was now fully completed, including an enormous fish tank in the reception lobby and a sushi bar at one of the top levels.

We continued our route and realised quite suddenly that we were just next to the "Club France", the temporary bar opened by the French Olympic committee on the Thames north bank. We walked once past it without noticing any entrance. When we found it in a backstreet, we got disenchanted. There were a hundred metre long queue ahead of closed doors to cope with if you wanted to cheer on Olympians in French atmosphere. We turned our heels on it, being not enough interested to bear the wait.

What we did instead was going to Switzerland. Figuratively. Right across London bridge was located the Swiss House, the red and white nemesis of the Club France. We felt much more welcome here, with an open air bar, a giant screen showing the sporting action, free chocolate tasting and even a climbing wall...

The fact that the biggest star in Swiss sports, Roger Federer, was currently being trashed by Andy Murray in the men's tennis final, did not alter much the atmosphere. After all it was a silver medal he did not have yet in his trophy cabinet.

Later in the afternoon, when the time came to get closer to the Excel arena, we moved away and decided to try a scenic way, using the brand new cable car line linking the docklands and North Greenwich over the Thames. We surely enjoyed the view (for those daring to look through the window) and did not waste any of the few seconds it lasted.

Next, it was time for the men in this family to go back home and leave wife and friend who were getting into the fencing hall.

Once there, I had the chance to discover what the BBC meant by a full digital coverage of the Games. When I arrived home, I noticed that my Italian friend providing me shelter for the week was watching the athletics on the television screen. During the few minutes I needed to take care of my baby boy, I had a few glances at what happened in the living room. And I successively caught sight of a water polo game, some fencing, some volley ball and much more. When I finally settled down, I understood that there were actually 24 BBC sports channels dedicated to the Olympics. Basically, every event was broadcasted live, you just had to choose the one you preferred. You could (and we did) watch the 100m semi-finals and check the evolution of the scores in a few other sports between races, then change to the channel dedicated to the triple jump event and then get back to the fencing...

What a revolution it was for the French TV viewer I was, forced to watch what the programmer decided to put forward (meaning either a French medallist or Usain Bolt) on the single French channel showing the Olympics back home...

The night went like this all the way, moving virtually from an Olympic venue to another as we fancied, until a Jamaican superman decided to bring the whole media attention to him.

Alexia came back home and we quickly went to bed, once again exhausted.

My London 2012 Olympic diary: Day 2

Day 2: The sun rises in the east

Today’s event was leading me back to the Excel centre in order to witness the first rounds of the men’s team epee event in fencing. Wife and kid were resting at home while I woke up early to meet my friend, godfather of my son and keen fencer, before the morning session starts.

On my way out towards the east of the city, trying to get after the sun setting ion the horizon, I realized that London was strangely very quiet. My district line travel from Putney to the east end would not have scared an agoraphobic. I did not meet more than a dozen living souls before stepping in the DLR train. It was around 8 in the morning nonetheless my former London life never got me used to this public transportation emptiness at any time of the day. Apparently the Mayor Johnson scared the Londoners off efficiently.

My fencing expert was awaiting for me on the arrival platform, we then eased past the security checks and made it to our arena an hour before the show was due to start. A few video clips, an orchestra playing movie themes and a guess-whose-flag-is-it game (which one goes between Taipei and Thailand by the way?) kept us busy until the first contestants walked in.

Bizarrely enough, the event started with the quarter final encounters, having only 8 nations registered for it. Not really the idea I had about universality of the sports held during the Games… The room was only partially filled in at the beginning but we already noticed some very interesting neighbours: a nervous epeeist from New Jersey and her very proud American boyfriend, a couple of very shy Russian fans cheering discreetly on their team but also a half dozen of South Korean fans equipped with their mandatory tiny flags and their singing leader. This was already a lot more multicultural than the day before.

The encounters went on under the accurate explanations from my personal expert every time I had a technical question. The break between the quarter final and the semis allowed us to (have a beer and) begin a geopolitical talk of some sort.

In my memory, fencing was almost exclusively a European sport. But today the last four teams fighting for medals were China, South Korea, Russia and the USA. Basically ten years ago these countries (exception made of Russia) did not have enough people practicing fencing at a serious level to register a team for the Olympics. Since the 2008 Games were awarded to Beijing, Chinese institutions set up a scheme to be represented and competitive in every single Olympic event. South Korea and the USA followed their lead and were already rewarded. Countries fencing for over a century had been wiped off the charts by others learning it in less than a tenth of this time.

The outcome of the semi finals would reinforce our thesis as the gold medal would finally be decided between the two Asian countries.

My daily Olympic event was now over, it was mid afternoon, and we decided to try our luck at the Olympic Park and have a taste of the real deal. Arrived in Stratford, we followed the mass of people being lead like cattle towards the entrance. Then we realised that there was no possible entry to the park without a ticket for an event happening on the same day within the park. Too bad for my mate who won't have another chance (I will...).

In despair, we walked away, across Victoria park (met along the way Fabrice Boraschi, the most famous Frenchman in London with his family), picked up my wife and son to finally reach Broadway market where friends joined us for a traditional Belgian beers stop followed by the most amazing Argentinean steakhouse in town. And then the curtain was down on my second Olympic day.

La mia esperienza del Calcio: 1ère partie

Udine, 07 avril 2012

Une invitation à un mariage en Italie força ma femme, mon fils et moi, à organiser 10 jours de vacances dans un pays que je n’avais encore jamais visité.

Ce que ma femme ne savait pas encore c’est que cela avait également débloqué un mot dans mon esprit : calcio.

Ce championnat jadis le plus regardé et surveillé au monde conservait toujours un attrait non négligeable à mes yeux. Un rapide regard croisé sur les dates et le lieu de notre séjour ainsi que sur le calendrier des séries A et B (les 2 divisions professionnelles italiennes) me permis de sélectionner deux candidats à ma venue : le stadio Friuli d’Udine pour le premier weekend et le stadio Marc Angelo Bentegodi de Vérone pour le milieu de semaine suivante.

Le jour du départ approchant, je me penchai sur les horaires exacts des matchs pour déterminer comment baptiser footbalistiquement mon cher fils. La première rencontre devait se dérouler le samedi après-midi tandis que la deuxième avait lieu le mardi soir suivant.

La décision fut évidente, on se déplacera en famille à Udine mais j’irai seul découvrir Vérone en nocturne.

L’étape suivante consistait à obtenir les billets. Un coup d’œil rapide aux affluences moyennes des deux clubs recevant (bien inférieures à la capacité de leurs stades respectifs) aurait du me permettre de ne pas paniquer et d’attendre sereinement d’acheter mes billets le jour du match aux portes du stade. Malheureusement, je ne jetais pas ce coup d’œil.

Les sites internet des deux clubs, l’Udinese et le Chievo Verone ne vendent aucun billet en ligne, préférant conserver les traditions ancestrales de la vente unique aux guichets du stade.

Je fus alors contraint de passer par un organisme indépendant spécialisé dans la réservation de billets pour divers évènements sportifs. Moyennant une certaine majoration sur le prix original du billet désiré, ils s’occupent pour vous de dénicher les billets souhaités et de les mettre en attente là où vous le désirez (stade, hôtel…).

Le service fut ici très efficacement rempli. Dans les deux cas, les billets m’attendaient là où on l’avait décidé et ils furent même très aimables lorsque je compliquai ma demande en voulant introduire un enfant de moins d’un an dans un stade…

Les préliminaires remplis, nous voici en famille sur la route d’Udine pour le premier jour des vacances, dans notre belle voiture de location italienne (une Lancia, pas une Lamborghini…).

Une brève visite du centre ville était prévue avant de s’orienter vers le stadio Friuli mais une faille dans notre organisation avec notre bambino nous fit prendre du retard et nous poussa à ne voir d’Udine que son stade.

Quoique, affirmer l’avoir vu semble légèrement exagéré, l’apercevoir semble étymologiquement être plus correct. Je m’explique.

Depuis notre atterrissage sur la piste de l’aéroport de Venise la veille au soir, nous n’avions vu sur le pare-brise de notre voiture, que de l’eau. Il pleuvait en continu, d’une manière suffisamment violente pour vous faire regretter la vie à Londres…

Bien entendu, la situation s’aggrava à l’approche du coup d’envoi. Je courrai récupérer les billets au guichet « invités » comme convenu avec l’entremetteur, avant de devoir nourrir toute la famille sans sortir de la voiture.

C’est équipés de vêtement perméables et uniquement d’un petit parapluie pour trois que nous prenions la direction de notre tribune, bien entendu non couverte. Notre progéniture était de loin la plus heureuse, installée contre sa maman dans une écharpe de portage et enfermé sous l’épais manteau de celle-ci, notre bébé ne craignait ni le froid ni la pluie. Il se sentait même tellement bien qu’il n’ouvra pas l’œil une seule seconde pendant toute la durée de notre présence dans l’enceinte.

L’accès au stade se fit aisément mais pas sans surprise. Un premier filtrage consistait à vérifier l’identité des entrants. En effet, chaque billet étant nominatif, une ligne de stadiers était employée à vérifier scrupuleusement les papiers d’identité de tous les spectateurs.

Le second filtre, plus traditionnel, consistant en la vérification de la tribune sélectionnée et d’une fouille plus ou moins efficace était quant à lui inexistant.

La grosse boule de 7kg masquée sous le manteau de ma femme ne fut pas examinée, pas plus que son épais sac à main, et une fois passé le portillon de vérification du code barre imprimé sur notre billet, nous avions tout loisir de choisir notre emplacement, à l’exception bien entendu de la tribune présidentielle (la seule bénéficiant d’une petite toiture dans le stade).

Les conditions climatiques ne s’améliorant pas, la couverture grise semblant s’installer de plus en plus bas dans le ciel italien, nous prîmes la décision de vivre l’avant match dans les coursives, à l’abri sous les escaliers de béton.

Femme et enfant décidèrent de rester abrités lorsque le match débuta alors que je pris place sur un siège mouillé pour assister au spectacle.

Mon premier coup d’œil fut pour les deux virages.

La curva nord réservée aux supporters locaux était assez remplie et très colorée grâce à la mise en place involontaire d’un petit tifo parapluies à l’effet sympathique. Le noyau dur des ultras en bas de ce virage semblait contenir une centaine de membres actifs mais peu bruyants.

De l’autre coté, la curva sud allouée aux visiteurs venus de Parme, était particulièrement vide, avec au grand maximum 30 ultras positionnés en haut du virage avec un désert de gradins en béton autour d’eux.

La rencontre avait alors débuté et s’avérait être d’un très pauvre niveau technique, en partie à cause de l’état du terrain, inondé, qui décidait à sa convenance d’accélérer ou de freiner violement la course du ballon.

En dehors des cris d’extase de tous les italiens qui découvrent la présence d’un « picolo bambino » sous le manteau de ma femme, 2 faits vinrent égayer cette première période.

Tout d’abord, la particularité italienne faisant que durant le weekend de Pâques, toute activité sportive ou commerciale était bannie, obligeant l’ensemble des matchs à se dérouler ce samedi après-midi à la même heure.

L’Udinese étant à ce moment de la saison en chasse pour la troisième et dernière place qualificative pour la prochaine ligue des champions avec 4 autres clubs. L’écran géant (un seul et unique, au dessus de la tribune visiteur) affichait l’évolution des scores sur les autres pelouses et les supporters locaux accueillaient avec de grands cris de joie les buts inscrits par les adversaires des clubs avec qui ils étaient en lute.

Ensuite, malgré le niveau de jeu atroce exhibé sur la pelouse, un léger grondement se faisait entendre à chaque fois qu’un joueur local se trouvait en possession du ballon. Je profitai de la présence temporaire à mes cotés, sous une pluie de plus en plus gênante, de ma famille pour leur expliquer que le joueur en question était la légende locale, Antonio Di Natale.

Celui-ci était chaque année le meilleur buteur du club depuis qu’il l’avait rejoint en 2004 et avait comblé les supporters en refusant à maintes reprises les offres alléchantes de clubs italiens bien plus huppés.

Dès l’entame des arrêts de jeu de la première mi-temps, désabusé par l’humidité de mon corps tout entier, je rejoignis femme et enfant dans les coursives pour proposer de battre en retraite et d’interrompre cette tentative idiote de tomber malade dès le début de nos vacances.

J’eus juste le temps d’entendre le stade se lever pour l’ouverture du score par le ghanéen Asamoah (encore un) avant de rejoindre notre voiture, à l’abri de la pluie, du vend et du froid.

Ce n’est qu’une fois de retour à notre appartement, en regardant les informations sur le télétexte (si, ça existe encore !) que je sus le score final (3 buts à un en faveur de l’Udinese) et que j’appris que Saint Antonio d’Udine en avait profité pour inscrire son vingtième but de la saison de fort belle manière.

En conclusion, après seulement 45 minutes inconfortables, à observer un match de bas niveau avec des tribunes à moitié vides et sans ambiance, je peux considérer ma première expérience italienne comme relativement mauvaise. Heureusement une chance était donnée au calcio de se racheter rapidement à mes yeux…