Monday, March 1, 2010

Poof!

Just like that, it's over. The village is deserted. The broadcasters have left, taking with them the screaming throngs emblazoned with red maple leaves on their foreheads. There are traces that the olympics were once here, but the metamorphosis has been swift and unforgiving.

I can't speak as to what happened in Vancouver during these past two weeks, but I will say this. Whistler was a dreamland. To all those Whistler locals who, poisoned by the whining of naysayers complaining about lack of parking and the inconvenience of the games and the incompetence of VANOC, abandoned their hometown during the Olympics: you missed out. Big time.

For those who stayed it was magical. We were there when thousands turned out to watch the torch come thorough Whistler, there when Canada won its first gold medal on home soil, there when the village had 4 concerts daily, at the sliding center when the USA took gold in the 4 man bobsled. We perched on the hills above the Dave Murray downhill and watched the world's best skiers pit themselves against our home mountain (making us look like chumps in the process). And most importantly, we saw Whistler at its all-time best.

Its all-time best.

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