Milano Cortina Olympics: biathlon (17-02-2026)

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After yesterday's experience, this time in Olang, where you take the shuttle bus to Antholz, I go by train. I miss the one I thought I planned to take and take the next one, half an hour later: this also gives me a good margin for the start, but I would have liked to have had time to get something to eat. The shuttle bus is easy to catch, there is no queue like there was in 2020. As before, however, the journey is in two stages: at Antholz Mitte  (where there is a car park and an unofficial fan zone) you get off and take another bus. I remembered the walk between the two stops being shorter, but I suppose it was always like this. I already remembered the walk from the second shuttle stop to the gates being long, but this time it was a real torment, with my knee hurting. At the 400-metre sign at the end (I will see on the way back that it is 700 metres in total), I am already exhausted, probably also because of the altitude. Of course, the last time I did this I was six years younger and my knees were in better shape. Since today I am also getting one year older, I wonder how much longer I will be able to go and see races like this: at 70, not to mention 80, will I still be able to do routes like this?

At the entrance, they make me empty my backpack. I notice they have a box full of flags, and it strikes me as odd that they confiscated them, especially since I saw plenty of people inside with flagpoles that were much sturdier and larger than the one taken from me yesterday—perhaps they were simply forgotten. A little later, I spot a kiosk with almost no queue and am tempted to grab something to eat, but I decide against it as I’m not sure how far away the grandstand is. I reach the grandstand—incidentally, the same one where I sat during the last two World Championships in Antholz (2007 and 2020)—at around 2:15 p.m., 15 minutes before the start, and naturally, it’s absolutely packed. I climb the stairs to the top but can’t find a seat, so I move to the next block and finally find one, helped by the fact that I’m alone. From my spot, though, I can’t see the targets for the first 15 lanes, as they’re blocked by a sign.

I had mostly seen Germans, Norwegians and Swedes on the way in, with a few Czechs. Around me are Germans, Norwegians (one of whom helps me tie my flag around my shoulders), and even a couple of Belgians. Around the venue I’ll also spot Finns, Slovenians, Swiss and even a group of Australians (not competing in this race). When the announcer calls out the different sets of fans, the Germans’ roar is far louder than the Italians’.

The race begins: the first section, in the woods, isn’t visible in person, but even on the screen I recognise the tracks I’ve skied many times. Then you catch a glimpse of the first descent and the start of the climb; after another stretch through the woods, the skiers reappear on the long downhill, then vanish again just before the undulating bit before the tunnel into the stadium. Only in the stadium can you see them closely enough to distinguish individuals, even with binoculars. At the first shooting range, there’s a huge cheer from the Germans as their relay skier hits all five targets quickly and sets off in the lead. Sweden is third with one reload, Italy—also with one reload—comes through eighth, behind Norway who needed two. At the second shooting, Germany misses, Norway takes the lead, Italy falls further back, but it’s only when I hear the announcer say “France is last” that I realise France has ended up on the penalty loop. By the first changeover, France has already recovered seven places and Italy narrowly avoids last: was it ski problems or just a bad day?

In the second leg, there’s a miracle from the Frenchman Jacquelin, who’s already up to fifth at the first shooting, well in the lead at the second (you could see on the long descent he was already leading by one bend), and although he fades a bit in the third lap, he stays in front. Italy finishes 18th: by now they’re no longer shown in the screen at the range, so I have to check the results live—luckily, I can see their target as it’s far from the leaders.

In the third leg, the leading trio of France-Norway-Sweden consolidates, finishing very close together. Switzerland and Finland drop out of the top spots, and Italy is 15th. The crowd still follows the shooting of the teams at the back, celebrating every hit. Admittedly, Belgium—second to last—has a few supporters near me, but even Romania, who are ever closer to being lapped, are cheered on: in the end, they’re lapped at the end of their first lap of the fourth leg. Belgium hadn't finished the second shooting when the winner crossed the line, but were still allowed to complete the race.

In the final leg, the competitors are very spread out; live, it’s impossible to follow what’s happening outside the stadium, except when they come into view. I can’t follow the shooting results for the mid-field teams, as I can’t see the targets and the screen now only shows the top three. After the first shooting, France with Perrot opens up a 10-second gap on Norway and 20 on Sweden; at the second, they need two extra rounds, but still finish while Christensen is just starting to shoot. The Norwegian doesn’t miss and stays 8” behind, but on the last lap, France’s lead grows and by the final climb before the stadium, it’s clear the gap is unbridgeable. Sweden finishes third, Germany fourth, and the USA fifth. Italy ends up 14th, behind teams like Bulgaria and Estonia.

After Germany finishes, some people start to leave. I wait for the last finisher, then head off myself, not staying for the victory ceremony—not just because I’m not keen to see the French celebrate, but mostly because I’m hungry. I grab a polenta with cheese, a bit liquid so I spill some on the way to the tables, but tasty nonetheless. I hear the French anthem when I’m already well outside.

The journey to the shuttle is a queue almost from the start: it lasts nearly an hour. The first shuttle runs quickly, but the second takes forever, at least 45 minutes, and (like many others) I’m standing the whole way. Tomorrow is the team sprint cross-country—let’s hope it goes better than today.

Milano Cortina Olympics: curling and bobsleigh (16-02-2026)

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I had taken into account watching the curling with the matches already a bit underway: I didn’t want to leave too early. But the trip turned out to be quite a struggle: it had been snowing from the very beginning, and in the last few kilometers it got so heavy that I had to stop and have snow chains installed. From the parking area to the shuttle stop it’s about 800 meters, done under the snow and with my knee still hurting a little—though thankfully not as much as yesterday. I start to worry that I’ll get there so late that it won’t even be worth entering. When the shuttle leaves, I see that the matches are in the third end; by the time it arrives, they’re in the fifth.

To reach the curling arena—actually the old 1956 Olympic stadium—you have to walk through the center of Cortina: I see the cauldron and the parade avenue, with all the flags. I no longer want to check how far along the matches are; I’ll see for myself when I arrive. When I get to the stadium (where, naturally, I’m the only one going in), I have to say goodbye to the flag that had accompanied me for several years (I have a photo from the Vancouver Olympics with what I believe was already that same flag), because according to the security staff it had a rigid pole. It takes some imagination to call that light plastic pole “rigid,” considering how easily it bent. I point out that I had brought it to many events before and nobody ever complained, but no use: apparently for them in Rho, Santa Giulia, Assago, Bormio, Livigno, Predazzo and Tesero everyone is incompetent, and only they understand… I’m so upset that I forget my phone and have to go back to retrieve it.

To get in I also have to walk around the arena, and to reach my seat I would need to cross 23 ones (I could enter from the opposite side, but that means another long walk). Since it’s not completely full, I stop a bit earlier. Only the side I’m on is almost full; the other side and the short side have plenty of empty seats. The crowd is mostly British, Swiss and Canadian, then Danish and Swedish; among the competing countries, only the Chinese are missing.

When I look down, one match is in the eighth end and two in the seventh; by the time I sit, they’re all in the eighth. The most interesting match, Sweden–Switzerland (top-ranked teams), is the farthest from my side, but still clearly visible. Usually you can follow all matches because it’s rare for two throws to happen at the same time. Of course, there are exceptions: focused on the last stone of the eighth end in Canada–China, I miss the one in Sweden–Switzerland. I never remember which team has which color: I always get Sweden–Switzerland wrong because the colors are counterintuitive (Sweden in red, Switzerland in yellow). Another problem is figuring out how many stones remain: the scoreboard doesn’t show it, so you have to count those left in the starting area, and they’re usually not even in order.

Soon only two matches remain: Great Britain–Denmark, which was already the furthest along, ends after eight ends, when the British go up 7–2 by stealing the end; the Danes surrender, but their supporters cheer them anyway. After eight ends, Canada–China also looks close to finishing, with the Canadians ahead 9–5. When it becomes clear that the Chinese can score no more than one point, it’s obvious that it will end there—and even more so when they miss their final throw and the Canadians score instead. Only Sweden–Switzerland goes to the last end, with the Scandinavians up by one and with the hammer: they keep the end and win 6–4.

As I leave, I meet a group of Canadians wearing little flags on poles—even though their poles are smaller than the one that was confiscated this morning. I tell them about my flag and they agree with me (for desperation?). At the exit I see the plaque listing the winners of the 1956 Olympics: there were so few that they fit on a not particularly large stone slab (there were only 25 events). I saw so little of the curling that I’m tempted to buy tickets for the afternoon session, but I prefer to have some free time in Cortina (would I have made the same choice even without the commitment of writing?). In any case, when I later check availability I won’t find tickets—but maybe it was simply too close to start time.

 

Before lunch I visit House of Switzerland, where I eat raclette and watch bobsleigh on TV. There’s also a mini curling setup (not on ice) and a bobsleigh shell. After lunch I visit Slovenia House, which is basically a pub with a showcase of Slovenian sports. You can also watch races on Slovenian TV, but at that moment they’re broadcasting recorded short track. At lunch I meet the parents of two Dutch bobsleigh athletes: one competes in both events, the other only in the four-man bobsleigh.

 

A little before 6 p.m. I head to the sliding centre. I walk past Casa Italia; I had read that it was invite-only, but I see plenty of people inside who seem like ordinary spectators. I don’t go in, though—I prefer to get to the track early.Entry is quick, then you walk uphill: seating is completely unassigned, there’s only one category. There are 40 minutes until the start, so I have all the time I need to pick a spot. I reach the first area overlooking the track: I had never seen one so close (in Turin and Vancouver I had been much farther away), and the curve is impressive in its verticality. I have to choose whether to stay right by the track or a bit farther back to see a slightly longer section (though not by much): in any case, it is essential to be able to see the screen.

 

I try checking higher up: there are signs pointing to a grandstand, but as I expected, it’s completely full. There are also some seats a bit lower down, but from there you can see only the screen—live view would only be for the medal ceremony. So I go back to where I was and settle in the middle of the area, since the edges are already taken. The biggest group by far is the Germans, followed by the Americans (after all, they’re the gold contenders). I see British, Australians, Canadians and Slovaks as well, but also Swedes and even one Croatian (countries not represented in the race). I also see someone with a Jamaican flag, though she doesn’t look Jamaican—and indeed, she tells me she’s from New York. I don’t see any Swiss, but the announcer says she saw a lot of them earlier, and I will also see many at the exit. Some Germans have flags with poles even larger than the one confiscated from me this morning.

The first forerunner heads down, and I realize the direction is the opposite of what I thought (in the section I see, the track slopes slightly upward). The top competitors go first, in ranking order, and I see that you don’t really feel the speed much—but you understand how fast they are if you try to take photos. I figure out that the section I see is near the end, the second-to-last curve. The first athlete, Germany’s Nolte, sets a track record, but the second, the American Meyers Taylor, breaks it, and the other American right after her ties it. The others are far behind: you can tell that barring disasters, the medals will be among these three. Later on, the Canadian Appiah skids so much she almost goes completely sideways, but for the Italian announcer it’s “a small problem” (the English announcer is more explicit). The Jamaican athlete nearly flips, but loses little time.

After about fifteen athletes, I move closer to the track, the closest you can go while still seeing the screen; then for a couple of runs I stand right at trackside. From that close you do feel the speed much more. The battle to get into the top 20 (who race in the final heat) begins: the first Italian was 22nd, but one athlete withdrew, so she only needs to gain one spot. She doesn’t manage it; in fact, the two athletes who follow—a Korean and a Taiwanese—both have excellent runs and pass her. So the two Italians finish in the last two positions.

After the heat, I find a food stall with no line and get a sandwich. Later I also get a pizza from a stall higher up, again with a short line. I even manage to enter the store: there are only two people queuing outside (then more inside). I find a spot on the hillside ridge where I was before, from where I can also see the curve and the straight leading into the section I had watched in the first heat (it had been occupied earlier): from there I watch the second run.

Americans and Germans are side by side watching the battle for the medals. The Americans celebrate: Nolte has a mediocre run and Meyers Taylor overtakes her by 0.04 seconds. In the end almost everyone, myself included, heads toward the exit, while only a few go up to the medal area. The walk to the shuttle feels endless (though at least it’s downhill), and at times I fear I’m not on the right path since signs disappear. In the end it was the right way. The shuttle line is orderly, with a snake-like queue: I take the second one. On board there are many Germans, watching figure skating. I guess I’ll see many of them again in Antholz tomorrow.

Milano Cortina Olympics: a final balance

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The Milan-Cortina Olympics have come to an end, and they have been an undoubted success both from the point of view of the Italian team and from an organisational point of view; for once, something that makes us proud of our being Italian. It was also my longest sporting holiday: at the other Olympics, Turin 2006, Vancouver 2010 and Paris 2024, I only stayed for a week (I was also in London in 2012, but only for one day). It is time to take stock of my experience as a (ordinary) spectator. 

The highs

• Merchandising : the best I have ever seen at a sporting event. There was truly an abundance of choice, from T-shirts and sweatshirts to plush toys (with Tina selling out immediately—I never even saw one), keyrings, mugs, and even a moka pot (an item I haven’t used since the last century or so, otherwise I’d have considered it). There were also gadgets from the individual sports, from T-shirts (including the hockey one) to hockey pucks.
• Santa Giulia Arena: a truly modern venue, which I didn’t expect to see in Italy, and with an excellent view from any seat. There are only a few spots that are a bit tricky to reach, above the entrances. Now we’ll see what it’ll be used for in the future.
• Catering (with a few exceptions): the risotto with red wine and sausage I had in Tesero was truly excellent, something I didn’t expect to find at a sport venue. Overall, the food on offer was very varied, different from venue to venue and sometimes even within the same venue, especially in Livigno, which if I remember rightly, had six different stands. Almost all had a local cuisine stand, although sometimes the definition of “local” was questionable (in Predazzo it included pizza, sure not typical of the area). A far cry from Paris, where almost everyone offered the same things—basic and often only cold.
• Transport: unlike Paris, the queues were a bit disorganised, but apart from in Antholz, I never had to wait long for the shuttles. Of course, I also had the advantage of not using the most in-demand ones: the busier shuttles were those heading to the car parks (especially noticeable in Tesero).

The lows

• Prices: this was the biggest flop: for many events, the prices were too high and so the venues weren’t filled. This was especially evident during the ceremonies: usually, tickets for the opening ceremony are the hardest to get—I was so happy to have managed it (only not to be able to use them after all)—but this time, they didn’t even sell out. Even worse for the closing ceremony: €950 for category C, with the result that the Arena was half empty. I experienced this myself in some of the events I attended: there were empty seats at the hockey semi-final and I saw a few also at the alpine skiing , though perhaps some people had already left. But the biggest impact was on the events I decided not to attend: short track had exorbitant prices, even for the morning session, and for figure skating, I only saw the short programme.
• Checks at the Cortina arena: I had to give up a flag that had been with me for years because, according to them, it had a rigid pole. In Rho, Santa Giulia, Assago, Bormio, Livigno, Predazzo, and Tesero, no one ever made an issue of it, but apparently, they thought they were all incompetent. Elsewhere, I saw flags with similar poles, even bigger ones.
• Prohibited items in the venues: what caused me the most trouble was the ban on bringing in power banks: my phone was always on its last legs. There were charging stations, but not enough. What’s more, the ban was mentioned on the website but not in the list of prohibited items at the entrance. Also, the ban on bringing in any food or drink, regardless of packaging, seemed excessive to me.
• Assago Forum: a venue that really shows its age and stood in stark contrast to the modernity of the others. The food on offer there was also clearly of lower quality.

I have mentioned issues attributable to the organisation. Among the aspects beyond the organisers' control, I would mention:

• on the positive side: the atmosphere among fans. There were never any tensions, even in difficult geopolitical contexts, such as between the United States and Canada;
• on the negative side: the long walks to the venues, in Antholz (with the added bonus of long queues on the way back), Bormio and Cortina. But with so many people in such small places, I don't think there was any other way.

It's not easy to choose the race I remember best. Let's say snowboard cross for the atmosphere (especially the Australians), the location and the Italian medal. The unexpected medal in the cross-country relay was also great, but I had to watch it in an unconfortable position. The women's hockey final was exciting, but there were no Italians involved. As for the one I remember least fondly, I have no doubt: the USA-Slovakia hockey semi-final: 480 euros (the most I spent) for a dull, one-sided match.

enza storia.

And now? Between economic and geopolitical problems, I don't think I'll be going to Los Angeles. I hope to be there for the next Winter Olympics. Then, I hope that one day, when I am not only still alive but also able to travel, there will finally be a Summer Olympics in Italy and possibly another Winter Olympics as well.

Olimpiadi di Milano Cortina: un bilancio finale

 Finiscono le Olimpiadi di Milano Cortina, e sono state un indubbio successo sia dal punto di vista della squadra italiana, sia da quello organizzativo; una volta tanto, qualcosa che rende orgogliosi di essere italiani. E' stata anche la mia vacanza sportiva più lunga: alle altre Olimpiadi, Torino 2006, Vancouver 2010 e Parigi 2024 mi ero fermato una settimana sola (ero stato anche a Londra 2012, ma per un giorno sola). E' il momento di fare un bilancio della mia esperienza di spettatore (comune).

I più

• Merchandising: il migliore che abbia mai visto in un evento sportivo. C'era davvero l'imbarazzo della scelta, tra magliette, felpe, pupazzi (con Tina esaurita subito, che io non ho nemmeno mai visto), portachiavi, tazze e persino una moka (oggetto che non uso dal secolo scorso, o giù di lì, altrimenti l'avrei presa in considerazione). C'erano poi i gadget dei singoli sport, dalle magliette (tra cui quella da hockey) ai dischi da hockey.
• Palazzetto di Santa Giulia: impianto modernissimo, come non mi aspettavo di vedere in Italia, e con un ottima visuale, da qualsiasi posto. Ci sono solo alcuni posti un po' difficili da raggiungere, sopra gli ingressi. Vedremo adesso per che cosa sarà utilizzato.
• Ristorazione (con qualche eccezione): il risotto con vino rosso e salsiccia che ho mangiato a Tesero era veramente ottimo, qualcosa che non mi aspettavo di trovare. In generale l'offerta era molto variegata, diversa da sito a sito e a volte anche all'interno dello stesso sito, soprattutto a Livigno, che aveva, se ben ricordo, sei stand diversi. Quasi tutti avevano uno stand di cucina tipica, anche se a volte si poteva discutere sul concetto di "tipica" (a Predazzo comprendeva la pizza). Situazione ben diversa da quella di Parigi, dove quasi tutti offrivano le stesse cose, banali e spesso solo fredde.
• Trasporti: al contrario di Parigi le code erano disordinate, ma ad eccezione di Anterselva, non ho mai dovuto aspettare a lungo per le navette. Certo, ho avuto anche il vantaggio di non utilizzare quelle più richieste: erano più affollate quelle dirette ai parcheggi automobilistici (si è visto soprattutto a Tesero).

I meno

• Prezzi: questo è stato il flop più grosso: per tanti eventi sono stati troppo alti, tanto da non riempire l'impianto. Si è visto soprattutto nelle cerimonie: di solito i biglietti per la cerimonia d'apertura sono i più difficili da trovare, ero tanto contento di avercela fatta (per poi non poterli neanche utilizzare), invece stavolta non sono neanche andati esauriti. Ancora peggio è andata per la cerimonia di chiusura: 950 euro la categoria C, col risultato di ritrovarsi l'Arena mezza vuota. Di ciò ho avuto qualche esperienza nella gare che ho visto: c'erano dei vuoti nella semifinale di hockey  e ne ho visto qualcuno anche nello sci alpino, ma forse se n'erano già andati. Ma l'effetto maggiore è stato per le gare che ho rinunciato a vedere: lo short track aveva prezzi spropositati anche per la sessione mattutina, per il pattinaggio di figura ho visto solo un programma corto.
• Controlli al palazzetto di Cortina: ho dovuto abbandonare una bandiera che mi accompagnava da tanti anni perché secondo loro aveva un'asta rigida. A Rho, Santa Giulia, Assago, Bormio, Livigno, Predazzo e Tesero non mi avevano mai fatto storie, ma evidentemente per loro erano incompetenti. Dappertutto, poi, ho visto bandiere con aste simili alla mia, anche più grandi.
• Oggetti proibiti negli impianti: quello che mi ha creato più problemi è stato il divieto di introdurre power bank: avevo sempre il telefono al limite della carica. Certo, c'erano le stazioni di ricarica, ma non bastavano. Tra l'altro, il divieto era citato sul sito, ma nell'elenco degli oggetti proibiti ai cancelli non c'era. Anche il divieto di introdurre qualsiasi cibo  bevanda, indipendentemente dalla confezione, mi è sembrato eccessivo.
• Forum di Assago: impianto che mostra tutti i suoi anni e che strideva con la modernità degli altri. Anche l'offerta di cibo era di qualità nettamente inferiore.

Ho parlato di cose imputabili all'organizzazione. Tra gli aspetti fuori dal controllo degli organizzatori, cito:

• in positivo: il clima tra tifosi. Mai tensioni, neanche in contesti geopolitici difficili, come tra USA e Canada;
• in negativo: i lunghi trasferimenti a piedi ad Anterselva (con in più la lunga coda al ritorno), Bormio, Cortina. Ma con tante persone presenti in luoghi piccoli, non credo si potesse fare diversamente.

Non è facile scegliere la gara di cui ho un ricordo migliore. Diciamo lo snowboard cross per il clima (soprattutto gli australiani), la località e la medaglia italiana. Bella anche la medaglia insperata nella staffetta di fondo, ma la posizione era scomoda. Appassionante la finale di hockey femminile, ma senza italiani coinvolti. Su quella di cui ho un ricordo peggiore, invece, non ho dubbi: la semifinale di hockey USA-Slovacchia: 480 euro (quella per cui ho speso di più) per una partita bruttina e senza storia.

E adesso? Tra problemi economici e geopolitici, non credo andrò a Los Angeles. Spero di esserci alle prossime Olimpiadi invernali. Poi, spero che un giorno, quando sarò ancora non solo vivo, ma anche in grado di spostarmi, ci sia finalmente un'Olimpiade estiva in Italia e possibilmente anche un'altra Olimpiade invernale.