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.
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