I was downtown for the opening ceremonies and again last night. What a rush.
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Gone is the blase, laid-back, to-cool-to-care vibe that Vancouver usually has. In it’s place is a genuine excitement and pride like I’ve never seen before.
We’re Canadians, it’s not normally our way to brag. We know we’re good, even though normally you’d have to coax the admission out of us and watch us turn red with embarrassment for admitting such a thing out loud.
As of last night we have two golds, won on home soil. We’re happy campers.
On opening night, the air was filled with hope, anticipation and pride. Last night it was exuberance (we’d just trounced Norway in men’s hockey and won our second gold on the slopes of Cypress). Masses of people filled the streets but I don’t think I saw anyone frowning. Most of us gazed around in awe. Vancouver was lit up and shining in her finest projected pixels and laser light accessories.
The best part is I have fodder for characters to write about, from the straw-masked protester mournfully hollering, “bring out your dead” to the cheers of people around me when their home countries entered the stadium and the crowd in the middle of Robson street gathered around once of the umpteen million television monitors watching men’s figure skating cheering on our Canadian guy after he finished his routine.
I have many glowing hearts to use in future novels.