by Susan Stafford-Pooley
I began writing this sitting in a wifi lounge at the Panama City airport, watching the Olympic Opening Ceremonies on TV. I was en route to Rio, but not quite there yet. Despite getting up at the crack of dawn (or Sparrow Fart, as my father liked to call the period just prior to the crack of dawn) and boarding a flight in Toronto, the nonsensical intricacies of international air travel had me land here first and required passing over the remnants of Hurricane Earl in the process. That, my friends, was a rock-and-roll experience I could have done without. After an interminable six-hour layover complete with giant bathroom cockroaches, I embarked on the final leg of my trip.
This will be my first Olympic Games, but not the first time I have been in South America. In 1995 I attended the Pan Am Games in Buenos Aires. That time, I joined Susan Jane Anstey, the publisher/editor-in-chief at the time and current publisher, Jennifer Anstey’s mother. Things were quite different then – there were no cell phones, no Google Translate, no GPS, no Uber. I sat in the smoking section in the back of the 747 the entire way there. One of several bad life choices, as I reflect back.
I arrived at the Rio airport this morning (named not after a despot or politician, but rather a famous bossa nova king, Tom Jobim – how cool is that?). I was greeted by incredibly friendly and helpful staff who made sure I received my accreditation and poured me onto the correct bus to Deodoro. I arrived at the “media accommodations” to a slightly less jolly situation: each apartment has a shared common area, 3 small 8×10 bedrooms and 2 shared bathrooms that are kept under lock and key. By the time I arrived the other 2 residents were gone, the towels were all used and the place was a mess. For $254 (USD) a night I guess I was expecting something a little less … rooming house.
The ride to the venue went through some spectacularly depressing favelas (slums), allowing me to understand a bit better why there was so much violent and vocal opposition to these Olympics. Among the residents here, 22% are desperately poor, and that number is growing. In one particular favela, the Rocinha community, there are estimates of as many as 300,000 people living in squalor. Considering that Brazil ranks 9th as one of the largest economies in the world by GDP, this is an atrocity. Hopefully, recent changes at the top will offer some solutions to these problems that appear to be spiralling out of control.
The good news is the Olympic Equestrian Park is beautiful and filled with people eager to help. As is typical at many large equestrian ventures, there are some issues with food vendors (or lack thereof), water, and traffic congestion. But the stars of the show are centre stage where they should be. The horses all look great and are bursting with health and fitness. This is going to be two weeks of the best equestrian sport on the planet, and I am privileged to be here.
Oh, and then there was the stray bullet that entered the media tent at lunchtime….. for that I turn you over to Jennifer’s “Ballet and Bullets” blog here.
