Dec. 17 – Moscow

Not "het" but "nyet".

Having worked for one Olympic and Paralympic Games, I’m in a fraternity that maintains an interest in how the “next guys” will manage. My chats with current Gamers always bring up a mixture of envy, nostalgia and frank relief at not being on the hot seat. I spent today with the woman who is doing for Sochi 2014 the job that I had for Vancouver 2010. There is nothing particularly spectral or sinister about Sasha. We had met when I did a workshop for the Sochi team in the summer, and I was glad to see her again, this time on yet another bleak day here.

Our rendez-vous was at the vast, windswept All Russia Exhibition Centre. For those who know the Canadian National Exhibition, it’s the same concept but  designed along Stalinist lines. Pavilions, arches, immense bronze workers in heroic poses, hammers and sickles aloft. A towering statue of a space-bound rocket honouring the Soviet Union’s cosmonauts. And an array of carnival carousels and food vending booths, sparsely populated at this, the wrong time of the year.

The highlight of the excursion was a ride on “Moscow 850”, the giant Ferris wheel. It may only be half as tall as London’s Eye, but in an open car out in the cold air it’s what the English would call “bracing”. We had gotten on quickly, yammering on about Games, and strapped ourselves in. But it soon dawned we were heading 70 metres above ground and that I didn’t particularly enjoy heights of this kind. Conversation became less fluid, and my grip on the armrests tightened. Photos would have been fun, but I was not interested in letting go to reach for the camera. We finally came full circle. Back where we started and somewhat stressed. A true Games organizer’s metaphor.

No, not "crapdogs" but "Stardogs"

Moscow is renowned for its underground Metro, but it also has a Monorail and we rode it back into the city for a late lunch. Sasha guided us to a diner that served hearty food in Soviet-kitsch décor. We had enormous cheese and meat-filled fried pastries that you eat by hand, and washed them down with sweet Ukrainian red wine served in small glasses. A Soviet blimp had been painted on the wall to my left. On the right were Communist era posters. A cabinet contained CCCP-branded tee shirts and baseball caps for sale. Few of the customers looked old enough to have been adults during Soviet times.

"To you from failing hands we throw the….hot fried pastry". My successor at Winter Games communications is better at handling text.