Let's Go to the Olympics! [Part 1]
A Wichita couple battles price gouging, robot custodians, and airline waitlists on the road to the Paris Olympics.
Here are Parts 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6
It is as if we had absentmindedly walked into the shower with our clothes on. I briefly consider jumping into the Seine just to dry off a bit. We are wet in the same sense that the Marianas Trench is wet.
My passport seems dangerously soggy. I imagine a US customs agent at O’Hare Airport denying me entry back into the USA after cynically asking me if I had swum back from France.
I reach into another pocket to check my Metro card…which is made of paper. It still exists, though it has begun a transformation not unlike that of the Wicked Witch of the West at the end of The Wizard of Oz.
My wife Risa and I sit in plastic seats on a temporary spectator stand atop Pont du Carrousel, a historic bridge that spans the Seine River in the heart of Paris. The procession of boats representing all the nations of the world has passed underneath the crowd. As the last boat, that of the host country, France, disappears beneath the cheering crowd, we give our American flags one last wave and contemplate our miserably wet state.
It is one of the greatest days of our lives.
In December of 2022, I came across an article promoting a ticket lottery for the 2024 Paris Olympics. I didn’t give it much thought when I entered my name into the free drawing. After all, like Bluto said in Animal House: “Don’t cost nothin’.” Little did I know.
I guess all this was foretold in my childhood. My obsession with the competition started in 1984, when 9-year-old me watched Carl Lewis, Karch Kiraly, and the rest of America’s athletes pummel the rest of the world in just about every sport imaginable. It helped that the Soviets and East Germans had boycotted the games.
In the summers of my youth, I would travel from Wichita to Overbrook, KS to stay with my grandparents and work at our family’s grocery store, run by my Uncle Cliff. But my productivity declined precipitously during the Olympics. Even the Goodwill Games, Ted Turner’s off-year answer to the Olympics, proved too important to miss. Those groceries went unbagged. While I was in Paris this summer, Uncle Cliff texted me the following:
“Just wanted to remind you that you need to be at the store for work in the morning at 7am. Sorry to interrupt the Olympics!!” I couldn’t help but laugh.
Two months after my lark of a lottery entry, while sitting at my desk at work, my eyes widened at a notification on my phone:
“You were successful in the draw!”
Though I was ecstatic, there was one small detail to iron out: I had yet to inform my wife that I had entered the lottery. Something of this magnitude couldn’t really be slipped into casual conversation.
“Say, darling, could you pick up that cheesy bread I like the next time you stop at Aldi? Oh, by the way, I thought we might stop by the Olympics in Paris this July for a few weeks. Make sure it’s the GARLIC cheesy bread, would you?”
But, as it turned out, Risa had been entranced by those 1984 games as well. For her, it was watching Mary Lou Retton dazzle the world with her gymnastic routine. Like so many girls, she wanted to BE her. I couldn’t wait to experience the Olympics with a fellow aficionado.
Just two days after I received the official email, my personalized window would open at 11 AM Central European Time. That’s 4 AM in Wichita. It would be the first of several early morning ticket buying sprees. The lottery allowed me to buy tickets to three different events, and I was stoked.
Shortly after that 4 AM login, I was the proud owner of tickets to Track and Field, Volleyball, and Handball. What followed was a crash course in the world of Olympic superfans. Thanks to a Facebook group called “Paris 2024 Olympics Planning & Preparation,” I soon learned the in’s and out’s of Olympic fandom.
How many events can you pack into a day? (More than two is seriously pushing it.)
What’s the deal with the Olympic pins? (You can trade them with other fans and maybe you’ll get really, really lucky and score a Snoop Dogg pin.)
Will I need to speak French? (Not really. Just know the following: Merci! Bonjour! S'il vous plaît! Parlez vous Anglaise? Les toilettes???)
When should I book my hotel? (Yesterday…or at the last minute. Pick one.)
What about an AirBnB? (Be prepared for them to cancel on you so they can try to charge more money to someone else.)
The 2024 Games featured a ticketing process that was 100% digital. There would be no printed tickets and no way to buy tickets without using the official Paris 2024 app. Sorry Stubhub.
By April of 2023, we had a reservation at a modest, but lovely hotel in the 3rd arrondissement, near the center of Paris. It also holds the world record for Most Generic Hotel Name: Paris France Hotel. As you’ll see, it would turn out to be a gem.
At the time, the going rate for hotels in Paris was 4x the normal price. I got a steal at merely 2x normal price. I eventually discovered that people who waited to the last minute got better deals. But if you are a planner like me, it’s tough to take that gamble.
As a Certified Miles Hound™©, I had scrapped and scrounged for enough United miles to get waitlisted for the most glorious of upgrades: Polaris Business Class from Chicago to Paris. It included Polaris lounge access in Chicago, lie-flat seats, a premium meal, and a summer special- a Tillamook Strawberry Shortcake Ice Cream Sundae. I could practically taste the privilege as I imagined us looking down on the lowly economy passengers.
But the day before our flight, I found us #2 and #3 on the waitlist. Though I prayed for two booked Polaris passengers to be unexpectedly called away to work or struck down with a (only temporary) debilitating medical condition, we found ourselves trudging past the gilded seats of business class on our way to the Economy cabin.
Though I did manage an upgrade to Economy Plus (with a MASSIVE leg room increase of four inches), losing out on the Business Class seats was a distinct disappointment. But I suppose there are worse ways to travel:
Being a planner, I had anticipated not having access to the luxurious Polaris Lounge in Chicago for our long layover, and booked us one-time passes to a United Club lounge in the C-concourse. It turned out to be quite nice. The food was excellent and in great abundance.
More importantly, the robot slaves served their human overlords with aplomb:
Our first night’s stay in Paris erased the disappointment of the Economy cabin. We discovered that our hotel room had a view that made the eight-hour layover and cramped seats a distant memory.
In just two days, we would attend the Opening Ceremony, and learn to breathe through our newly formed gills. In the meantime, Risa had booked a photographer to shoot some photos of us by the Eiffel Tower. The journey there would be our first test of the Paris Metro and its celebrated pickpockets.
Next week: Part 2 - The Olympics begin!
Oh man, this is going to be a fun journey to follow you on, Tim. I was wondering how you found yourself in France at the time of the Olympics; now I know!