Sleepless in Rio

The air in Rio de Janeiro is filled with the joy of glory mixed with the pain of defeat, with a definite scent of group sleeplessness on the side. Any born optimist like myself, trying to watch 2+ events each day, eventually plays their role in one big zombie parade. We always wake up at 7am, and never reach our respective hotels before 1am. It's not just about the sheer distance between different arenas (sizeable yet surprisingly doable with the new fast busses called BRT), or between the arenas and the city (makes you wonder how on earth they'll ever use them again), but mostly about the cherry on top of this cake: the overwhelming, ever-present Brazilian chaos.

Now I understand I shouldn't complain too much, because we'd all be hypocrites proudly celebrating first ever games in South America while expecting them to meet the organisational standards set by London four years ago. In fact, I find myself repeating that very mantra in my head every time a new example of a blatant lack of imagination makes me shake my head and roll my eyes, as both actions seem detrimental to my energy reserves in this 35 degrees winter. A couple of times I even felt quite embarrassed after losing my cool and shouting at poor security guards and volunteers, although neither group holds any responsibility for this mess.

To give you a couple of examples:

1. Finding a working cash dispenser makes you feel like an Olympic champion every single time. (So does finding anybody who speaks any English, so better polish your Portunhol.)

2. Brazil produced three Formula 1 world champions, all of whom won more than once: Emerson Fittipaldi, Nelson Piquet, and of course Ayrton Senna. I'm happy to report the talent pool is bottomless though, and more names will surely be added to that short list very soon. All Brazilians drive in a time-and-space-bending manner that changes your perception of lanes, lights, and speed limits. Of course any usage of seat belts would never let them achieve this level of dexterity. In some taxis, you directly notice you're the first passenger nervously looking for those. (The belts are present alright, but there is sometimes no way to use them, as the buckles have long been buried deep under the back seat.) Speaking of which: every taxi (or uber, I hear) ride is an adventure, as the drivers don't (want to) know your destination, or - God forbid - whether it can be reached during the Games. (Spoiler alert: it can't. Let's block all the roads just to be on the safe side.)

3. And so public transport is your last resort. A Brazilian bus ride trumps any zumba class you'll ever take (luckily the temperatures make it feel like Bikram yoga too), and that excellent core-strengthening exercise of trying to stay upright on what feels like the next Titanic makes you realise a pole dancing course would come in handy. Once you're off the bus of doom, it's high time to realise some metro stations allow you to disembark with one type of ticket, but embark only with another. By the way, this is an area I've been studying extensively due to a combination of my stinginess and curiosity, in a genuine attempt to blend in with the Brazilians and understand the system. Following a rather steep learning curve, I'm vaguely proud to announce that indeed now I do understand the system and pay my fares just like the locals (saving up to 70%), but I'm yet to witness another tourist join me on the dark side of the force.

4. Last but not least, entering the arenas can be sheer drama. Lines, lines, lines, endless lines. Who designs an Olympic stadium for 60000 spectators, but then employs maybe a dozen people for performing lengthy security checks? Who schedules two basketball games within three hours, then forgets to force the first crowd out on time, resulting in the second one entering the game just before halftime? Myself, I've been to Disneyland before, thus I'll survive any amount of queuing. But those who come with kids, or simply possess too much of that little thing called self-respect, will often turn around and go home.

All in all, it could be worse, I guess. The Rio 2016 mess does provide endless memorable anecdotes as well as the occasional chuckle. Let's not forget it is the exact same mess that lets me watch almost all mind-blowing sporting events from the first row even though I bought the cheapest ticket, or no ticket at all (sic). Finally, all this allows me to reflect on the two countries I've spent the majority of my life in. Growing up in developing Poland gave me the right mix of patience, stubbornness, and survival instinct. My adulthood in the Netherlands is as comfortable is it gets, but thanks to this trip I'll be able to appreciate in a fuller way the amount of time, money, and know-how somebody put in behind the scenes to end up with a place (and a society) where everything works brilliantly and so seamlessly you tend to take it for granted.