Olympic Torch...Relay?

I love the Olympics and one of my life goals is to go to the Olympics some day - as an observer, a volunteer or a perhaps as a photographer!

Today the Olympic torch was brought through London as part of the relay to transfer it from Greece to China. This is the second time I've witnessed the relay. The first was in San Francisco in 2001. Stephen and I got up with the sunrise, hopped on our bikes and made our way the few blocks from my apartment (shared with Julie Trell) to the Marina. It was fantastic. Hardly anyone was awake. We were able to follow the torch as it passed from person to person. One participant carried it stretched out in his arms as he moved along the route in his motorized wheelchair. Another was bravely walking, each step made slowly, as he was suffering from Leukemia. He died three days later.

What I witnessed today held only a glimmer of the passion and joy that to me characterizes the Olympic spirit. Once again the torch was passing close to my flat (the benefits of living in a big city) and I was able to easily wander down to the route. However, it was snowing (three days ago it was sunny and in the 60s), which made it beautiful but logistically challenging in a city that gets bogged-down when it rains. Our neighborhood, Notting Hill was showing its best colors by featuring dancers from the Carnival Parade which takes place each August. The dancers looked beautiful but only a few of them looked happy. Too cold, too wet, too many police.

There were more police than observers along the route. But I understand why. Protesters everywhere. It appeared as though the Pope was coming along in his motorized bullet-proof carriage but no, it was just the torch bearer surrounded by police on foot, police on bicycles, police on motorcycles, police in cars, police in vans, police in buses. The only thing missing were police helicopters.

The most dramatic moment was when the next torch bearer jumped out of one of the vans in front of us, ran down the road to take his turn carrying the torch and then it appeared that protesters ran into the streets. Cops starting jumping out of vans, people started running into the street, sirens started blaring. I was actually afraid for myself and the young family next to me as the drama was moving closer to our position. A police van nearly drove us off the sidewalk as it determined we were standing in the best place to pull aside. When the torch passed I waved but believe me I was the only one waving (free-spirited act or sheer lunacy?) A few official vehicles followed the torch bearer and I attempted to bring some Olympic spirit by waving at the athletes and future torch-bearers inside each bus. They only distractedly waved back as they too were focused on the police scene around us.

But it all ended with a reminder of that first torch relay I witnessed in San Francisco. The torch bearer I saw earlier jump out of the van had finished his leg of the relay and jumped back on the bus now in front of us. He was absolutely glowing. He kept trying to suppress his smiles but I could see he had been touched by the spirit of the Olympics and despite himself couldn't help smiling ear to ear. Now that is the Olympic spirit.

Budapest Day 3 - Stopped by Police

Walking around Budapest with a camera you are prime pickings for weirdos. At first we would listen to these people when they asked if we spoke English. But then we decided it was better to pretend we didn't know what they were saying as they were always asking for money or telling us how Americans don't understand their situation.

Last night walking back from the Buda side to our hotel my father and I were approached by a man who asked if we spoke English. My dad was pretending he didn't speak English, following my suggestion, but I felt soft-hearted and said yes. He then asked us the way to Margarit Island, said he was from Greece and then wondered how he could exchange his cash to Hungarian HUFs. We really weren't suspicious of this man even though it was on a back street and we could have been mugged so easily.

Suddenly another man, in his 50s or 60s dressed in a black coat bursts onto the scene and flashes a black leather passport-type wallet that says Police. He opens it up to show us his photo and credentials and then announces that we are not to exchange money on the street. Huh? This was so sudden and strange. Actually, it was a scene out of the Soviet Regime. He starts interrogating the Greek (is he really Greek?) man about what he is doing and asks for his passport. The man flashes the passport and then the Police officer (is he really a Police officer?) asks for his wallet. Now I know something is strange. He takes the money out and looks at each bill. Next he sticks his nose in the wallet and takes a giant sniff. My dad thinks it is for drugs but I think it is to smell for fresh ink because the officer's next comment is that there is counterfeit money all over the place.

We figure we can get out of this crazy scene and begin to say goodbye and begin to walk away. No says the officer, he has questions for us next. He asks for our passports which are in the hotel. So he then demands to see for our wallets and our money. My money is all crumpled up and my dad has nothing (hum). The officer doesn't sniff our wallets but lets us go. I thought for sure he was going to take our cash.

It was strange because there was a currency exchange across the street. Plus, the man said his wife and kids are in the hotel waiting. Why didn't he ask the hotel for directions to the island or to help him get his currency exchanged?

The experience helped me understand why people look so sour faced here. Imagine the feeling of being watched all the time and then the repercussions of actually talking to someone. The experience gave me a new lens through which to see Budapest.