Day one

I’m writing this on day three, because I was in no state to write anything earlier and the lack of wifi poses a challenge. 

On arrival, I was grateful to have my colleague, little Anastasia, greet me at the airport and bring me into the volunteer world. The sun in Sochi beamed down and seemed to recharge my batteries. Here’s to hoping for a shadow of a tan on my return to Canada!

The security checks are many. Thankfully I had a little translator, because my bags of Canadian pins was flagged as ‘metal’ and I had to pull my pack apart to show they were harmless traders items.

We’ve all been placed in special volunteer housing complexes. Mine is deceiving called Hotel Omega. Aside from the fact it’s a new building, it is far from a hotel. After a room mixup (no key to my assigned room) I was reassigned to building 17, section 2, room 304. When I first walked in to expel my 42 pound bag and shed my winter jacket and boots, I was relieved to see only two single beds. One roommate? I was expecting at least 4 times as many people to a room. Not only do I have just the one roommate, but we have a balcony and antechamber outside the bedroom. Sounds great, right? Well, there’s light bulbs missing, and only one key to every room...yes, one key! We need to sign the key in and out. The greatest downside is the lack of laundry and wifi. I’m sorely regretting not bringing my cellphone, but alas, I have enough Tide to get me through the next two months.

Hotel Omega

In a whirl, Anastasia got me out of there and onto meet my team leader, Nadya. Nadya took me into Olympic Park where we stood in line for about an hour to get our accreditation. Wait. This line-up wasn’t our accreditation. It was a lineup to confirm we ARE accredited.  A young boy bursting with acne signed a little paper and onto the next line we went. Two hours in this lineup...and I was not aptly dressed. The sun at the beginning of the day had given me a false sense of confidence. As a proud Canadian, I should easily be able handle the chilly weather... Well, guess again. Standing still in a cue for hours without food or drink was nearly unbearable. I wish I had been better prepared. My toes went numb as I tried to do a little jig to warm up my extremities. 

More than once, a group of old fat russians were let in front of the rest of us. Each time one of these “companies” were let through, we were pushed closer and closer to the barricade. On a positive note, the close quarters helped me warm up. Finally we were let through but the flood of people behind us pushed me into the barricade to the point where a security guard had to cradle me in his arm to get me through. Finally, four hours later I got my accreditation pass (I wish I had taken a better photo!)

The golden ticket

Doesn’t sound so bad, does it? Well, then there was the uniform line. As the sun began to go down, so did the temperature. This line was the worst by far. You could tell the volunteers at the front had been there for a while. After half an hour with no signs of movement, someone came and let about 30 people in. The stampede that followed was terrifying. I stand at 5’10 and can hold my own, but the rush of bodies behind me threw me off balance and I was nearly trampled. 

Packed in like sardines, another 45 minutes passed and the stampede hit again. I don’t know why I shouted, but I repeatedly said “Whoah, think about this people” to an audience of mostly Russian volunteers. This wave I managed to get through, but a small girl beside me was trampled by another woman. She was in tears and had black marks on her face. I hugged her, but I was not impressed. There’s no reason why the process could not have been smoother. We were all given appointments for accreditation, but that clearly didn’t mean anything. I heard some volunteers were waiting in line for over 7 hours without a bathroom in sight. A little coffee station, or even a bottle of water, would have made a world of difference. 

Alas, I was finally fitted for my uniform. A short man looked at me and flat out said, “large on the bottom, smaller on top.” To my dismay, he was spot on. I am indeed a large in the snow pants and a medium in the jacket. As I was sitting in the nearly empty change rooms, I thought, “wow, they could have been letting way more people inside to at least keep warm.”

I was crushed to find out those who work in the mountain cluster do not get a pair of runners. Right before leaving Canada, I decided to leave my runners back for the sole reason I knew I’d be packing around two pairs. Now I’ll have to find time to get into Sochi and buy a pair. Five hours later, I am now an official ‘walking bag of skittles.’ (Thanks for the perfect term Rob!)