A friend explained the site  to me because she was convinced that I just didn’t know enough about it. After her demonstration, she tried to convince me to ... Read More »]]> I have a confession that might strike you as shocking. Here goes. I’m a thirty-something who doesn’t use Facebook. That might make me sound like a Luddite, but that’s the risk I’m willing to take. I’ve never had an account and don’t plan on having one. Ever. And it’s more complicated to not have one that you might think. I’m asked on a near-weekly basis by friends and acquaintances why I don’t have one.

A friend explained the site  to me because she was convinced that I just didn’t know enough about it. After her demonstration, she tried to convince me to sign up. “Nope,” I told her. Then I asked why she wanted me to have an account. “Because it would make it easier for me to keep track of you,” she said. “But we stay in touch,” I replied. “Yeah,” she said. “But what if I wanted to know what you had for dinner?”

Do we really need to know mundane details like those? I’ve looked at the site a couple of times now with friends. I’m surprised by how much people are willing to share  from what they did over the weekend to what mood they happen to be in at the moment. Even though I have a blog, I control the content although admittedly I don’t know who might read it. But what about people whose in-laws might read a Facebook posting about a wild n’ crazy weekend with their spouse?

Facebook might be great for lots of people, but it’s not for me.

Jennifer Taylor lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband and Burmese cat. Her website is www.jrtaylorweb.com

Photo Credit © Nyul | Dreamstime.com

Jon and I waited outside for the taxi at 5:50 in the morning. Although buses ran early, none would be able to cart us from one section of the city over to BCIT technical school in time to catch a shuttle to Whistler. Zooming across town felt surreal that early.

A woman wearing an orange poncho stood at the entrance of BCIT with a flashlight and asked if we were going to Whistler. Once Jon and I were in line for one of the buses, I noticed a guy with a giant thermos of coffee strapped to his back. Volunteers from ... Read More »]]>

Jon and I waited outside for the taxi at 5:50 in the morning. Although buses ran early, none would be able to cart us from one section of the city over to BCIT technical school in time to catch a shuttle to Whistler. Zooming across town felt surreal that early.

A woman wearing an orange poncho stood at the entrance of BCIT with a flashlight and asked if we were going to Whistler. Once Jon and I were in line for one of the buses, I noticed a guy with a giant thermos of coffee strapped to his back. Volunteers from the Salvation Army held cooling cups of hot chocolate out to us.

On board, the bus driver made an announcement before we took off for the two and a half hour drive to Whistler. “My name is Christian,” he said. “Let’s all pray that we can get to Whistler this morning. I’ve been there once.” My brother laughed along with the crowd while I pulled on Jon’s sleeve. “He’s joking, right?” I asked. Jon shrugged. Christian later said he’s from State College, PA and drove his coach all the way from there. He wasn’t kidding about only making one trip to the mountain. His company had been contracted to help manage transportation since the roads were only open to buses and local residents.

As the bus rumbled onto the highway, we were treated to the sun rising over the mountains casting an orange glow onto the water. While Jon slept, I watched out the window, transfixed by the scenery. The road wove through the mountains in an endless series of twists and turns. When Christian passed another bus, he waved an arm in victory.

As we approached Whistler Olympic Park, I nudged Jon. “Almost there,” I said. We heard one of Christian’s co-workers on the walkie-talkie. He had gotten to the turn off for the park, but didn’t have the right parking permit, so he had to turn the full bus around and head back down the mountain and wait for someone to bring a permit. Luckily Christian had the permit, which he generously offered to loan his co-worker for a couple hundred dollars.

After we stumbled off of the bus, we got caught up in the crowd’s excitement. “Hello and welcome to the 2010 Olympics!” a woman yelled from a megaphone. “Happy Valentine’s Day and Chinese New Year!” she added. We headed toward a series of tents that served as coverings for security lines. After being checked out (my boots had metal buckles and had to be wanded), we wandered around the base of the mountain. We’d hoped to be able to see the village of Whistler, but we were too far away from it.

The walk from the bus to the mountain top was probably a little over a mile, uphill. We enjoyed the walk, although several people seemed to struggle. I again wondered how older people or those with disabilities would be able to get to the event. During the walk, we stopped by a Vancouver 2010 banner to take a photo. A volunteer asked if we’d like to have our picture taken together and we said sure. “Act like you like each other,” she said while taking the photo. “It’s Valentine’s Day!”
“He’s my brother,” I replied, and we laughed. “So sorry,” she said. “I’m not going to say that to anyone else today!”

Close to the top of the mountain, we stopped to watch ice sculptors working on a local scene. We walked past a couple of food stands and an overpriced store selling Olympic gear at inflated prices. Then we saw athletes ski right by us doing practice runs for the biathlon. Loudspeakers blared about milestones in biathlon history. We bought coffee and hot chocolate along with some pretzels. One of the guys working in the food stall from Australia asked if I wanted a Snickers or a cookie. “It’s too early for that,” I said, even though later, I’d wish I had gotten both. “Welcome to the Games,” he said, handing the drinks to me. “It’s awesome to be here,” I replied. He nodded.

Armed with warm drinks and food, we walked up another slight hill toward the biathlon track. There were about two and a half hours before the event would begin, but the crowds were filling up the standing section and bleachers. We walked around trying to find the best vantage point in the crowd, and decided on two spots were we could see the shooting portion and athletes as they rounded the corner to the finish line.

We passed the time by people watching. Several spectators had brought their country’s flags, which they either carried in their hands, or draped around themselves. Some people brought cowbells. Some began drinking beer for breakfast. The people on the right side of us sat down on the snow and had a picnic. And then the Portland couple decided to camp out next to us. They were probably in their 60’s. He was prepared – binoculars, sunscreen, umbrella and comments for everything. Over the next couple of hours, he proceeded to tell us about (in no particular order): his wife’s emerald ring that he got her for Valentine’s Day, that his son was partying at their house, how much it cost to send his son to college, how his son kept calling to ask for money, about the history of the biathlon and about one athlete in particular named Ollie.

When the sun shone on the mountain and warmed us up, he shared his sunscreen while complaining about the glare. Later when the temperature dropped and rain fell, he whined about how could this be the winter Olympics? And even later during a rain/snow mix, he talked about being cold.

There were 88 participating in the biathlon. As each one skied by, he yelled something like “go Chinese dude,” or “Ollie I have a man crush on you. I’d marry you if I wasn’t married already!” I’m not saying that’s why the extremely accomplished Ollie came in thirteenth that day instead of in the top five, but I might be insinuating that had something to do with it.

Biathlon is a very complicated sport – after skiing, the athletes have to alternate between shooting targets standing up and lying down. If they missed any of the five targets in a row, they had to ski penalty laps, which is what happened to Ollie. The event took about an hour and a half, and the crowd went through all of the weather changes with the athletes. By the end, I couldn’t feel my toes, but the sleeting had finally stopped and the sun emerged again. We watched the flower ceremony and the athlete from France who won that portion before we went back down the mountain, tired. This time the bus driver was a woman who didn’t say anything during the ride back.

Once back at BCIT, we had to find out directions to the bus stop. We were able to ride public transit for free around the city by showing our Olympic ticket. The older bus driver asked me how the event had been. “Cool,” I said. “Right, but how was it?” he asked. “Really fun,” I said.

A group of Canadians from another part of the country sat near us and asked about Whistler. They had tickets for an event there in a couple of days. “Were you warm enough?” one of the women asked me. I nodded. “Are you generally warm or cold?” she continued. The others laughed. “She’s going through menopause and doesn’t know how to dress,” her husband explained. We talked with them for a while and they mistook us for Canadians.

Once home after the nearly hour-long ride, Micah handed me a lovely bouquet of pink and white carnations with baby’s breath and lots of greenery. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said.

- Jennifer Taylor lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband and Burmese cat. Her website is www.jrtaylorweb.com

How to Pack: An Olympic Task

An Olympic Adventure Part One

An Olympic Adventure Part Two

An Olympic Adventure Part Three

Photo Credit © Rainer Plendl | Dreamstime.com

We meandered into different stores and were impressed by the shopkeeper’s friendliness. They all wanted to know where we were from and if we had ... Read More »]]> Micah and Jon set out for the Richmond Oval to see speed skating, while Mom and I set out to see more of the city.  We had a great time walking through Kitsilano, a cute part of the city filled with shops, restaurants, bakeries, cafes and florists. Since it was the day before the Valentine holiday, all of the flower shops had lovely displays on the sidewalks under their awnings. We saw several men carrying bouquets and vases.

We meandered into different stores and were impressed by the shopkeeper’s friendliness. They all wanted to know where we were from and if we had event tickets. We spoke with a lady about the luge tragedy, and she said she wasn’t going to watch any of that sport’s coverage on TV. “I couldn’t stand it,” she said. We agreed and told her about our decision not to attend the event.

Later, we bought fabulous cupcakes at Cupcakes by Heather and Lori. I’m quite the cupcake connoisseur, and the Diva is right up there with the best I’ve eaten. Made of chocolate cake, pink vanilla butter cream and pink sugar crystals, it was delicious enough for me to still consider ordering for a special occasion from Atlanta. We had lunch at the Banana Leaf, a good Malaysian restaurant with a tropical vibe. And of course I drank coffee from various shops along the way. I was sad to reach the Wired Monk too late in our journey to have more caffeine.

Our favorite store was Shine, a boutique with consignment and new clothing. We both bought scarves, and the owner gave us free recyclable tote bags. A couple of blocks from the store a woman asked where we had gotten the bags.

Back at the house, Micah and Jon were tired from their adventure. They had enjoyed watching the event and flower ceremony. Afterwards they took the sky train to the downtown area and took photos of the outdoor Olympic torch. That night we stayed in and had a light supper and those amazing cupcakes.

For my next installment I’ll write about our trip to Whistler for the biathlon and the character from Portland, OR.

Jennifer Taylor lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband and Burmese cat. Her website is www.jrtaylorweb.com

An Olympic Adventure Part One

An Olympic Adventure Part Two

Last week we set out for our Olympic adventure that began in Seattle and then onto Vancouver. Despite blizzard conditions in PA, Mom and Jon were able to meet up with us without any delays. Our flights arrived in Seattle a mere hour apart, and then we were off to explore the city. We stayed at the Moore Hotel, a fun and quirky place run by three siblings renovating the old building one floor at a time. We had dinner at Mama’s Mexican where the food had a little to be desired, but the atmosphere made up for it. Where ... Read More »]]>

Last week we set out for our Olympic adventure that began in Seattle and then onto Vancouver. Despite blizzard conditions in PA, Mom and Jon were able to meet up with us without any delays. Our flights arrived in Seattle a mere hour apart, and then we were off to explore the city. We stayed at the Moore Hotel, a fun and quirky place run by three siblings renovating the old building one floor at a time. We had dinner at Mama’s Mexican where the food had a little to be desired, but the atmosphere made up for it. Where else can you find decorations of Elvis, Marilyn and Santa Claus while listing to mariachi tunes?

The next day, we spent the morning at Pike Place Market, which isn’t just a tourist attraction. Locals also shop for fresh foods and flowers there. The market stalls change daily with different vendors arriving each morning toting their wares. It’s $75 to set up for the day, and the sellers have to take their belongings with them each evening since there isn’t way to secure them at night. It’s a feast for the eyes to see amazing looking produce (one place had ‘big-ass grapes’) and gigantic bunches of flowers. I have to say it made our farmer’s market in Atlanta look a tad skimpy.

We had breakfast at the Crumpet Shop where you can get crumpets with ricotta cheese and almond butter with really good organic coffee. Ah, coffee. Coffee shops abound all over the market and on nearly every corner. There’s even a drive through just for espresso.

After checking out at the hotel, we took a cab to pick up the Quick Shuttle that would take us into Canada. The bus driver was a highly excitable, overweight man who talked about how long it might take to get through customs. Due to increased security for the Games, he said we could be there from 30 minutes to eight hours. The bus ride to the border takes about two and a half hours. Our driver assured us that we were get there as quickly as possible, and try and get in front of any buses in line at the border. Each time we passed a bus on the road, he said that’s another hour we just saved!

We all had to get off of the bus and take our luggage into customs. The process took about 45 minutes and then we were back on the road. The ride took about another half an hour to get into Vancouver. With our faces pressed to the windows, we saw the rise of the majestic Coast Mountains. Each block that we passed had coffee shops, florists, and bakeries.

Our group took a cab to the rental near the university in a quiet neighborhood. The owners live upstairs and usually rent out the third floor to students visiting BC to learn English. After unpacking, we checked out the neighborhood and found a coffee shop and bakery called Butter (Jon sampled the giant Oreo that’s been written up as one of the top 101 foods to try in Vancouver). I was enchanted by a place called Shopper’s Drug Mart, where you can buy stamps, mail packages, buy groceries, any kind of beauty treatments from lotions to cosmetics, and get your prescription filled.

We had dinner at Handi, a really good Indian restaurant. Although Vancouver is known for great food, I didn’t see anyone who was overweight. The people who live in the city have such ready access to healthy foods and produce that rivaled the Pike Place Market. Stores are near enough to homes that people walk instead of taking to their cars. Public transit is great from buses that run all across the city to the sky train that’s like a subway. But cleaner. Vancouver is a very clean city. I think we saw one wrapper on the ground the entire time we were there. And the trash bins have recycling receptacles on them.

That night, we slept well as our travels had quite tired us out. Stay tuned for more on the city and our experience with the Games.

-Jennifer Taylor lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband and Burmese cat. Her website is www.jrtaylorweb.com

Photo Credit © Christopher Howey | Dreamstime.com

Read: An Olympic Adventure Part Two-Being There

Read: How to Pack-An Olympic Task