Sunday
First mistake in my Olympic debut. Don’t be under the illusion that the quickest way to get to the event in Versailles is to take a 20-minute taxi ride to Versailles. After being dropped off at the palace (which I thought was a central enough point), I discovered I needed to throw two sixes to get to the equestrian center. Another taxi driver took pity on me (for a fee) and dropped me off at the right spot. Then I had to hop on a tram and walk 20 minutes. “Bonjour,” said the cheerful security guard at the media center. I think he got the point straight away.
Monday
I’d spent the early part of the day watching Novak Djokovic vs. Rafael Nadal and an international incident behind the press box at Roland Garros. There weren’t enough seats for the sheer number of media from around the world who had gathered for the match, some of whom were sitting in areas that weren’t theirs. Security was called in to calm things down as the shouting and shoving continued. “We demand our seats,” yelled one American reporter. I was surprised the umpire didn’t order quiet. Feeling a bit guilty about this (it was technically downtime), I quietly left my seat as Djokovic led 4-0 in the second set.
Tuesday
In the morning I meet Rory McIlroy and Shane Lowry at Le Golf National. On my way back to the hotel I bump into a guy wearing a Mexico T-shirt at the Pont du Garigliano who is totally furious and may have been turned away from tennis. Ireland’s Daniel Wiffen’s incredible play in the pool to win gold was an early Olympic highlight for me – and I can’t swim. Back at the hotel there’s drama in my room – I accidentally drop a Coca-Cola can which explodes and sprays indiscriminately all over the wall. I manage to clean it up so well that the cleaners wonder what I’m doing that night.
Wednesday
I’ll try a bit of table tennis between work sessions. Fascinating. Handball has more fouls than any other sport I’ve ever played, including some penalties. I’d heard the owner of the bar next to the hotel was a bit of an oddball. After bumping into a colleague after returning from yet another late-night swim, I popped in for a drink. I knew right away he wouldn’t be buying me a second one. I handed back three glasses before leaving the bar. “Good boy,” he said. And that was it. I’m sure I won’t get into any more trouble back home.
Thursday
“Ferme!!” My return to the bar didn’t go to plan. I explained to the bar owner that after a very long day’s work I just wanted a glass of stout before the other customers finished what was in front of me. To my surprise the owner relented and gave me 10 minutes. The stout was gone in 7 minutes. The owner seemed impressed. Bar owner 1 Ewan 1. Best day of golf ever. Great crowd and a decent atmosphere. I still get the impression that a lot of the players aren’t quite sure what to make of it all.
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Friday
A local restaurant owner from eastern India insists that my friend serve him his home-cooked meals for €10 (£8.51) per main dish. This is tempting. I’d been complaining about the quality and price of Indian food in Paris. The owner gave me a free pack of cherries and said he’d enjoyed the conversation. If restaurants follow the proverbial Olympic Games price hike, this is nothing compared to a laundromat. A load of laundry costs €30. I think about how out of proportion this is to the value of the clothes. “I want to wear these later, not frame them.”
Saturday
Stade de France athletics. The Porte de Paris metro station sells decent coffee. Every cup I had there tasted like it came from the Seine. Stephen Sabino of Mozambique was disqualified in the 100m heats for a hilarious false start. It’s a strange wait of four years. “It’s heartbreaking for Stephen Sabino,” says a Mozambican athletics official at the X. The scale of France’s support for its athletes is a defining feature of the Olympics. Robin Emig touched the hearts of the locals by smashing the bar over and over again in the pole vault. Anaïs Bourgoin was cheered loudly as she made it into the women’s 800m semi-finals. Marchon, Marchon.
