London, be proud. You're doing one hell of a job.

As mentioned in the last post, this is one of the most cynical cities in the world.  It's part of the English character to be negative, cutting and skeptical.  It's the obverse to that famous sense of humour; the dark side is necessary to bring out the light.

The national character laid the groundworks for the Olympics.  For years, the chatter went like this:  Anyone who was smart would leave the country, we were wasting ridiculous sums of money, the public transport system would collapse, a shame Paris wasn't saddled with this hassle, etc, etc.  Meanwhile, a silent majority was buying up all available tickets and stocking up on union flags.  Now, the games are here, they're magnificently organised, we're winning lots, and the proud-to-be-British movement that started swelling with the Queen's jubilee is reaching a sustained, red, white and blue climax.

We managed to snag tickets for two events this past weekend, beach volleyball on Friday night and fencing on Saturday.

Beach volleyball is taking place in a temporary arena set on Horseguards Parade, a military parade grounds tucked between the neoclassical offices of Whitehall and and the green, urban lung of St. James' Park.  From our seats we got a breathtaking panorama of the London skyline.  There was Big Ben (for you pedants, that's officially the clock tower of the Palace of Westminster, as Ben is the bell itself) and the back windows of Downing Street.  There the London Eye, there the Shard, there a part of the facade of St. Paul's, and over our shoulder Lord Nelson on his column in Trafalgar Square, with a union jack on his hat and a gold Olympic torch for a cockade.

Yes, the Olympic Park is lovely, but for me one of the highlights of these games is seeing how the planners have worked the historic, magnificent fabric of our first city into the events.  Swimming in the Hyde Park Serpentine, cycling up Jane Austen's Box Hill and ending at Henry VIII's Hampton Court, archery at Lord's Cricket Grounds and the magnificent equestrian arena incorporated into the splendour of the Palace at Greenwich.  Nobody can doubt we're showing off the place to best advantage.

We're also running with a strange, uncharacteristic combination of German-like efficiency and American-style cheerfulness.  Even the most clueless couldn't get lost with the army of uniformed volunteers keeping things on track.  Paths from public transportation to the venues are clearly marked and cleared of traffic, security queues are efficient and move quickly, London transport has obviously laid on more trains.  We left the fencing at Excel centre as several other events let out.  Tens of thousands of people heading for the train at once.  I was expecting pandemonium.  Instead, volunteers were ready to organise orderly queues, which weren't really needed since the trains were coming one after the other.  Change at Canning Town ... train for Waterloo already there.  From leaving our seats to arriving at Waterloo:  20 minutes.  Nothing short of miraculous.  Across all this efficiency, place an overlay of carnival spirit.  Everyone's in a good mood.  The percentage of children in town has skyrocketed, but they all seem to be behaving.  Most people are draped in national flags or wearing goofy hats.  London's usual melange of languages is even more diverse.  The sun's even shining.
There's only one place I've ever been that feels like this, and most English will cringe when I say it.  It's Disneyworld on the Thames.

Of course, in theory, this is all about sport.  So what is going to an Olympic game actually like?  Radically different from any sporting match I've ever attended.

In the audience are a small percentage of people who are actually passionate about the sport.  But the majority aren't bothered; they just wanted the once-in-a-lifetime experience of being here.  Tickets need to be purchased long before you have any idea of who's playing.

Thus, the organisers put on a show that's as much about entertainment as sport.  For both sports, once we cleared security we were in a holding area with food, drink, shopping and activities.  At the volleyball, a sand sculptor dazzled.  At fencing, kids could suit up to have a go with the foils.  Beach volleyball features a swimwear-clad dance troupe and a throbbing '80s-heavy soundtrack for the breaks.  The stadium announcer doubles as cheerleader, starting Mexican waves, getting people on their feet for set points and generally whipping the crowd up to the frenzy this sport likes.  The fencing stage is white strips trimmed with coloured lights in an otherwise darkened arena.  Very Star Wars.  The pre-show entertainment here features a military band whose tunes include the soundtrack to Pirates of the Caribbean and a ballet troupe choreographed to Pulp's Common People.  Helpfully, the pre-show at both venues also included video on the basics of the game, and at fencing you could even buy an earpiece to listen to fight commentary.  Essential because, unlike beach volleyball, this sport demands silence during the action.

Get past all the flash, of course, and you're watching some amazing athletes.  Even if you're not an expert on the sport at hand, it's impossible not to admire the fitness and be amazed by the moves.  On the sand, we watched the American women defeat the Swiss to reach the semi finals.  In the next match, a scrappy Italian men's team kept us on the edge of our seats as they kept saving seemingly impossible shots to bring down the reigning gold medalists (also American).  Over at the Excel centre, the Americans took on the Russians for the bronze in the women's epee team finals, and won, followed by the Chinese versus the Koreans for gold.  (Gold to China.)  The grace, speed and menace of this sport makes it a spectator winner.  Though we enjoyed the volleyball, we thought the circus atmosphere ultimately detracted from the sport, while at fencing we were more able to focus on the skill on display.

Next Saturday:  sailing.  I can't wait.