The Crime Traveller

As a jaded technophile who has been carrying a blackberry since the original “blueberry” days, it takes a lot to surprise me when it comes to the purported world-altering power of Web 2.0 and Social Media constructs.  But today, I became a parishioner at the Church of Twitter and I now believe (Can I get a “Believe!” brothers?!) that social media has changed the way (smart) companies do business.

Allow me to explain.

Three weeks ago I made the classic Judeo-Canadian pilgrimage along the 401 from Toronto to Montreal for passover. My sister and brother-in-law, with their 2-yr old son in tow, chose a more dignified form of travel — they flew. Upon meeting up in Montreal, with my kids happily tucked away at my aunt’s house, I happily loaned my sister our van to make it easier for them to travel back and forth from their room at Montreal’s downtown Westin hotel to our family’s home in suburban Cote St. Luc.

On the second day of this simple arrangement, my brother-in-law called me in a mix of rage and embarrassment. The valet at the Westin, to whom he had entrusted my van the night before, had somehow managed to smash the car into a concrete pillar in an empty parking lot. We’re not talking nicks and scrapes here. The bumper was mangled. The rear tail-light was shattered. The power tail-gate no longer locked. And, two of the rear motion sensors — yes, the very sensors that, in combination with my rear-view camera, are supposed to make this kind of accident impossible — were busted.

A few words about my brother-in-law. He’s not exactly a shrinking violet when it comes to hard-nosed negotiation. He’s an accountant by training but a pit-bull by nature. It just so happens, his current job basically boils down to managing bankrupt luxury hotels that have gone into receivership so he knows a thing or two about hotel customer service. He was not amused. He quickly received the assurance of the Westin that the repair costs would be covered (this turned out to be a considerable $3000+ figure). His two-night stay was immediately comped. He wasn’t satisfied. Mortified by the inconvenience he had inadvertently contributed to, he demanded compensation for my trouble. That’s when he hit a roadblock.

Over the course of numerous e-mails and telephone calls, my tough-as-nails brother-in-law unleashed a flurry of fury upon the Westin’s management earning a promise of a measly 5000 points in the hotel’s  parent affinity program: Starwood Preferred Guest. To put it into perspective, that’s worth roughly half a night at a mid-level Starwood hotel. I resigned myself to being left unsatisfied and did what comes naturally to a travel writer – I bitched about it on twitter.

Within 20 minutes I received a notification: “StarwoodBuzz is following you on twitter.” 30 minutes after that I received a Direct Message over twitter asking me to contact them to discuss my dissatisfaction. Within the hour I’m taking a call from Starwood’s corporate executive office in White Plains, New York. We chat about how I’m planning to be in Israel this summer and will be spending some time by the Dead Sea. Five minutes after that, I have a promise for 14,000 Starwood points — enough for a two night stay at Le Meridien Dead Sea.

The corporate lesson to be learned here should be taught at every business school around the world: a company that is able to communicate with its customers has a massive competitive advantage. Starwood’s investment in social media would be impressive in its own right but what really leverages the power of that investment is the company’s commitment to customer satisfaction. Listening to what your clients have to say on twitter is undoubtedly valuable but being able to respond in a timely fashion to concerns in the twitterverse is what will separate those companies who are simply jumping on the social media bandwagon from the companies that really “get it.”

Kudos to Starwood. Long live twitter.

I have been living a charmed life here in Vancouver this past week. Despite the logistical enormity of negotiating a city in the midst of such a massive undertaking, nearly every detail of my meticulously planned Olympic schedule has fallen into place. Only one snafu stands in the way of perfection.

Shortly after arriving in Vancouver, I received word from VANOC that my Category B general admission tickets to the women’s ski-cross finals had been cancelled. Lack of snow at the Cypress venue had rendered the ground unstable. I was extremely disappointed to lose the opportunity to attend this premier event where the first Olympic medals ever would be handed out in this adrenalin-fuelled ‘extreme’ sport. It was doubly upsetting as Canada had a powerful quartet of women qualified for the event and there was a very real possibility of a podium finish. Scalpers, although legal and ubiquitous across Vancouver, were coming up empty.

These thoughts run through my head as I take my seat for the women’s hockey semi-final between Sweden and the U.S.A. I peruse craigslist absent-mindedly on my blackberry and find a posting for a pair of Category A tickets to the event. Although the general admission tickets had been cancelled, the event was continuing and those with reserved grandstand seating would be able to attend. I dial the California number not getting my hopes up that I would be able to close the deal in time for the event only fifteen hours away. A woman answers the phone. She’s shouting that she can’t hear me over the roar of the crowd as she’s at a hockey game. My hockey game. Two sections away from me. And she has the tickets in her pocket.

Giddy with glee, I arrange to meet my guardian angel at the first intermission. Due to weather delays, the men’s giant slalom has been delayed and her ski-cross tickets now conflict. She’s not a scalper. She just wants to get her face-value back. I want to kiss her. I watch as the U.S. demolishes Sweden and then stick around to see Team Canada’s women steamroll Finland, gently caressing my newly acquired ski-cross tickets all the while.

Early the next morning I board the bus from Capilano University for the ride to Cypress. In bitter cold and driving snow (yes – snow for the very first time in these Olympics) I watch as Canadian, Ashleigh McIvor, dispatches one competitor after the other until, after four hours, she leaps across the finish line to claim the gold. I race back to the city coaxing the feeling to return to my finger and toes and arrive at BC Place in time for the formal Victory Celebration where the sweet sounds of Oh Canada fill the stadium. The perfect finish to a spectacular week at these Olympic Games.

***

For decades, it has been a tradition for the IOC Chairman to bestow the accolade “Best Games Ever” upon the host city at the closing Olympic ceremonies. Whether Jacques Rogge will anoint Vancouver with this customary accolade on Sunday is unknown but the city certainly has given itself much to be proud of.

In fairness, if one wanted to nitpick, it is easy to cast a negative light on Vancouver’s stumbles and missteps. The British press, led by The Guardian, have delighted in just such a past-time, seemingly blind to the titanic undertaking facing their hometown in the lead-up to London’s 2012 Games. And yet, any dispassionate observer who has spent a modest time on the ground here in Vancouver and Whistler, would be hard-pressed to walk away from these Games without being astounded at the remarkable feat that has been accomplished.

A country spanning the breadth between oceans, sparsely populated by a meagre thirty-three million people, has transformed a city in the midst of the warmest winter in over a century into a playground of snow and ice that is playing host to the world. Where a typical day in Vancouver would see traffic grind to a gridlocked halt, the streets are remarkably easy to navigate between events. The army of volunteers that VANOC has amassed have taken the reins of a massive fleet of buses along with a significantly bolstered subway system and successfully transported millions of additional passengers across the Vancouver-Whistler-Cypress expanse without even a hiccup – and smiling all the while. In my entire week at the Olympics, although being almost entirely reliant on public transit, I was never late for even a single event. Foreign journalists, tourists and athlete’s families with whom I have chatted over this past week have showered praise upon Vancouver and on their affable and rambunctious Canadian hosts.

Indeed, a wave of distinctly un-Canadian patriotism has gripped this city. The red and white drapes every balcony, street corner, and pedestrian. Spontaneous renditions of Oh Canada break out on the Sky Train, in restaurants, and at bars. The sense of pride, joy, and camaraderie permeate every street. The Bay’s Olympic Mega Store opens 24hrs/day on weekends to deal with the lines of people desperate to wear anything that says “Canada” on it. The anticipated protests fizzled within the first two days never to reappear and the unprecedented security apparatus assembled here somehow manages to feel almost friendly rather than oppressive.

Whether Dr. Rogge utters those three fateful words that every Canadian hopes to hear on Sunday night, I am prepared to dispense with hyperbole and stretch my neck out for Vancouver 2010 – Best Games Ever. GO CANADA GO!!!

For more pictures from my attendance at the Vancouver 2010 Olympic Games, check out http://www.flickr.com/photos/prutschi/sets/72157623498455436/ and other related sets.

The Crime Traveller – barrelling down the bobsled track

Today I make my last of two trips to Whistler during these Games. I head down early before my event to allow for some time to take in the Whistler Village experience. The shops, restaurants and bars are packed beyond capacity and the entire community exudes a palpable sense of excitement and camaraderie. Contrary to what many believe, the vast majority of Whistler’s slopes remain open for business during the games and skiers mix with spectators at every turn.

I join the throng outside CTV’s Whistler studio and watch athletes be interviewed before parking myself on a snow drift in front of the massive screen set up at the mountain’s base to take in the end of the Russia vs. Czech hockey game. A VJ from Much Music chooses me out of the crown to do an on-camera interview discussing the implications of this game in the broader round-robin tournament but sadly, doesn’t invite me to join Much’s outdoor hot tub bubbling away at the foot of the ski lift.

After the game, I head up early to the Whistler Sliding Centre hoping to stake out a prime location from which to view the men’s 2-man bobsled finals. I’m stunned to find that arriving over an hour before the event leaves me well behind a wall of humanity pressed against the entire lip of the 1.4km track. Blinds are pulled down around the venue obstructing much of the public’s view in an effort to protect the icy track from the powerful unseasonable warmth of the sun’s rays that are beating down.

Time to get creative. I spot a group of men wearing the distinctive badges of authorized VANOC personnel.  They turn out to be a group of NBC production engineers who have come to enjoy a day off watching the bobsled runs. I’ve got a bag full of fancy camera gear. They have official-looking passes. A plan forms. Next thing I know, the four of us are positioned on a raised platform track-side reserved for Olympic photographers. The ruse holds for three runs before an over-zealous security volunteer realizes that my partners in crime are back-stage techies and not front-line photographers. He’s even less impressed when he realizes I’m an absolute nobody. Oh well. I score some outstanding shots while it lasted and then reposition myself mid-way down the track to take in the rest of the event.

As the bobsleigh finals comes to an end, all of Whistler is drawn, as if by a gravitational force, to the centre of Whistler Village where the big screen is airing the third period of Canada’s now-infamous loss to the U.S. in men’s hockey. 5000 fans pack the small square drowning out the cheers of the smaller American contingent with cries of “Luongo!” and promises of revenge.

I board the return bus for Vancouver secure in the knowledge that my tickets to tomorrow’s Team Canada women’s hockey game against Finland will yield a more positive result.

For more of my bobsled pix, check out http://www.flickr.com/photos/prutschi/sets/72157623487030632/.

Can you spot the Official Olympic Mascot?

With a two-day break in my hectic event schedule, the weekend was intended as an opportunity to catch up on some sleep and recharge, but here in Vancouver, Olympic fever has its tendrils extended firmly across the entire city.

I wander downtown into the belly of the Olympic beast to take in some of the many free Olympic-themed attractions across downtown Vancouver which has been transformed into a giant pedestrian-only street party. The streets by the waterfront are thick with Olympic pin-traders plying their wares. I overhear one man desperately trying to track down an elusive Munich 1972 pin but his hopes are dashed as the pin-festooned salesman shakes his head and says, “I just sold it yesterday.”

Farther down along the waterfront the Olympic cauldron comes into view with its five-pointed flame.  VANOC has come under intense criticism for the placement of the cauldron as its location beside the International Media Centre necessitates surrounding the icon within the RCMP’s security perimeter behind a tall chain-link fence. To VANOC’s credit, the rabid complaints of fans were heard and a platform was hastily constructed allowing fans to view the flame unobstructed from above. Unfortunately, like anything remotely associated with the Olympics in this city, the platform viewing area instantly attracted a massive crowd causing the line to snake back for blocks. Not to be outdone VANOC cut gaps in fence to permit clear photographing of the cauldron and has now replaced the chain-link with a transparent plexi-glass barrier that has been largely accepted as a reasonable compromise.

After snapping my obligatory photo with the cauldron I turn down Granville Street and push through the throngs of people to Olympic ground-zero at Robson Square. On the way I pass many examples of Vancouver’s most enduring Olympic feature – line-ups. Want to view the medals on display at the Royal Canadian Mint? Three hour line. Feel like riding a zipline over Robson square? Seven hour line. Need to spend some hard-earned cash on a t-shirt from the Olympic Mega Store? Be prepared to wait forty-five minutes before you can even start browsing.

I wish I had enough hair to pull of this look.

The following evening I consider a return trip to Vancouver’s downtown but learn over the radio that crowds have exceeded all expectations jamming the streets with tens of thousands of Olympic revellers. In a bid to maintain some semblance of control, Vancouver Police order all liquor stores to close early in the evening to moderate the amount of alcohol currently flowing through the streets. I opt for a change of pace and make my way to the city of Richmond’s suburban ode the Games – The Olympic O Zone. I shake my head in bewilderment as I pass a giant maple leaf hovering over the Olympic rings constructed out of 13,000,000 B.C. cranberries. I take in the finalists of the World Ice Carving Competition (with ice presumably having had to have been imported as I have yet to see any evidence of the frozen stuff other than on Whistler’s peak).  I then kill thirty minutes in line waiting to ride a bobsled simulator while listening to the band, Marianas Trench, perform live on the main stage. After an evening in Richmond, the O Zone festivities come across as decidedly minor league – the PanAm Games to Vancouver’s Olympics as it were.

I close off the night enjoying a beer to the crooners at a local karaoke bar and knock off for the night eager to get back into the thick of events with the men’s two-man bobsleigh competition.

I began the morning by making the surprisingly traffic-free drive to the British Columbia Institute of Technology (BCIT) where my Olympic Bus Network (OBN) shuttle was waiting to whisk me to Whistler. With many streets in Vancouver closed to non-Olympic vehicles, my commute along the famed Sea-to-Sky Highway was remarkably fast landing me at the base of Whistler Village in just barely two hours.

With some time to kill before the skeleton heats I had come to watch, I purchased a sightseeing gondola pass and rode the twenty-minute lift up Whistler in the company of two entertaining young ski bums. After learning the ins and outs of separating female marijuana plants from their male counterparts from a man who claimed to be a Certified Panda Intern (“I got a certificate and everything, dude…from China!”) I was seriously questioning my gnarly credentials. At the peak, Olympic fever had clearly taken hold as skiers and the occasional pedestrian like me crammed around TV’s in the cafeteria to watch the women’s half-pipe event. After sharing a beer with skiers from England and Ireland, I grabbed a few quick pictures with the Olympic Inukshuk posted on the edge of one of Whistler’s cliffs. I then boarded the new record-breaking Peak-to-Peak gondola for a gasp-inducing ride over the yawning chasm between Whistler and Blackcomb. Skiers ride this lift as much for the view as for the runs it allows access to. Finally, with the skeleton event inching closer, I rode a series of open-air lifts backwards down the mountain (the first time I’ve ever been on the reverse side of a ski lift…and without skis!) to catch the connecting gondola to the Whistler Sliding Centre (WSC).

Jeff Pain, "The Raging Beaver", prepares for his 1st skeleton run at the Whistler Sliding Centre.

The WSC is an awe-inspiring frightening mass of icy twists and turns. My tickets entitled me to a frozen perch on a metal bench right at the now infamous Thunderbird corner where Georgian luger, Nodar Kumaritashvili, died in a tragic training accident only hours before the opening ceremonies. I chatted amiably with the man beside me who turned out to be a close personal friend of Canadian medal hopeful, Jeff Pain. He explained to me proudly how he and another of Pain’s friends had commissioned Pain’s iconic helmet which is painted with the visage of “The Raging Beaver”. Then the competition began and I shivered in awe as the women hurtled around the 270 degree turn head first on their stomachs at 145kph. Following the completion of the women’s first of two runs, I abandoned my seat to get closer to the track.

Canadian skeletoner, Amy Gogh, shares a laugh with the crowd at the finish line of her 2nd run.

One of the most amazing opportunities the Olympics afford is the chance to get startlingly close to world-class athletes in the midst of their mind-boggling performances. I muscled my way to the very front of the crowd by the finish line and stood entranced as the women exited their sleds less than five feet away from me. Many acknowledged well-wishers and family in the crowd with some even reaching over the icy edges of the track to share a high-five or hug. It was a level of persona intimacy I had never experienced before at a sporting event.

When the men took to the track for their runs, I hiked up the steep incline and squeezed myself into position just a stone’s throw from the start line. I could hear every word as coaches provided last-minute encouragement and I watched, amazed as competitors went through their pre-run rituals with many closing their eyes and bobbing their heads side to side as they visualized the turns on the track ahead.

The experience was incredibly moving for me. The Olympics are a sporting event with no equal and it is this very opportunity which solidifies that status in my mind. For all the incredible ability of these athletes they are, for lack of a better word, normal. These are not millionaire superstars being chauffeured behind a phalanx of bodyguards, agents and publicists. They wink, share smiles, joke and cry with the assembled crowd often seemingly overwhelmed and confused by the fact that we are even there to see them. They are keenly aware that for four years they toil in total obscurity but for these two weeks they become titans carrying the hopes and dreams of their entire home country on their shoulders. And, for a mere $40, the Olympics give someone like me the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to share it all with them.

Head to http://www.flickr.com/photos/prutschi/sets/72157623467943550/  for many more pictures from this event and others and follow @CrimeTraveller on twitter for live updates throughout the Olympics.

Thunderbird corner at the Whistler Sliding Centre