Of course, if the city chooses to advertise that, you can more than bet that it will rain at least one day during the Olympics. This city is more of a longshot to host an Olympics, as I don't think it has the infrastructure to support an event of this magnitude.
But if it did, all attendees need to know two things—don't go outside without any underwear or a shirt on. If you do, you'll land in jail. But, the biggest questions that would come up is whether the country could support the infrastructure of the Olympics after the Games are long gone.
The last thing it wants to see happen is a city or country eventually go bankrupt years after the Games have left. Although a city like Cairo is probably more likely as the first host city in Africa, Nairobi would be the one city that I believe could support the Games before, during and after.
Buenos Aires made a bid for the Olympics, but didn't get enough support from the IOC to host the event. The city is another one of the South American cities that is large enough to support an event on this scale. And with it being one of the more populated cities on the continent, it makes sense for the Olympics to be considered there.
But like I said earlier, it will be tough to have another Olympics on the continent until Africa and the Middle East have hosted one. When it comes to sports, Colombian fans can be known for being very crazy Being the border country between South and Central America, Colombia also produces 12 percent of the world's coffee. Although not many Olympic athletes are avid coffee drinkers, it would be a great place for many fans to come and visit, especially those who love Starbucks coffee.
Oddly enough, Philadelphia has bid to host four Olympics , , and , but lost out each time. Since then, the city hasn't made any bids, and I don't believe it'll ever make a bid again.
Could you imagine when an athlete disappoints the fans at the Winter Olympics, Philadelphia fans pelting him or her with snowballs? Using the city of Oakland as well, this would be the perfect place to host the Summer Olympics. With San Francisco Bay as a backdrop, there is enough space to be able to build everything needed to host the games.
My hope is that in the future, the U. With New York being the largest city in the U. True, it may not be considered a normal warm-weather climate for the Games, but you can't deny the size of the city that can house the whole world. The city made a bid for this year's Olympics but was dropped from contention in the second round of voting.
Frankfurt has made a bid for the Olympics before, but lost out to another city in its country—Berlin in The Olympics are eventually going to make their return to Germany for the first time since But cities like Madrid will likely get a bid over Frankfurt for Europe's next Olympic hosting site. One interesting fact about Venezuela is that Christopher Columbus was the first European to discover its coast.
Maybe they can have a school holiday there since he actually landed on their coast and not the U. One of the larger cities in Eastern Europe, I could definitely see the Olympics being hosted here. The one drawback about Budapest is that it houses one of the oldest train systems in the world and only has three rail lines.
For all the reasons I gave for Frankfurt in an earlier slide, the same goes for Hamburg. Nicknamed "The City of Rivers," Hamburg probably doesn't have the room to create an Olympic atmosphere.
But, then again, I didn't think Atlanta had the room either, and you see what that city did. A city whose highway that can actually be seen from the moon, Brussels has all the infrastructure in place to support an Olympics. One concern moving forward with the Olympics is that the IOC might want to stay out of Europe for a while if Madrid gets it in However, if it doesn't, Brussels could be one of the cities considered for the Games.
Bucharest is another one of those Eastern European cities that could benefit from the Olympics. If you think of the history in that country, it would be a perfect backdrop for the Olympics. I think the NFL playoffs showed that the city's rabid fans could make some serious noise. As a result, and above all, it won't be told what to do, how to behave. It won't be cheer-led. Hence the success of the torch relay with its overtones of a local summer carnival, its human scale. Most Olympic rhetoric involves "welcoming the world"; it stresses the fact that "the world is watching" but in London's case, of course, the world is already here.
The most diverse square mile on the planet is just up the road from the Olympic Park. The famous test of wisdom and maturity is the ability to hold two opposing points of view in your head at the same time and not go insane.
London demands that you hold an almost infinite number. The tone of this Olympics, as established on the opening day, was one that, against all odds, might yet reflect some of that spirit. One that was as much about Johnny Rotten as HRH, one that could revere Becks in a speedboat as well as the Red Arrows, Jarrow marchers as well as the Beatles, the firestarting Prodigy as well as Abide with Me, the vivid anarchy of the moshpit as well as the cultured order of the symphony orchestra.
Dizzee Rascal's personal soundtrack, generated just up the road from here, expressed it well: "Some people think I'm bonkers but I just think I'm free, I'm just here living my life, there's nothing crazy about me! I first went down to the Olympic site with Seb Coe about four years ago, when the park was just a large crater with a John Lewis lift shaft in the middle of a vast building site, and the chief excitement lay in the clever ways that the contractors were sifting the toxic landfill.
Coe was in the habit even then of taking young athletes down to stand them on the site of the track and have them imagine the finish line. It was at the time quite easy to be cynical about his claim that the Olympics would have succeeded only if it created "indelible moments" that briefly united the city and the nation and perhaps the world.
On Friday, watching the registered blind archer, Im Dong-hyun — if ever there was a mythological being here he was — shooting arrows unerringly into the dead centre of a distant target, I was already reserving my Londoner's right to reverse that initial cynicism.
By Saturday morning I was pretty much a convert. Predicted nightmares over traffic and security and the rest already appeared slightly, touch wood, beside the point. My javelin train direct to the park was half-full. There was hardly a queue in sight. The army was as efficient as you'd expect; the volunteer guides rarely knew quite which way they were pointing their foam fingers, but they made up in enthusiasm what they appeared to lack in knowledge.
The Olympic Park itself, a "theme park in search of a theme", as its most eloquent critic, Iain Sinclair, Hackney's magus, has averred, looked as fittingly incoherent as the hinterland in which it stands.
As many families were picnicking among the fabulous wild flowers as queuing for McDonald's; a couple of impromptu Henman Hills had already been established in front of the big screens and clearly the newfound spirit — not of pride exactly, or at least not pride in the sense that Tony Blair meant it "Show some pride", or Locog, "We are proud to only accept Visa" — had spread. The futuristic boxes of the basketball and handball arenas were coming to spirited life, and on the screens the equestrian arena in Greenwich Park and the rowing course at Eton Dorney and the incongruous beach volleyball on Horseguards Parade, different visions of Britain were pressing their red-button claims for attention.
Some of these backdrops looked suspiciously like the competing fantasy versions of the country Boyle had conjured the night before. The opening miles of the road race, in particular, seemed to take place in the greenest and pleasantest land you could ever imagine, like something directly drawn from Boyle's The Only Way is Wessex reverie that opened the stadium show.
As the peloton trailed up Box Hill, and along leafy lanes called Hedley Common Road and Mill Way, it was tempting to have faith that all the fairy stories that we suddenly wanted to believe about the Olympics — our Olympics — might come true, that Mark Cavendish would fly along the Mall, as if with a pair of Danny Boyle's wings attached to his back, to bring home Britain's first gold medal, completing the full Hollywood script that had begun with his team-mate Whizzy Wig tolling a mighty bell.
There are clearly some things beyond even Boyle's imaginative powers, however.
0コメント