Snoop and Me

You find interesting people when you get lost.

I spent about 40 minutes trying to get to my photo position on the 5th floor of the Bercy Arena, from the photo work room on the second floor. We were at the gymnastics qualifying event, scoping out the best photo positions for the team event on Tuesday. I will be shooting the floor exercise and I know from experience that an elevated position can be best for what I’ll need.

I asked the very helpful venue photo manager where those positions were and how to get there. He pointed up at them and apologized that it could be a tricky journey. He pointed me off the ‘field of play’ (the designation of photo positions just off the competition floor) and told me to go out and look for the concrete steps and go up to Door O. That seemed easy enough. I left the arena floor and looked for steps, any steps. No steps anywhere and not an elevator in sight. I wandered and wandered.

[ It may be a good time to mention that whenever I get lost in the car, I remind Anne that I was a cartographer. After her customary eye roll and “mmmm hmmm’ she usually finds us some familiar ground. If we’re ever on the amazing race, she’ll navigate. But to be fair, you find the coolest things and meet unexpected people when you wander aimlessly. Creative routing, I like to say. ]

I started to wander in places where I probably wasn’t welcome in search of an elevator to 5. Minutes were ticking away. I had long ago given up on finding concrete steps. There were lounges and big spreads of food and people who didn’t look like sweaty photographers with charming grey vests.

I found an elevator in there but was told by a suited gentleman that I couldn‘t use it. “Mmmmm hmmmm” Ten minutes until the Americans were to start. I needed to get to 5. The suited guy finally got distracted and I made my way on with a bunch of swells. None of them sweating and none of them carrying photo gear.

I made it to 5 and found Door O. A very nice volunteer from Brazil helped me find the photo spots. Not surprisingly there were no other photographers there. Lost in the labyrinth of Bercy, I imagine, or smart enough to stay on the field of play.

The volunteer and I became fast friends. He made sure no one sat in the photographers row. I had it all to myself. He pointed out that Snoop Dogg was sitting across the arena from me if I wanted a picture. I did actually. As Anne says to me, “If there aren’t photos, it didn’t happen”. I grabbed a longer lens and shot a few.

I also shot the Americans on floor and on beam and on uneven bars. Time to find my way back to the photo workroom. I didn’t leave a trail of crumbs. So back to find the off-limits, hoity toity elevators. A French journalist, also befuddled, asked if I knew my way down. “I came up on this elevator, I think”, I told her. “Yeah, that‘s how I came up too,” she said. Another lovely suited gentleman refused to let us on. She spoke sternly with him in French. We got on. We pushed 2 and down we went. A commotion ensued as we got off.

A tall, black man with dreads and shades was roaming the halls. He wanted to get back to his hotel, he told his NBC handler. I grabbed my camera and fired off a few quick photos, TMZ style, before he found his way out.

I figured I’d follow, maybe I’d see something. And damned if I didn’t. As we completely left the arena, there they were: the concrete stairs.

The photo manager did say, “go out and find the concrete stairs.” It didn’t occur to me that “out” meant “out of the stadium.” Curious, I walked up the very long flight to an entrance back into the arena. Hey, there’s Door O. Thanks Snoop, it will be much easier on Tuesday.