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Anyone who doubted that the Olympics represents a gathering of nations need only have listened to Leo Latino serenading diners in the Coyote Cafe Tex-Mex restaurant, or have seen the Abu Dhabi princes enjoying the attentions of a Brazilian waitress down the street, while Biancas and Andys swapped kisses in the Dakota Rock Bar. "The T-bone steak is with French fries and Mexican beans?" demanded a Nordic athlete of an Elvis-impersonating Frenchman, while the American at the next table, a drug tester, remarked wryly, "Yes, Ben Johnson really put doping on the map."
The real, unofficial master of ceremonies of the Games would naturally be the weather. One balmy day of 55 degreesF warmth gave way to huge chunks of snow, falling relentlessly for almost 24 hours and leaving a foot of the white stuff on Val d'Isere. The next day, however, dawned guiltless again. The Chinese delegation drank champagne and sang such favorites as Salute the World to ring in the Year of the Monkey. Visitors looked forward to hearing Beethoven's Ode to Joy, which would accompany every Unified Team gold. And the World Sugar Research Conference was taking place in the same mountains -- a non-Olympic event, to be sure, but one that captured perfectly the meaning of the Games: research and hard work in the service of sweetness.