Olympic snapshots: Not the Olympic Stadium This is the Stade de France, on the northern edge of central Paris. Be honest. A fortnight ago this is where you thought the 2012 Olympics were going to be held. Even when Jacques Rogge was ripping open his big white envelope I still thought this was going to be where the 2012 Olympics were going to be held. And that's why I stopped by at the end of my day in the French capital three months ago, just to say I'd been.
It was really quiet on the evening of my visit, just three young garçons busy skating and laughing around the locked metal perimeter of this huge sporting amphitheatre. The weekend traffic hurled by across the flyover, and the sun glinted in the windows of the opportunistic boxy hotel erected to one side. A bit further down, at the mouth of the subway beneath the Périphérique, un local homme sat on a low wall watching disinterestedly while his grand chien took some exercise around the concrete piazza. A row of posters attached to the metal security railings, double-mounted in primary Olympic colours, celebrated the French capital's 2012 dreams. This was a ready-made world stage, perfectly suited for "L'Amour des Jeux", but it may have been the off-the-peg nature of the French bid that ultimately cost the capital dear. London promised legacy and transformation, or at least it put its case for legacy and transformation better, and in the end this corner of Paris lost out.
Which is a shame because, just like Stratford, this part of the French capital isn't yet throbbing with wealth. It too is a multicultural neighbourhood of low-cost housing, a semi-run-down light industrial quarter. There may be a brand spanking new railway station here just down the avenue, but the local hooded youth still jump the ticket barriers to avoid paying their fare. The Stade and its surrounding development have brought opportunity to the area, but from what I saw this had yet to be fully realised. And now the local population's best chance for self-betterment has been eradicated, and all because two more gentlemen in a conference centre in Singapore chose my neighbourhood over theirs. The view in the photograph below will never contain an Aquatic Centre, and even after 2012 the locals will continue to have to trek across town to their nearest swimming pool. Je suis trés désolé, mes amis. Peut-être voudriez-vous acheter les billets pour ma nouvelle piscine locale?
Olympic snapshots: Not le Centre Aquatique London 54 2012, Paris 52 nil
Not the Paris Olympics 2012
This is the Stade de France, on the northern edge of central Paris. Be honest. A fortnight ago this is where you thought the 2012 Olympics were going to be held. Even when Jacques Rogge was ripping open his big white envelope I still thought this was going to be where the 2012 Olympics were going to be held. And that's why I stopped by at the end of my day in the French capital three months ago, just to say I'd been.
A row of posters attached to the metal security railings, double-mounted in primary Olympic colours, celebrated the French capital's 2012 dreams. This was a ready-made world stage, perfectly suited for "L'Amour des Jeux", but it may have been the off-the-peg nature of the French bid that ultimately cost the capital dear. London promised legacy and transformation, or at least it put its case for legacy and transformation better, and in the end this corner of Paris lost out.
This is the 
