A behind-the-scenes look at the Olympics Opening Ceremony

Pyeongchang, South Korea • I sat in a restaurant alone in this neighboring area near the Gangneung Media Village four hours before I boarded a shuttle to cover my first Olympic Opening Ceremony. This area near where some of the world’s media contingent is staying resembles a Hollywood set — brand new buildings with brand new coffee shops and restaurants lining thin side streets just a few blocks from the Olympic Village.

It’s rarely bustling.

I don’t speak Korean.

The four women who were working at the restaurant didn’t speak English.

They ordered for me.

I had no idea what was going to come out.

A massive 13-plate spread eventually was laid out in front of me. It was a delayed lunch, which is commonplace if you’re covering an Olympics. If you’re lucky, you get delayed lunch. If you’re normal, you get granola bars and bottled water. I knew that I was in for a long night, a long shuttle ride into the mountains that are perched off in the distance from where we’re staying near the coast, into frigid temps and a wind that, when swirling, immediately yields tears.

One of the women showed me how to tackle the meal, and after I’d devoured as much as I could, she motioned that I needed to keep going. I couldn’t. Not if I was going to make it on a shuttle stuck in traffic, through an evening where I’d be wearing five layers, daring to release the hand-warmers in my pockets to take notes on my phone.

I timed my arrival outside the Olympic Stadium perfectly about 90 minutes before it began. It didn’t take long to get there. Only seven people were on my shuttle, except our driver dropped us off on the wrong side of the stadium, so I got to take a long walk. Festive street lamps lined long bridges that stood over iced-over creeks. Near a roundabout in the front of the circle of flags, small anti-North Korean protests took place. They quietly were quelled as more media and spectators arrived.

Food carts were grilling all sorts of meats, offering a pre-ceremony snack. Religious organizations stood in the middle of the road hoisting signs, screaming that everyone is loved. Multi-colored lights illuminated a long bridge pass near the media entrance, a spectacle that looked more like Disneyland than the Winter Olympics.

Once inside, the intimacy of the stadium was not hard to miss. It’s a small stadium. Smaller than Rice-Eccles Stadium in Salt Lake. It reportedly seats 35,000. It felt less than that once inside. Stay-warm kits were handed out to media members — blankets and beanies and a thin cushion seat. Nearly an hour before the festivities began, the “Army of Beauties,” North Korea’s famed group of hand-picked cheerleaders chanted. They chanted while Taekwondo displays featured breaking of boards in acrobatic fashion.

The show eventually started.

The watered-down hot chocolate helped for a few minutes as the wind picked up.

Not long after Team USA’s gargantuan group of athletes entered the stadium, a commotion stirred on press row. Journalists stood up, all turning their heads toward whatever it was. Turns out, nothing nefarious transpired. Just two Oscar-winning presidential impersonators. Donald Trump and Kim Jong Un walking side-by-side.

I’d remembered watching the 2016 Opening Ceremony in Rio with a large group of Olympic volunteers miles away from the Maracanã, recalling how Tonga’s Pita Taufatofua earned applause when he marched as the flag bearer, flexing the physique that earned him a cult following. And I’d wondered if he’d do the same. He did. He delivered. Of course he did. The Tonga cross-country skier reminded everyone where they stand.

In all it took the 91 nations competing here to wrap up the parade of athletes in less than an hour. That led to IOC president Thomas Bach discussing hope and peace and dreams of a clean future of the Olympics, of the flame being lit, of a unified Korea celebrating a moment. I split a few minutes early, trying to catch a media shuttle back toward Gangneung and start writing the story. After wandering around aimlessly for 30 minutes, making a full lap around the stadium, I neared my destination.

I was halted by some volunteers a few hundred yards from the shuttle. The firework finale was just beginning. They were being shot off below the overpass we stood on. Some spectators who jetted out early cheered the pyrotechnics, filming on their phones, soaking in the moment this country’s waited for nearly seven years in the making.