After bobsledding, it was time to address a very important priority: lunch. Because nothing says “Olympic-level spectating” like being slightly hungry and Mom being mildly panicked about timing.

And since we were in Italy, there was really only one option—pizza. Obviously.

We found a place with a line out the door, which felt promising. Or concerning. Possibly both. Luckily, the line moved quickly, because we were on a schedule. Missing curling was not an option (this was not a drill). The pizza? Good. Solid. Did the job. But not quite “cancel all future plans and come back here immediately” good. Properly fueled with slices of salami pizza, we made our way back to the curling venue.

This was the main event. The reason for the trip. The moment our in-house curling expert had been waiting for. And let me just say: curling on TV is nothing like curling in person.

The energy! The noise! The enthusiasm for what is, at its core, people sliding rocks across ice and aggressively sweeping in front of them!

There were cheers. There were chants. There was full-stadium excitement. Over sweeping.

Our resident expert was absolutely thrilled. Fully in his element. Possibly considering a career change.

And the rest of us?

We had way more fun than we expected.