Urban pow-wows, like this one outside of Vancouver, welcome bands from across Canada for days of traditional music and dancing.

The Olympic torch – symbol of international unity and harbinger of weeks of tape-delay sports coverage – has had some pretty memorable moments over the years.  It’s been ski-jumped into Lillehammer, shot over Barcelona and levitated right up to the rim of Beijing’s Bird’s Nest.  But its most significant journey may be yet to come.

As Canada gears up for the 2010 Olympic Winter Games in February, the torch will pass through Indian reservations and communities throughout the country.  This is no token nod to multiculturalism.  In an Olympic first, four of Canada’s Aboriginal groups are official hosts of the Games.

“This isn’t just get out the feathers and drums for the opening ceremonies,” says Alex Rose, who directs communications for the Four Host First Nations, the Aboriginal groups hosting the Games.  “Those days are gone.”

From the Olympic bid to site construction to branding, nearly every aspect of the 2010 Winter Olympics shows the influence of the Aboriginal groups on whose ancestral lands the Games are being held.

The Olympic emblem features a stone sculpture drawn from Inuit tradition, while all three Olympic mascots – including a furry sasquatch – are taken from Indian legend.  Native groups have helped clear cross-country ski trails and contributed samples of ancient Inuit throat singing for downloadable Olympic ring tones.  And an 8,000-square-foot pavilion in host city Vancouver – which looks like a cross between a traditional longhouse and a Planet Hollywood – will showcase the art and culture of indigenous groups during the Games.

“I give VANOC [Vancouver’s Olympic Organizing Committee] credit for calling the chiefs right at the beginning of the bid,” says Tewanee Joseph, a Squamish Indian and CEO of the Four Host First Nations.  “This is our traditional territory . . . [and] we never wanted to be on the outside looking in for a major event.”

Just as the mainstream tourism industry has kicked into overdrive to court the more than 350,000 visitors expected for the Games, Aboriginal tourism has also expanded.  New ventures offer everything from wilderness treks and kayaking expeditions to native winery tours and chances to experience contemporary pow-wows.

“It’s our time to be part of major things that are happening,” Joseph said. “I call it our transition time.”

The effort has not been without obstacles.  Like their counterparts in the U.S., Canada’s Aboriginal communities face a long legacy of official repression and discrimination.

As late as the 1940s, a compulsory boarding school scheme separated Aboriginal children from their parents, banning native languages and cultural practices in an attempt at forced assimilation.  And ceremonial gatherings, like the potlatch and pow-wow, were banned until 1951.  Today, one-quarter of Aboriginal communities still live below the poverty line, with unemployment on some reservations soaring as high as 80 percent.  Alcohol and drug abuse pose major challenges.

“Our education level should be higher.  Our standard of living should be higher,” Joseph says.  “But the Olympics is an opportunity that must be taken advantage of.”

With Aboriginal tourism offerings multiplying in the run-up to the Games, the challenge has become distinguishing real cultural opportunities – sanctioned and embraced by the indigenous community – from knock-offs set up to lure tourist dollars.

Around Vancouver, the pow-wow circuit – regular gatherings where tribe members compete in dancing and drumming – offers one of the most unmediated and authentic looks at contemporary and traditional indigenous culture.

“There’s literally one [pow-wow] every weekend during the summer,” Kathy James, a Cree-Blackfoot-Anishnabe Indian, says at an urban pow-wow on the outskirts of Vancouver.  “But some of our own people don’t even know about this.”

Urban pow-wows, weekend-long competitions like this one just outside of Vancouver, offer a glimpse into ceremonial dancing and music.

Connotations from cowboy movies aside, the pow-wow is equal parts block party and religious ceremony, with a bit of a Deadhead tailgating vibe thrown in.  Extended families gather for days of eating, music and dancing.  Most pow-wows also involve a traditional dance competition, with troupes of elaborately dressed performers vying for titles.

“There’s so much energy,” James says.  “On Monday we say we get pow-wow hangovers” from the dancing.

Only a handful of tourists, many out-of-towners speaking languages other than English, have found their way to this week’s urban pow-wow, which takes place on an Indian reservation a few minutes from downtown. Bleachers and tents rim the perimeter of a large grass circle, the centerpiece of the gathering.  Just beyond are a few high-rise apartment buildings and, in the distance, the peaks of the rocky Coast Mountains that circle the city.

Inside the performers’ tents, braids are wrapped in ribbons and headdresses adjusted.  Some costumes – or regalia, in pow-wow lingo – look traditional: neat rows of feathers and leather straps. Most, made with neon orange and green fabric and sequins, wouldn’t be out of place at Carnaval or Mardi Gras.

As the performers gear up for the day’s first dances, Wilfred Baker, master cook and member of the Squamish band, tends to the salmon barbecue set up just behind the gathering.  Rows of sockeye salmon, splayed down the middle and fiery orange inside, have been staked around a campfire.

“The secret is to watch for when the oil starts dripping from the skin,” says Baker, who cooked at the 1986 World’s Fair in Vancouver and hopes to do the same at the Olympics. “Then you flip the fish.  That’s how you keep it moist.”

Around noon, drums mark the start of dancing.  Performers pour in until the grassy circle is tight with color and feathers, all pulsing clockwise.

Kathy James, of Cree, Blackfoot and Anishnabe ancestry, braids her daughter's hair at an urban pow-wow held in a suburb of Vancouver.

“Each song is a prayer,” James says during a pause in the music.  She’s working on a strap that’s come loose on her daughter’s costume, which looks traditional until you notice the Dora the Explorer pattern on the vest.  Out in the circle, her son begins chanting, pounding a big drum with a group of teenage friends who perform as a band on the pow-wow circuit.  They look like the kind of kids who get together and play Wii after school.

“Aboriginal tourism is a wonderful thing,” James says.  “To the media . . . we’re the drunks on the street.  If we don’t let people come and learn, how do we get rid of those negative images?”

So, anyone else had a memorable Aboriginal tourism experience in or around Vancouver?

• Getting There:  Though pow-wows take place throughout the summer in and around Vancouver, times and dates are sometimes hard to track down.  The Aboriginal tourism site Ya’Gotta offers a rough schedule, with contact information to confirm pow-wow details.

Remy Scalza is a travel writer and contributor to The Washington Post.

www.remyscalza.com

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