Rose Julian of the Wabanaki peoples performs at the Aboriginal Pavilion.

To the Bermuda Triangle, UFOs and Atlantis, we may now add this unsolved mystery from the Vancouver 2010 Games.

The inexplicable queue.

I’ve seen it happen again and again over the last two weeks.  Extraordinary lines form in front of Olympic houses and attractions that offer nothing out of the ordinary.  Meanwhile, fascinating exhibits go unnoticed, appreciated only by the intrepid few who dare to ditch the queues and blaze their own way through the Olympic jungle.

I saw a prime example this morning outside the Aboriginal Pavilion on Georgia and Hamilton Streets.   The $6 million pavilion is an architectural wonder – a log longhouse bent gracefully around a 65-foot-high inflatable dome.  And it has been one of the hands-down favorites at the Games.  At last count, 242,000 people passed through the doors, and a long line awaited visitors this morning.

Members of the Wabanaki peoples play a traditional game of waltes.

After enduring the drizzle outside, I made it into the pavilion just in time to see a group of traditional dancers from Atlantic Canada’s Wabanaki peoples take the stage.   Under the big inflatable dome, they performed for a packed house of a few hundred visitors.  Elder Lillian Marshall of the Potlotek First Nation recited a legend about the formation of Ursa Major, the Great Bear constellation.  A traditional kojoua dance followed, with women in elaborate dress circling round and round the stage.  The show concluded with a multimedia presentation projected onto the curved ceiling of the dome.

It was a unique glimpse into a First Nations culture – authentic and delivered with real spirit. Each day First Nations from different parts of Canada take the stage for multiple performances, ensuring that the show is always fresh and varied.

Corrine Hunt, co-designer of the Olympic medals, has wares for sale at the Artisan Village.

But for visitors pressed for time, an even more compelling option exists – one without a queue of any sort.  A half-block north of the Aboriginal Pavilion proper is the Artisan Village annex.  Inside a spacious lobby, dozens of Aboriginal craftspeople have set up shop, selling wares as diverse as hand-stitched leather jackets and elaborate stone and wood carvings.  The common denominator is the quality of the crafts and the pride and tradition invested in each piece.

I worked my way through the narrow aisles to a stall belonging to designer Corrine Hunt.  Even if you haven’t heard of Corrine, you’ve almost certainly seen her work.  She created the distinctive orca and raven designs that grace the Olympic medals of the Vancouver Games.   Of mixed Komoyue and Tlingit heritage, Corrine based the designs on traditional symbols from West Coast Aboriginal culture.

While Corrine’s creations hang around the neck of hundreds of Olympic athletes, I was among just a handful of people gathered around her stall at the Artisan Village.  Laid out in cases and along the table were pieces of silver jewelry inscribed with the same kind of lines and images used in the Olympic medals.  For as little as $50, it was possible to bring home an original creation from a real member of Vancouver’s Olympic royalty.

Tony Solomon sells teepees whose design reflects his Anishinabe roots.

Wandering farther into the market, I ran into Tony Solomon.  A member of the Anishinabe peoples, Tony specializes in a millenia-old trade: teepee construction.  He showed me a brochure outlining different teepees, the materials used (all of which meet U.S. and Canadian fire safety standards) and prices.  A 15-foot diameter teepee will set you back around $2,400.  It’s a bit out of my price range, but Tony explained that it’s a steal for what you get.  “This is our culture.  We know the product and we know the technology,” he said.

Rick Harry of the Squamish Nation works on a cedar carving outside of Artisan Village.

On my way out, I passed a woodworker in the process of carving a larger-than-life statue out of cedar.  “Two weeks ago, this was a log,” said Rick Harry, a member of the Squamish First Nation.  I paused for a few minutes in the rain to watch as his experienced hands chiseled out the fine details in the statue’s fingers.  There was no line-up and no crowds – just me and a master Aboriginal craftsman executing an art that dates to time immemorial.

Remy Scalza