To see spirit of Olympics, go to village

ATHENS, Greece - An inflatable kangaroo sways on Australia's balcony. The Swiss have marked their territory with a statue of a giant dairy cow.

The Dutch are whizzing through the streets on their unmistakable orange bicycles, past the New Zealand house, the one with a lamppost reading: ``Middle Earth.''

``If you want to see strange, just walk down the street,'' Australia's basketball captain Shane Heal said.

Oh, yeah. There's plenty of that. But here in the Olympic village, where athletes from 202 countries reside within a three-mile radius, you also find the true genius of the Summer Games.

``The Olympics are more than just competing in sports,'' said Belgium sprinter Kim Gevaert. ``It's a big fiesta of cultures.''

Outside this tightly patrolled village, the rubbing of cultures isn't so seamless. The world gets complicated. Things get lost in the translation.Moments get awkward. People feel uncomfortable in their own skin, uncomfortable in the presence of others.

During a humiliating loss in basketball, China's Yao Ming stomped his foot and pointed his finger at teammates. Afterward, he accused them of quitting. This outward show of anger did not sit well with the Chinese delegation, which feels its superstar may have become too American during his stay in the NBA. In other words, he was losing touch with his culture.

Meanwhile, American athletes have been encouraged to act as un-American as possible. Five different times, track and field coach George Williams sent this message to his more flamboyant participants. So far, they are listening, trying their best to act like the Chinese.

On the streets of Athens, locals bemoan how their beloved stray dogs have been shipped to parts unknown just to clean up the city's image, a compromise of culture intended to ease the transition of others.

It is all cause for great angst.

Yet walk into the athletes village, and there is a total celebration of uniqueness. On some idyllic level, it is proof that the world can live peacefully together in one place. In reality, it is a social hierarchy not unlike a giant high school.

There are certain rules to govern the 10,000-plus athletes bunking here. No alcohol is permitted. Residents are encouraged to vote for their IOC representatives for the 2008 Olympics. Among the candidates is disgraced Greek sprinter Kostas Kenteris, who has quickly become the Ross Perot of this election.

There is even a mayor on the premises, whose main duty is to enforce the ``Quiet Time'' rule, which is in effect from 10 p.m. to 7 a.m. This is sometimes a subjective matter. I mean, you go tell the Puerto Rican boxers to turn down the salsa music.

Of course, it doesn't take long for cliques to evolve. Yao and Ian Thorpe are A-list material, and with each gold medal, U.S. swimmer Michael Phelps went from an anonymous face to cafeteria celebrity. The most popular quickly fall into three categories.

``Anybody really big, anybody really small or anyone really famous,'' said U.S. heptathlon specialist Tiffany Lott-Hogan. ``Big would be like Yao Ming.

Small would be the gymnasts. And famous would be anyone that medaled the night before or involved in some controversy.''

Lott-Hogan would know. She was involved in her own little snafu when the gun went off in the 200-meter dash before she was set in the blocks.

``The next day, everyone wanted to take a picture with me,'' she said. ``It's weird because I don't even get any recognition in my own event.''

Meanwhile, the less popular athletes keep to themselves and are usually sized up by body type. Bulging legs and toothpick arms? Bike rider. Tiny legs and giant arms? Kayaker or rower. The guy who has to duck to enter the door? He's a basketball player, but certainly not an American. They're off on a boat, missing the boat entirely.

Richard Jefferson is an exception. He has gained great respect with the rest of Team USA for hanging with the little people. Tennis star Andy Roddick was a big hit for playing endless games of Yahtzee! in the athletes lounge.

Maybe guys like Maurice Green and Allen Iverson were afraid of the rules, but like any other city, these can be circumvented. Cuban athletes have been to known to smuggle in cigars and peddle them for pocket change.

Russians have been known to sell liters of vodka. What is it that we're forgetting? Oh, yes. Sex.

During the Sydney Olympics, this phenomenon first made national headlines.

There, the initial supply of 80,000 condoms went so fast that another 20,000 were quickly imported. In Greece, a condom manufacturer was kind enough to donate 130,000 to the cause.

Please. They're young, in shape and raging with hormones. And that's enough of that.

If you're wondering what the common currency is here, it's simple. Olympic pins. They are conversation starters. They are pick-up lines. They are friend makers.

``The difference between Olympians and the rest of us is, they behave as longtime friends who occasionally compete while we behave as longtime adversaries who occasionally get along,'' Nelson Mandela once said, and it is never more true than here.

Outside these gates, the Olympics can spin off into politics, medal counts, controversies and tales of outrage woven around gymnasts robbed of a single decimal point.

Here, the Internet cafe is jammed. Some athletes are leaving for competition, while some are leisurely sipping coffee. Inside the newsstand, others are scanning the papers for stories about themselves, checking in with a world that seems so deliciously far away.