CBC's Andrew Chang in Rio: Shopping for souvenirs is like an Olympic sport

Have you ever known someone who's gone to an Olympic Games and asked them upon their return: "did you bring me back anything?"

If so, read on, because you should know that here in the Olympic Park, getting something as simple as a coffee mug can be an Olympic sport unto itself.

• CBC's Andrew Chang shares his Rio experiences

Stage 1 of the competition starts the moment you see those giant words: "Megastore Rio 2016." 

The line of fellow competitors snakes endlessly back and forth. During peak times — which is really all the time — it will even go beyond the confines of the carefully arranged and plentiful retractable belt barriers.

Extra volunteers/referees are usually on hand to keep some semblance of order, otherwise I suspect cheating would be rampant.

A full line can take anywhere from 30 to 60 minutes to complete, which may sound grueling, but let me tell you: it is an absolute thrill to get past Stage 1.

Your patience, tenacity and resolve will be rewarded here. It also helps to visualize the end goal i.e. bags upon bags of goodies.

But as in any other Olympic sport, you don't have much time to revel in your success. Stage 2 awaits.

Stage 2 is the same as Stage 1, but inside.

However, here organizers have mercifully provided some positive reinforcement.

A sampling of souvenirs is on display— from mugs to mascots to miniature Olympic torches — presumably so you can contemplate in a more concrete way why you've just stood in line for an hour.

Fortunately, this second stage of competition is much shorter than the first, but as competitors get closer and closer to Stage 3, they get more and more twitchy.

In Stage 1, athletes are simply struck by the euphoria of being at the Games at all.

They spread out, allowing late-comers to join friends. If people are too distracted by their smartphones to advance when the line moves, their competitors don't push or sneak into the gap.

Instead, they simply give a polite flick of the wrist forward, a smile, and life goes on.

But in Stage 2, the pack tightens.

Those who've trailed immediately behind you for the last 45 minutes are suddenly beside you, waiting for just a moment's hesitation to pounce ahead.

Looking down at your smartphone is a risky move here. Jockeying for position is important. And if all that sounds bad, there's more.

It's only once you advance to the third stage of competition — the actual shopping — that you get hit by what is perhaps the worst realization of all.

Rio is about to rob you blind.

One Brazilian Real is worth about 40 cents Canadian, so prices aren't quite as bad as they may seem at first.

But they're still pretty bad.

Coffee mug: $24.

T-shirt: $32.

Lego set: $51.

Hoodie: $87.

Volleyball: $71.

Even a set of three plastic finger puppets — the kind you'd find at any dollar store — costs about $22.

And the terrain itself is also difficult to navigate.

There is a bizarre, unnatural flow to the room, which sometimes makes perfect sense, but other times defies all logic.

It can sometimes feel like Plinko in the Price is Right: try as you might to play the game as cleverly as you can, ultimately that disc is just gonna end up wherever the heck it ends up.

You are that disc. Fighting the flow can require a Herculean effort.

If you've made it this far without throwing your hands up in frustration, then you're in for a treat: the fourth and final stage is the easiest of them all, because everything you've done up until this point has prepared you.

You've waited. And waited. And seen the prices. Now all that remains for you to do is pull the trigger: so pump and prime that wallet-wrist and seal the deal.

That is, unless you left your Visa card at home. It's either that or cold, hard cash. They don't accept anything else.

But there you have it! Olympic shopping in a nutshell. Hopefully your bank account is intact, and you have some left-over cash for a cold treat, conveniently served just next door.

But God help you if you have to make a return or exchange. Then, you're on your own.