As I sat through one conversation after another with teenagers who had been at it since they began to toddle after their mamas, I began to acknowledge that I had never tried it. It was time. I layered my clothes until I felt like an eskimo in Hawaii, I strapped on the robocop boots, and grabbing the lethal sticks, I shot off down the slopes of
Ax Les Thermes, Les Pyrénées.
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| This was on arrival, you can see my glimmering, happy naivety. |
I jumped clumsily off the ski lift, and we were off. I was skiing. Or...shooting down an icy ledge without any comprehension of how to cool the jets which had anonymously appeared behind my skis, forcing me along at a phenomenal speed.
I would like to say that I very quickly fell over, but instead I raced, arms flailing at the sides, eyes pinned open, I felt like I was learning how to drive by beginning with
La Place de L'étoile, ...but all of a sudden, I had come to an intersection. My peripheral view instantly told me I couldn't turn right down the hill, it was like
throwing a hamster out the window and expecting it to gracefully turn a cartwheel in the air before landing on all four paws.
Thus I crashed. Eloise came up behind and came to a ballerina-esque standstill, giggling. I was grateful to have lived, my ego was in no frail state. I laughed along.
And gradually got up, only to fall, after maybe 3 metres.
And again.
And again (I lost count).
I paused frequently for water, I had been clenching my stomach and gasping for air while smashing into mountains, falling on my face then my back, then my knees then while rolling down the hill like they teach you in
fire safety lessons.
I took a tuna sandwich break and watched the red (high intermediate) slope. Experienced skiers glided down the
piste rouge like prehistoric warriors. They were obviously insane.
We met with my two roommates, Catherine and Bertrand, who had been practicing the same flawless ineptitude by snowboarding. We mocked each other over a beer, breathing easily at the bottom of the mountain, no more easy chances of embracing our immortality.
But surprisingly, I felt exhilarated. I loved it. I wanted more. I decided to go again two weeks following.
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| Ready! |
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| Nora, me, Mika, Ben |
This time my mental preparation went a little far for the circumstances. I went with two first timers and an expert snowboarder. Nora was a bit more intuitive than I had been, attempting to understand technique before careening down the ice. Mika and I slid down together, taking hills in shifts, a bit at a time, waiting for the patient teacher and the hesitant (rightly so) pupil.
We stopped for déjeuner on a peak, munched on some veggie sausage, ham sandwiches, and fruit and soaking in a bit of sun before setting off again. Ben took the black (expert) slope a couple times, leaving us to take breathers.
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| Mr Ben rocking out |
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| 'focus' face |
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| 'do I have to?' face |
Then off down the blue..this one was just a bit steeper than before, Ben came down beside me, shouting out, urging me continually, 'Tiens toi droit, tout droit!'
At least I think that was what he was saying...I was split between my adrenaline and my unwillingness to fail (in other words, sheer panic).
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| Can everyone see how tantalisingly delicious this looks? |
The day ended in chocolat chaud and lovely crêpes soaked in nutella amidst tranquilly liberated smiles, as every day in France inevitably should.
On the other hand, we had already procured a couchsurfer, an american named Anda, who came to find us with his friend William. Living in a gorgeous southern french home just a quick bus ride from Biarritz, Anda welcomed us in with a true couchsurfer spirit. He had run a race and won that morning, so impressing us with his regalia of trophies (which were cleverly turned into punch bowls).
