Number 1

High and Dry (Well, Wet) Ski Encounter

After coming off the phone and logging off the laptop my sense of excitement intensified. We were actually booked - I was going to get to ski in the Alps a second time before the summer after all! I suppose that’s the nature of taking up the most addictive outdoor pursuit… Anyway, Kim seemed excited and I was not only looking forward to my holiday, I was looking forward to hers. With any luck she would come away sharing my addiction to the white stuff.

After being dropped off at the airport by my cousin I was lucidly aware of Richard’s absence. How many euros should I get? Shall I use my card or get cash? Maybe I was due to be away from him in this way for a while. They do say absence makes the heart grow fonder. Still, leaving behind ‘head of accounts,’ and the apple of my eye, made me feel strangely naked and slightly vulnerable. We checked the gate number and went looking around some standard duty-fee shops before the flight. Kim picked up huge bottles of spirits, ciders and wines – lured in by the seemingly generous offers.

After pondering over a particularly crisp and clear vodka bottle, Kim turns to me suddenly and her face dropped as she said ‘oh no.’ I fleetingly thought of the passports and other serious possibilities, and before I could settle on anything, she said ‘my ski jacket. It’s in your car at Pina’s house.’ Sure enough, I hadn’t seen Kim with it since we dropped my car at my cousin’s house in Feltham. It wasn’t the end of the world - although expensive and bought especially for the holiday, it could be replaced. We were still going away and that’s all that mattered.

Following a quiet, slightly sulky and amusing hour, Kim stopped the ‘what ifs’ and torturing herself after a comforting phone call to her dad before take-off. She leaned back in her seat and laughed.

‘Fuck’s sake what a total retard. When I see that coat I’m going to give it such a telling off.’

‘Yes that’s right – blame the coat, you need blame therapy. What an egg you are!’

After the short flight we milled around in Geneva airport arrivals and tried to find the right area for the journey we had booked to Saint Gervais. We had booked it online in French so we weren’t actually sure what mode of transport to expect until we asked.

We arrived after a 1 hour coach journey through the hills and mountains. We asked at the tourist office where our apartment was and it turned out it was a short bus ride up the mountainside to the actual town of Saint-Gervais. Stepping off another bus we caught sight of a beautfiful elegant town full of shops cafes and stone buildings dwarfed by towering white peaks from every angle. In awe of this beautiful place, we collected our key and located our chalet on the main street – an apartment on the top floor of a 3-storey chalet building with wood-panelled walls.

***

‘Get in ma belly’ I casually screeched as I finished my cereal and pulled on my layers of ski clothing. I could barely contain my excitement so I began pacing the chalet in my ski googles and then decided to go out for some fresh bread (minus the googles). Kim and I happily munched the crusty bread and got ready to leave the chalet to head for the cable cars across the valley.

As we walked up the main street jovially bickering about how to get across the valley, Kim eventually found a side street that led to the bridge we needed. After dragging an already tired Kim up the hill from the bridge and we bought our cable-car tickets and finally sat down to watch the view as we glided up the misty, snowy mountainside.

At the top the fog was so thick - a huge difference in the weather of the villages thousands of feet below. We lugged our hired equipment to a small flat slope and I gave the Kim the low-down on skiing basics, the fog pressing in from all sides swallowing up my voice in the cold fresh air. Kim picked it up confidently and quickly despite aching legs and bad light, and in no time at all she was skiing the small beginner’s slope at a slow but fluid pace.

Lunch was a traditional steak hache burger, but very rare in the middle, and some delicious but greasy chips. Despite gently encouraging Kim to drink water, she chose cherry coke and guess what, she felt gassy afterwards!

After lunch we found ourselves halfway down a larger slope that I had managed to convince Kim to try. She stopped by some trees and took off her skis. She was quite some distance away so I waved at her up the slope. It was no use, I had no idea what was going on so I trudged up nearer and Kim bellowed ‘I feel sick so I’m just waiting here.’

‘Are you ok - do you want me to carry your stuff and we can walk back?’

‘No, no I’ll be fine. You go and when you’re back here we can go again. I’ll be better in a few minutes. I just need to sit down.’

I skied down to the bottom to get the chair-lift up to the top of the green easy run above the cable-car area. Once at the very top, I assessed the white expanse and the tiny dots of people sprinkled among the ridges of the mountainside. I skied the long quiet slope back down to where Kim was sprawled in the snow, still with her skis off, hoping she felt better.

‘It’s that burger, I can feel it in my throat, it’s not going down’

‘Yeah thanks for that detail’

‘You know – when you can taste it when you burp.’

‘Yes – that’s great, thank you…’

‘And that fizzy drink didn’t help – feel free to tell me off next time!’

We decided that skiing down to get the chairlift up to the top, to do the green run I had just done would have been ideal, but difficult for Kim, and impossible when feeling sick. So we began our long trudge up the wide, immense ski slope the way we had come. In snow boots the walk would have been mildly challenging, and long, but in stiff ski boots, carrying heavy skis this one was a killer. Having stopped over five times in a minute to look helplessly around us at the white expanse, I decided to walk ahead of Kim to be more encouraging. The skiers gliding by put the vastness of the area we had to walk into a depressing perspective.

Finally at the top we caught a cable car back down to town and civilisation. Kim reassured me she had enjoyed skiing but had not realised how much strength you need in your legs.

‘I’m so sorry, the burger was what tipped me over the edge.’

‘No don’t be sorry – if it was me who felt sick, trust me the whole ski resort would know about it’

We ate a good hearty pasta meal at the chalet following our day’s work-out, and resolved to spend the next day at the Mont Blanc thermal baths to recuperate, and to go skiing again the day after.

***

After a fantastic day at the spa and a delicious meal out, we woke mid-morning and made our way to the cable cars once more. It was sunny and warm, and I had a feeling our ski jackets would be too much, but its best to be prepared I guess, although prepared for what I don’t know – it was at least 18 degrees in town.

At the top Kim eased back into the basic technique and skied the small beginner slope again and again, with increasing skill. She seemed to have learned more since the day before and was much more controlled and confident, appearing to enjoy herself a great deal.

We had a drink and Kim was so pleased with her technique, but feeling a little exhausted and achy. In the mid-afternoon she decided to quit while she was ahead and call it day, taking her ski equipment back down to the mid-base and returning to the top wearing her snow boots.

“I’m going to ski that top one again and try to come down that steeper area just there – it looks amazing, I reckon I could do it!”  I exclaimed, pointing at the vast white face of the imposing mountainside facing the cable cars, impossibly expecting Kim to know where I was pointing. The sheer size of the area makes it impossible to be precise.

“Why don’t I record you – give me your camera and I’ll video you coming down”

“Yeah cool! I’ll wave my poles in the air when I’m up there so you know it’s me. We can go after that, I feel bad you’ve been waiting around”

“Oh no it’s fine, I just didn’t want to ski too much and end up ruining it. Although the weather looks like its coming in a bit, we could go if it starts to rain”

I glanced up at the grey billowing clouds homing in from over the immense valley and agreed with Kim. We should get back down to St Gervais after I’m back. So I set off down the long easy slope to the chair-lift area, gliding along slowly in the increasing wind, and eventually arriving at the barriers for the chair-lift.

“Non-non, non!” I heard a Frenchman’s voice call in my direction and as I looked up I saw a group of around twenty other skiers shuffling away from the barriers. The chair-lift had stopped moving and I had to shuffle back through the turn-style to join them. The Frenchman gabbled at me in French, something about the chair-lift not running. The group of people were disspating and starting to make their way down the nearby ski piste sloping away from us. I looked around, panicking and noticed there was no one else hanging around. I dimly registered that there were no other slopes to choose from. I asked the man in broken French if the piste was easy. He said it was, so I asked if it would eventually take me back up to the Mont D’Arbois cable cars, where Kim was at the top, waiting for me, Oh no! Kim! She will be expecting me to come down the mountain any minute… The Frenchman seemed to be saying the slopes were all linked to the top cable cars somehow, and he didn’t elaborate. He didn’t speak English either. My options seemed to be running out, fast. I looked around the deserted cross-road area. Trees, snow, wind, and it had started to rain a little. I smiled and thanked the Frenchman for his help and set off down the unknown slope.

After a few minutes winding down the moderately easy piste, it started to become very slushy. It was hard to control my speed and direction when the slush made the skis sluggish, like riding a bike in sand. My legs were beginning to shake. There was no one to be seen and I had no idea where this piste was taking me. Finally I was at the bottom, panting and wiping the drizzle from my goggles.

There was still no one around. However behind some tall pine trees and to the left was another chairlift, this time it was working. I shuffled through the barrier and clambered on to the empty chair as it scooped me up and lifted me into the damp fresh air above the trees. The mountain ahead of me looked like the one facing the cable car area. I’m heading in the right direction…

I unfolded the soggy ski resort map and work out that the cable car is taking me closer to where I need to be but there is no piste or cable car directly to it. From what I could work out I would need to ski an easy piste to get to another cable car which would take me back to the cable cars where Kim was. Thinking absent-mindedly that Kim will have worked out there’s a problem by now, I relaxed a little and glanced behind me, making the cable car sway a little and I noticed a man in a red ski jacket sitting on the chair behind me in the distance. I felt instant relief.

Upon leaving the chair-lift I shook my map out again in the now quite heavy rain, and glanced two men huddled together doing the very same thing. Ah! More people! I skied down to them in the slushy snow and tentatively asked them in French if they were lost. It turned out they were beginners too, and lost, and could only speak French. In my limited ability with the language I managed to ask if there was an easy piste to the cable cars. One of the men said he thought the only way down was a difficult piste as the easy one was closed. Oh God! My heart was pounding and my skin was beginning to feel chilled. What would happen to me if the only way down was impossibly difficult? Thank goodness for my ski jacket. The wind and rain were biting with cold and although I could do with a fleecy mid-layer I was at least protected from the pounding rain. How was I going to get down? My helplessness was made worse by the vastness and unfamiliarity of my surroundings. Mountains and trees that seemed so beautiful and inspiring only half an hour ago now seemed strange, foreboding and dangerous. 

As I stood there listening to the men talking in French about their descent, some more people joined us from a piste I had just noticed above us to the right. They stopped abruptly and huddled around the three of us, jabbering in French. Panicking that I was going to be left stranded I piped up in very disjointed French ‘I’m lost and I’m a beginner, I don’t know how to get back to the top – my friend is up there.”

One of the new group of skiers was a young woman with blonde hair tied back from the blustery wind, and expensive-looking equipment. She looked kindly at me and said in English “Can you speak English? You can come with us if you like.” Her kind smile meant safety, and I instantly felt warmer.

I asked the lady if she knew the way down and whether it was easy. She said it would have to be the moderate/difficult one, confirming to me that the easy piste was indeed closed. My panic was kept at bay by her reassuring smile and although I could think of nothing but the fear of what difficulty and danger lay ahead, I managed to thank her profusely. She said she and her husband were from Paris, and through my adrenaline-fuelled disjointed thoughts, I heard them say that they would help me and wait for me, and that I would be fine.

Skiing off down the start of the slope and winding around the trees, I followed her and the rest of the group at a faster pace than I was used to. We skied down the widening and narrowing slope, through the immense trees and rock-faces, with the lady and her husband looking back at me encouragingly every few minutes.

My legs began to ache and I wanted to stop to recuperate but the group glided on and on… Grow a pair, I said to myself. Suck it up. It’s ski alone and get lost, or ski fast and stay with the group. You choose.

The wind was howling and the sky was a brooding dark grey. The lady and her husband stopped at a crossroads to plan the best route down. I told them about Kim at the top of Mont D’Arbois, the panic in my voice evident.

“Ah, you want to get up to the top, to get her?”

“Yes, she’s still up there waiting for me.”

“The eggs are closed because of the weather, are you sure she’s still up there?”

Oh no – what?! Do they mean the cable cars? Where will Kim be?! Whilst the lady and her husband were talking I took the opportunity to ring Kim. She answered and I could immediately hear the strain in her voice. She was still up there and the cable cars had stopped. No one was around except the staff in the cafe and no one spoke English. She was scared. I told her to wait in the warm and that I was stuck but trying to get to her. I shakily said I would get to the cable cars and tell someone she was up there if they still aren’t running. I had no idea how to get to Kim but I knew she would be safe.       

Soon enough we had to get moving again. The snow was becoming unbearably slushy and it had started to pelt it down with rain.

Abruptly I stopped at an extremely steep part of the piste, sliding sideways in the slush to avoid the unexpected gradient. I was shocked and panicking about my lack of control. I looked up at the lady expectantly, needing guidance, needing anything to give me the nerve to just do it. It was the only way down.

“You need to do this with your skis straight to build the speed to get over that hill there” she said, as she pointed to where the slope evened out at the bottom and rose sharply. “You can’t try to slow down on the piste or you’ll end up walking. Here, just watch me and then copy if you like?”

I hesitated and slid about, finding my balance and feeling worse the more I thought about it.

“Don’t worry, you will be fine just do what I do. Bend your knees.”

I did exactly as I was told and went for it. It felt exhilarating to fly down and despite my shaking legs, my fear subsided enough for me to briefly enjoy that moment. At the bottom of the next slope and after God knows how much more skiing around bends, through trees and though slushy patches, I glimpsed the civilisation of the mid base far below. Relief exploded in my stomach and although the slope down to the area was steep, slushy and uneven, I felt solace in the fact that I knew where I was. The lady and her husband traversed the most even areas of snow and I followed.

Once at the bottom I couldn’t believe my luck. I did it! Looking around, I could see lots of people milling about, clonking trivially in ski boots, buying refreshments and stowing their skis on the roofs of their cars. In the safety and civilisation of the mid-base area the drama of the afternoon seemed to diminish visibly - perspective falling back into place, making me feel rather silly for feeling so scared and dramatic.

“We need to find out where your friend is”

“Ah, thank you so much for your help, you really don’t have to”

“Let’s go in here” she smiled at me and pointed to an archway by one of the cafes and inside was a reception desk. She spoke to the lady at the desk and asked if I could have help finding my friend. The lady at reception showed me a screen and from CCTV they could see Kim, in her turquoise ski trousers in the café. What a relief. They kindly put me on the phone to her and reassured me that the cable cars will run at 5:00pm to take the staff back down and she can go with them. I passed this info on to Kim who was only too pleased to hear it!

Back outside I thanked the lady and asked her what her name was.

“Aurora” she replied in her thick accent

“Ah that’s lovely, thank you so much Aurora, for all of your help, I don’t know how I would have done it without you!”

“No problem, I hope your friend makes it down soon!”