Sunday dawned so sunny and warm that you'd think that you were in summer, not early spring. We were up quite early and Sam and I drove down through Bourg to the supermarket. We had been hoping to go the night before, but our late arrival put paid to that. French supermarkets are so similar, but so different, to English ones. The fresh vegetable section is so much bigger and there are also massive (in comparison) meat sections with varieties of dried sausage hanging up alongside whole hams, plus a huge cheese section.
Sam is in charge of cooking this week and we managed to get everything we needed, plus some treats and some booze.
Back at the apartment Maurice was there to welcome us and the weather was getting still warmer.
Next job was to get up to the ski area. To do this, we had to drive down into town where there is a funicular railway up to Arc. It's quite a good arrangement - your ski pass covers you for the furnicular and it's a very regular service and about 10 minutes up to Les Arcs. The lower village is called Arcs 1650 (after its elevation). There's now an Arcs 1800, Arcs 1950 and Arcs 2000 - it's as if the Arcs are playing Top Trumps with each other.
I had a ski lesson booked for 2pm, so we went to the furnicular station where we bought the ski passes (just over 200 Euros for six days) and hired my skis and boots (another £100). I was pretty excited at having another go at skiing and at the top, I headed straight for the slopes. Les Arc is quite different to Val Thorens; it's on the side of the valley, where Val Thorens is in a bowl at the valley head. At VT, there's a big learner area with two covered "magic carpets" that mean you can easily go up and down a wide learner area. In Les Arcs, the learner area is tiny at the bottom of the slope to the lifts and you have to walk up and ski down.
I saw where I had to meet and then we went up a short ski lift called Combettes with a blue run back to the village. I thought it would be a good idea to discover my ski legs before my lesson, but on the second run, on a steeper section, I fell and hurt my leg. It was a real sharp, sickening pain and at first I thought I'd fractured my leg. It was actually a torn muscle (I think) in my left calf and after getting my ski back on I fell again near the bottom and gave it another tug.
Not a great start to my ski holiday and I thought I might be done there and then. I had some paracetemol, some ibuprofen rub and a rest while Sam and Lucy went off skiing. I tightened my boot good and firm and asked at Ski School if I could go in the beginners' group. I knew they'd just be pootling about, learning to stand up and snowplough and I thought that would be enough for me and keep my leg mobile.
There was only four people in the group - myself, a French girl called Josette from Paris and an English couple - Devon Mike and his partner Claire. Claire was clearly not having a good time. She couldn't stand up; couldn't steer and kept falling over. The instructor Luc (pronounced Look) said I could go in the higher group, but I said I'd stay put. I managed two-and-a-half hours of ski school, but left a wee bit early pretty pleased to have managed to stay going.
A beer in the sun was very pleasant and Sam and Lucy were not long. I met them at the bottom of the Mont Blanc ski lift and we headed home for dinner. My leg was very swollen and sore, but bearable and I said I'd see how I felt in the morning before deciding whether to ski.
What a bloody mess!
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