I must be becoming a more expert skier. I realised today that I have not fallen off a ski-lift all week.
People who do not ski should know that one of the most scary and difficult techniques for a new skier to master is getting off the chair-lift. It requires a certain body position, sitting well forward and a good shove of the hand to get you out of the seat and on your skis. The next trick is not to ski into anyone and not to go careering off out of control.
Falling out of a ski lift will bring upon you the scorn of your fellow skiers. Everyone is nervous of an uncontrolled skier, but also someone lying in a heap at the top of the lift or, worse, in a pile of bodies created by your ineptitude, will cause the ski-lift to be stopped.
You’ll note that I haven’t mentioned drag lifts - this is a whole different nightmare for some and the cause of much hilarity for others. On this particular holiday, Lucy had the nightmare and Sam the laughs, but drag lifts are an unpredictable mistress.
Well, I survived the week with deft disembarkation from the lift even when I was given a small French child to look after (which was just about every time I went on a lift). Because this was French holidays, the resort was packed with children. They aren’t allowed on the lifts unless they have an adult with them so you are invariably allocated a child when you get on board.
Sam and Lucy had some naughty children during the week, including one who was wriggling so much that Sam grabbed his collar to be sure he didn’t fall out. Lucy also told off some youngsters who were throwing ice.
My charges were much better behaved. Normally I wished them “bonjour, comment allez vous”, they realised I was foreign and sat there terrified the whole time. A child frozen with fear is not going to fall out of a chair-lift.
Once I encountered a small English boy who was on holiday with his parents. They’d put him in ski school and he was the only English child in a pack of Parisian brats. It’s enough to scar a child for life - and probably has.
My skiing has improved considerably during the week, but I start off each morning with some aches and pains which disappear (a little) as I warm up. My final day was no exception and it was also the worst day of the holiday weather-wise with a cold wind, rain at 1600 and snow higher up. I did one run, but was getting cold and wet, so I thanked Loic for his help and bade him au revoir. He asked me if I had enjoyed my class and if my skiing had improved. I said I had and it had, but I was a little disappointed that the improvement hadn’t been more obvious to Loic!
In Arc 1600, I treated myself to a nice breakfast - orange, tea, croissant and roll with butter and jam, then took the funicular down to Bourg. It was quite sad being on my last journey. Down in Bourg, I got a message from Sam and Lucy - they were also calling it quits for the day. It was snowing quite hard and visibility wasn’t great, so we arranged to meet back in Bourg.
I had a small amount of shopping to do - some presents for Margaret, a Christmas tree decoration to go with the realistic resin hedgehog I’d bought earlier in the week; some postcards for Laura; some chocolate Orios for Davina and some biscuits for the office.
We walked across the footbridge over Bourg station into the town and had a little amble down the main street to buy some bits and pieces. The Christmas shop which I’d visited last year to buy a very tasteful white fluffy bird for the tree, seems to have had a change of policy. The Christmas merchandise is now much restricted, his range of cuckoo clocks reduced and the space filled with fantasy figurines consisting of very shapely young women in skimpy costumes often accompanied by tigers or mythical creatures. I’m surprised there’s a large enough market for that kind of thing in Bourg, but clearly there’s more to the town than meets the eye.
For lunch, we settled on a restaurant in the main street called La Refuge. It had an interesting line in decor - literally a washing line of baggy underpants strung across one wall. Here’s another aspect of Bourg which I had previously not seen. We settled on the €18 menu, which delivered three courses and our meal was accompanied by a bottle of Savoyard cider which was very nice. I had chicken with gingerbread for my main, which sounded intriguing. It was chicken strips in a sweet sauce and tiny gingerbread croutons.
It was then a final visit to Super U to full up with diesel at €1.39 per litre (it’s £1.46 at home).
Back at the chalet, Sam took a telephone call from Tom to say that he was leaving Hannah. Talk about bombshells!
No comments:
Post a Comment