Val D’Isere: the ever-tilting snowglobe

I won’t bore you with the boring details of a 15 hour boring bus ride from London to the French Alps, but know that it was boring. What you need to know is that it was snowing when we arrived at the UCPA lodging in Val D’Isere. I had a week of guided skiing, hot meals and knee pain ahead of me.

Sunday:

Get our ski kit out of the bags and roll up to the mountain with generous grins on our faces. What have we gotten ourselves into: a Scotsman who has skied once in his life 10 years ago, my brother the ex-pat who now lives in Bristol and skis once every three years, and me the wannabe failed blog writer turned wannabe ski bum? Who cares, it is snowing and we want to carve up this mountain(s). We hit the slopes, none of which seem to look any easier than a black diamond, but nonetheless get warmed up. We quickly tire from the warm up and decide to call it a day. Finish the day with two valleys well skied. I say something stupid about how the terrain is not as immense as told. It will be skied out after two days… It has started to snow.

Monday:

It is snowing. Love it. Our guide takes us out for our morning expedition and within 2 hours we have seen more skiable terrain than I could ever phathom. I contemplate complaining to him about this. My knees are nervous. I tell them to shut up. I do, however, introduce myself to the complex European ski chairs, uncourteous lineups and people with absolutely zero personal space who seem to enjoy skiing over the back of my skis. Still snowing. The afternoon we shoot through steep bumps and he even throws some dense forests our way. I never knew trees could grow so close together.

Supper includes a cheese dish with a delicious side of cheese. Some cheesy desert follows and it also compares to the delectable cheese-infused entrée. We all go to bed at 9pm without a single person complaining about retiring early. Dreams of snow-covered cheese.

Tuesday:

Is it ever going to stop snowing? Head even deeper into endless valleys of Val D’Isere and Tignes. Honestly, now these resorts are just showing off because down the back of even the farthest valley is MORE chairlifts. Glaciers, more steeps and then something different with a final steep run. Luckily the powder slows down my ever increasing momentum. My kness are already thinking about lunch and what type of cheese I will sprinkle on my fondue.

Rocket funiculars zip us to altitudes my lungs disagree with. Stunning 360 degree views. Canada Goose jackets and Ray Bans smeared across the Parisians. I stick out like a sprained thumb (funnier a little later), in my TNF Link Camo shell, and matching neon blue pants. I forget about my European fashion faux-pas as I realize that I may possibly be able to see Everest from the top of this peak: smiles all around. Then my child-like wonder crumbles under the thought of my needing to get my behind all the way to the bottom of this behemoth of a mountain range. When is my week over? Only 3 days left with this damn guide.

Like a sprained thumb that looks good

Wednesday:

Morning off, so we join up with our hilarious roommates and hit the green runs. Oh yeah baby, nothing gains confidence like tearing up the greens. Feels a little like high school bullying, but for the first time can link up some beautiful telemark turns, and not feel like a fake. Im feeling great until some snotty 12 year old tears by wondering why I am going so slowly. The snow must be in my eyes?

The snow has officially started to bug me. I contemplate skipping the guide session, but fortunately talk my knees into it. Booyah, today we are hitting the backcountry. My fear is supplanted by my childish pride about carrying avalanche equipment for the first time. Cool mini shovel: check. Avalnche beacon: check. Avalanche probe: check. Hoping that I don’t have to use these items to save someone’s life: check. I am so badass. Wait, what did the guide say about that button on the arva….oh well.

Thursday:

Can barely find my nose to wipe away the snot because the snow is coming down so hard. Head out into the wild focusing solely on not losing the guide in the white blur. If my legs were skiing that day I could not tell you- I couldn’t seem them. I assume they had fun in the powder. In the afternoon the entire mountain shuts down because of the dangerous conditions. Everyone is upset, but secretly I hope everyone is happy like me. Beginning to realize that my time is nearly up in this place- stop whining and get ready for tomorrow. Straight to stretching class.

Friday:

It is snowing. Hate it. Everywhere. I feel dirty. But will go skiing nonetheless because it is the last day. A wonderfully relaxing day cutting in and out of the groomed and ungroomed stuff tucked in between the marked trails. Tired but happy.

The powder quickly grasps my newfound hatred of it and suddenly bucks me off. Like a wiley fox I decide to use my thumb to break my fall. Like a wet dog I head straight to the medical center to have them use a 100euro glorified “thumb holder” to stabilize my sprained thumb. I just tell myself that the ladies will love it. Plus I have an X-ray to remind me of the best week of my life.

Saturday:

Sulk because I can no longer tie my shoe laces. I think about this the whole boring bus ride back to London. Luckily I was able to unwind the entire night I slept at Heathrow that night. Thank you budget traveling.