Learning to Ski, or, Come and Get Me, Please

I got to visit Julie at the Ministry of the Interior! Here I am, pretending I work there. You can sort of see Prague Castle outside the window. It was a foggy, frigid day, but on nice days Julie has a beautiful view.

And now on to skiing. On December 9, we (me, Honzik, Lukas, Eva, Eva's boyfriend, and my replacement, Mike) got in the car and drove seven hours to a town just over the Austrian border in Italy. We arrived at our pension near the town of Brunico (or Bruneck, in German), went promptly to bed, and then woke up bright and early the next morning to go skiing. Yes, skiing. I had never been skiing before. Unless you count water skiing, which you don't. The family, even four-year-old Lukas, are good skiiers. I was a bit apprehensive.

I am not totally klutzy and I was a good athlete in my day so I figured I wouldn't be completely hopeless, but I was not looking forward to the trip. I have never had the slightest urge to go snow skiing. I was scared to get hurt and more scared to get left on the mountain while the family skiied down the black slopes. And I was really ready to just come home. The adventure had become tiresome; more stressful than fun. Although I pondered changing my plane ticket to a date before the ski trip, I decided to suck it up and stay. How many chances will I get to go skiing in Italy? Even if I hated it, the trip was still an unique opportunity. And how bad could it be?

Pretty bad, actually. But I digress.

So we arrived. Although we were technically in Italy, German was the first language. Sometimes things were written in Italian, too, under the German, but not always. I was a bit disappointed, because I actually speak a little Italian and was looking forward to using it. I wanted to say something obnoxious to the people at the pension and at the ski mountain, like, "Hello?? You people are in Italy! What is with the German?" But I didn't. Oh, borders...

Here is the pension. Radmuller...yup, German.

The view from our window. Lovely.

It was about a thirty minute drive to Kronplatz, the ski mountain.

A little scary when a trauma center (on the right side of the building) is one of the first things you see as you drive in. I was pretty sure I would break a knee or something.

The kids and Eva all have their own skiing gear, but the boyfriend and I needed to rent stuff. I was completely clueless about what I needed and how to put everything on. I immediately hated wearing the ski boots. I thought I was being obtuse because I couldn't walk very well in the stiff boots. Then I saw other people in their boots and realized that it wasn't just me. We all looked like Frankenstein's Creature, clomping around, rocking from heel to toe in the uncomfortable, coffin-like shoes.

Here are Honzik and Lukas in their ski stuff. All kids under fourteen have to wear helmets, and most the people on the slopes, regardless of age, had some protective head gear. A lot of people were wearing plastic back guard things to protect their spines. I just wanted to skip the whole skiing thing after I saw all that.
Eva had gotten me a ski instructor for two hours in the morning, for which I am very grateful. After we were all suited up in our terrible boots and layers of clothing, lugging our cumbersome skis and poles (could someone please invent a better way to do this sport? Or at least a better way to carry everything?), everybody but me hopped into a gondola to go to the top of the mountain. I went to meet my ski instructor, Peter.

So cute. I lucked out on that one. He was about my age, from Bruneck, but he has spent the last few summers in Australia. So he speaks English with an adorable mixture of a German and Australian accent. (Can you tell I had a ski crush?) He was also very patient and kind. He said I was a fast learner (though do you think he ever tells anyone they are slow?) I learned how to put my skis on--knock off the snow, front part of the boot in first--and take them off--press the little button with the pole. I listened hard. Then we walked up the kiddie hill and started. I learned the snow plow position and the beginnings of turns. We went up the kiddie ski lift and skiied down the kiddie hill a few times. I didn't fall down until the very end. I was feeling okay. I didn't like how I picked up speed without meaning to, or how snow plow really didn't seem to slow me down that much. But Peter was very encouraging (I keep reminding myself that he was being paid to be nice so I won't be too disappointed when he doesn't come to Lewisville to find me...) That's a joke. Mostly.

He even helped me figure out the big gondola (skis go on the outside in the slots!) and rode to the top of the mountain with me. I was supposed to meet the family for lunch.

But, surprise! When I called to say I was there, Eva told me that they had decided to eat an hour before the appointed time and were off skiing again. So I had this lovely, healthy, and fresh meal by myself at a place on top of the mountain. Eww.

Here is the view from the top of the mountain.

Gorgeous.

Here I am, trying to look happy.

Trying to look happy? The rest of the afternoon was not great. Read on.

After lunch I met them as they were skiing off a chair lift. Lukas had cried all the way down the mountain but they kept making him ski. Eva, Mike (an excellent snowboarder) and Honzik went off to ski fast and the boyfriend and Lukas and I went down one of the blue slopes. Or, that was the plan.

Here is Lukas with Eva's boyfriend.

I was feeling fairly confident. I had done well in my lesson and I assumed the slope would not be too steep since it was a blue (their lowest), and Lukas was going down it. Silly, silly Cameron. I started down and immediately was going way too fast and darn snow plow wasn't working. It was so steep in parts that I couldn't see down--the mountain just seemed to drop off a few feet from my skis. I was terrified. I fell several times, usually after making a really sharp turn just to stop myself. I was afraid I would start going, be unable to slow down, stop, or steer, and crash into something or someone. I didn't know that you could basically ski in a horizontal line across the mountain to find an easy path, and I didn't know how to slide down the steep parts with my skis sideways. That was in the next day's lesson.

I had no idea how to get down that mountain. People were whizzing by me, I had lost Lukas and the boyfriend, I was all alone and cold and I couldn't get down. It had not dawned on me that once you start down a slope you have to finish. You can't stop halfway and get a taxi to the nearest chair lift.

So there I was, stuck on the slope. I was quite literally paralyzed for a time. I couldn't decide whether to walk back up, to walk down to the nearest lift, or to try and ski some more. I did use that time to take some pictures. So that is a--the--positive. Also, I didn't cry. I felt like it, but I didn't.

I was stuck by this fence for a while. Its image will forever be imprinted on my brain.
At least my terror had a beautiful backdrop.

I decided to unfasten my skis and walk awkwardly down to the nearest lift. After that embarrassing journey I thought everything would finally get better. I would go down the mountain in the lift, take off the terrible boots, and wait for the family. I almost enjoyed the ride. I do like mountains.

Here are my skis sticking out of their slot as we float down the mountain.

But...no. That lift didn't go all the way down the mountain. So I had to get out and hop right back into a gondola going up the hateful slopes. Expletive.

Then I had to figure out a way to get to another lift that would take me to the very top of the mountain so I could take the gondola all the way down. I decided to re-click my evil boots into my untrustworthy skis and try to make it to the chair lift. I ran into Eva and Lukas on my slow, painful, terrifying way. He thought it was hilarious when I fell. Then they disappeared again. After nearly crashing into a pole holding up a chair lift and losing a ski in the process, I removed my other ski and trudged the rest of the way to the lift.

This was my first chair lift. I had trouble getting my right ski back on, and I almost toppled forward and was run over by the lift when I tried to get on, but I made it. Then I worried about that troublesome right ski, convinced it would fall off and possibly hit someone below. And then would I have to slalom down to get it? Help.

Fortunately, that did not happen.

I made it to the top of the mountain and waited for the family. My main thoughts? "I hate skiing," "Someone, come and get me, please!" and "Why would anyone do this for fun?"

Not a great first day. It gets better.

Movie of the Week XVII

First, I AM HOME! I am home, I am home, I am home. FOR GOOD. I have never been so thrilled to be back in America and back at home.

I will write more about our ski trip to Italy in December, my last weeks in the Czech Republic, and my return home, but not until after Christmas. Right now I am just enjoying being home!

But I could not let Christmas come and go without this movie:

White Christmas (1954)

Despite the title, it really is not a "Christmas movie" in the usual sense. In fact, the only reason it is called "White Christmas" is because the Irving Berlin song by that title appears a few times in the film, crooned by Bing Crosby. The finale of the movie takes place on Christmas Eve, too, but there is not the typical overt "Christmas lesson" about the importance of family or sharing or being thankful that appears in other holiday films. So my urgency about posting this before Christmas is not entirely justified...It is not so much the holiday as the fact that this is one of my favorites and I can't wait to do a blog entry about it.

The movie starts with Bob Wallace (Bing Crosby) and Phil Davis (Danny Kaye) performing in a makeshift Christmas Eve show in the middle of the war zone in Europe in World War II. (The man in the middle is a general. He becomes important later.)

Phil saves Bob's life and they become pals, and after the war ends they pair up to make a successful theatrical team and then very successful producing partners.

While producing and performing a show in Florida, they receive a letter from an old Army buddy asking them to go see his sisters perform and give them some advice. They aren't very excited about the prospect, but they go and are very impressed with the Haynes Sisters. Smitten, even.

And with fans like that, who wouldn't enjoy the show? They sing the song "Sisters, Sisters" which naturally my sisters and I were obsessed with and performed at our school talent shows.

Anyway, Bob likes Betty (Rosemary Clooney), and Phil likes Judy (Vera-Ellen.) The women reciprocate. It is fortunate that they do not both fall for the same sister or the same man. That would make it a very different kind of movie.

Phil and Judy begin conspiring almost immediately to get Betty and Bob together. Phil wants the workaholic Bob to get married so that Phil can get a vacation, and Judy wants Betty to get married so that Judy can be more independent. Betty is sort of a "mother hen" to Judy's "chick."

Phil and Judy have a fabulous dance number on the nightclub patio. Which strangely includes an elevated gazebo, a bridge, a short building with a very danceable roof, and various other spaces and objects which work themselves into the choreography. Oh, and every surface is made of a smooth grey material which is, coincidentally, just perfect for dancing.

Vera-Ellen is an incredible dancer, and Danny Kaye ain't too bad, either. It is a great number to a great song: "The Best Things Happen While You're Dancing." (All the songs are Irving Berlin.)

Edith Head designed the costumes, and she made sure that Danny's socks and shoes matched the grey-blue of his suit perfectly; consequently, his legs look long since the line from pant to foot is uninterrupted.

All the gowns are beautiful, though you may notice that Vera-Ellen is always wearing a high neck. Even her pajamas have a stiff mandarin collar. You may also notice her teeny tiny skinny legs...Vera-Ellen was anorexic and the disease made her neck, especially, look bad. I guess it looked much older or really, really thin or something. I don't know, because you never see it in the movies. Sad trivia.

Vera-Ellen was a dancer, so she gets lots of dancing time. Rosemary Clooney, not so hot as a dancer, was a singer, so she gets lots of singing time later on in the movie. It is sort of amusing to watch knowing the actresses' strengths (and weaknesses). Vera-Ellen's voice is dubbed in the film, and Rosemary Clooney only does the simplest dance steps and usually just stands still while Vera-Ellen pivots and dips around her.

Everything is going great at the nightclub until the sheriff shows up and claims that the Haynes Sisters owe money to their landlord. Phil thinks of a plan that will stall the sheriff and allow Betty and Judy to escape the nightclub. Phil gives Judy two train tickets (meant for he and Bob) and begins the rather difficult task of convincing Bob to go along with his scheme. And this is his plan:

They lip synch the "Sisters" song so that the sheriff (in an office in the nightclub) thinks the girls are performing. It is an amusing scene.

Bob and Phil barely get away and catch their train. Phil begins trying to convince Bob to go to Vermont instead of New York City. (The Haynes Sisters are booked at a ski resort in Vermont over Christmas.) The sisters are on the same train: they meet the men in the gorgeous club car, sing a fun song about snow, and Bob is convinced that Vermont is where they should go.

But there is no snow in Vermont! And guess who runs the ski resort? The general from WWII! But since there is no snow, the resort is just about bankrupt. The sisters and the buddies must concoct a plan to save the resort and therefore save the general. Naturally, their plan is to put on a show! On Christmas Eve! Hurray!

The rest of the movie is a lot of wonderful song and dance scenes (rehearsals, ostensibly, and some less extravagant "private" numbers):

Bob, Phil, and Betty sing, and Vera dances in the super-random "Mandy" song.

I always wanted red sequined gloves like she has...And her train detaches!

She was a remarkable dancer. Acrobatic, she does loads of flips down the stairs, very quick, if you blink you might miss her turns and taps, and also balletic and graceful. She could do it all.

They sing about being in the Army:

Danny Kaye makes fun of modern choreography and Vera-Ellen does a frenetic dance with a male dancer who steps in to do more intense dancing when Danny Kaye won't quite do.

Bob and Betty sing to each other.

There is a lovely romantic subplot between the two couples, funny, funny bits, especially between Vera-Ellen and Danny Kaye, and then a dramatic schism which seems to threaten everything...A fake engagement, a colossal misunderstanding about Bob's motives for the show, a blow to the General's dignity...oh my. And still no snow!

This is a serious discussion. But I am always distracted by Rosemary Clooney's bright red lipstick. Wouldn't it get all over her pillow?

Not important.

One of my favorite scenes is Rosemary Clooney singing "Love, You Didn't Do Right By Me" in a New York City nightclub. Her black velvet dress with the scalloped neckline and mermaid silhouette, never mind the enormous diamond brooch pinned to her butt, is fabulous.

Add silver, sparkly gloves, a pink draped backdrop, white horse statues with feathered headdresses (it is the Carousel Club), and lots of odd, expressionless young men in black turtlenecks doing odd, expressionless motions around her, and you have a classic scene.

Bing Crosby does not actually sing with her in this part of the movie, but it is a nice picture.

Rosemary Clooney (yes, she was George Clooney's aunt) and Bing Crosby were good friends in real life and often sang together. They are great onscreen, too.

So for the Christmas part. The show is on Christmas Eve, and the finale is a Christmas-y number with a bunch of random kids dressed in Santa Claus inspired outfits or tutus. Not sure why the tutus and toe shoes...but I like it.

Surprise--they sing "White Christmas." Interestingly, Bing Crosby had made that song famous in an earlier film, Holiday Inn (1942). It could be a bit redundant--Bing singing "White Christmas" is heavily featured in both films. But he does sing it beautifully, and it is sort of his signature song.

A classic end to a classic musical. Great actors, great songs, great costumes, great plot, and great director (Michael Curtiz, who also directed Casablanca).

Merry Christmas!

Ras al Khaimah--Resort 2

This is the last Dubai post, I promise. After a few days at the first resort we moved to the Hilton Resort and Spa. Beachfront, all-inclusive, beautiful pools, our own cottages. Pretty nice.

When the air was clear we could see the mountains. But usually it was pretty hazy. Rows and rows of cottages...

Here is our "villa." Typical chaos.

It was wonderful having a yard, however small. Hotel rooms become claustrophobic fast with little kids.

Look right:

Look left, towards the main hotel complex.

This would have been a nice photo if that woman hadn't run into it. Darn it.

The main part of the resort reminded me of Mesa Verde: cliff dwellings updated and moved to the United Arab Emirates. The hotel called it modern traditional Arabic architecture.

Lots of cool pools.

As you can see, the resort is lovely. But I was usually too overwhelmed and exhausted to enjoy it as I might otherwise have done. Usually I am only working 6-8 hours a day. But in Dubai, and on the other trips we have taken, my workday turns into 12 or 13 hours. Especially in Dubai, since I didn't have my own room. To get a little break, I would wake up an hour or two earlier than everybody else, including the baby, and sneak out to get breakfast. This might surprise those who know that I am definitely not an early riser. It also proves how desperate I was for some quiet time by myself. Since Eva was determined to keep the kids on Prague time, three hours before UAE time, they didn't go to bed until 9 or 10 at night, so my evenings were shot. The alternative was getting up early. Quite early. So I did.

Breakfast became my favorite part of the day. I took a book and ate outside by this pool. Peaceful, serene, quiet, stress-free. Ahh. I wished for better coffee, but you can't have everything.

One morning I was seated near a woman and a five or six year old boy. They were British, and not much is cuter than a small child with a British accent. The little boy was asking him mum about how they were going to get home. He summarized her answer like this:

"So we will go to the airport and then go to a different place. Like South America? How long does that take?" Cute cute cute.

The resort has its own little lagoon. This spit of land juts out in front of our villa.

Once when the baby was sleeping and the boys were with their grandmother I took a stroll along the beach and walked to the end of the isthmus. Can I call it an isthmus?Here is the view back at the beach.
Ras al Khaimah is trying to emulate Dubai with its big, tall, shiny buildings. There are a little behind, but hey, at least they are making an effort.

Our villa was about a five minute walk from the main restaurant. Here we are leaving:

And posing on the way:

The lobby was beautiful. Here is the big dome in the center:

After the kids were asleep I usually took my computer and tried to get some internet in a quiet corner. You would think that at a really nice resort like this wireless internet would be included, or at least free in the lobby. Not so. It was quite pricey and annoying. You had to buy internet cards in half hour or hour increments from the reception desk. When I actually wanted to take the plunge they had no more cards, and when I finally did get a card the internet was so slow I barely got anything accomplished. So that was disappointing.

Behind the reception desk they had portraits of the UAE rulers and the ruler of Ras al Khaimah. Their pictures were everywhere. I am quite confused about how the government works. It is a hereditary democracy? Or something?Most of the other guests at the resort were European; Czech, German, or English. And a few Italians, I think. I did not see many other Americans. Which sort of makes sense; it is an awfully long way to go for a beach vacation. I am sure there were many more Americans in Dubai or Abu Dhabi, but with Mexico, Central America, the Caribbean, and America's own excellent beaches, why would flocks of Americans fly 15 hours to the UAE for the beach?So that was my trip to the UAE. I feel very fortunate to have been able to go there. Now, I want to learn more about the Emirates, especially since some pretty drastic stuff has happened within the financial system in Dubai.

We returned home at about midnight on a cold, cold night in Prague. I did love wearing shorts and flip flops in Dubai...