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.