I always seem to have no idea what is going on.
Fortunately I sometimes luck out and have friends who do.
While I was spending my junior year abroad, there was a two week break in February. My French friends invited me skiing with their English friends to Saas Fe in Switzerland.
I had started out a great skier at about age 5. But my family is not very athletic – my mother looked at me one day and said, “Where did you come from?” She was always the last person picked on a team – hurt her feelings, she said. I was usually one of the first as a kid.
My earliest memory was skiing down the little slope and some big guy falling in front of me. I’m sure I shut my eyes but Mom said I just did a spread eagle and went somehow around him.
I wasn’t the strongest in my arms so that ski tow – it was a rope you had to hang onto -was beyond me. But the instructor just gathered me up and gave me a bit of a push as he held onto me in front of him and held onto my hands on the rope. That was fun! Perhaps more fun than skiing down.
The next time I remember going skiing, I went with a group of friends – I was about 15 – in the Poconos.
They were all pretty good.
I, however, was not.
One of the guys graciously agreed to ski behind me so when I fell he could pick me up. That was beyond me, too.
It was either that time or another time. I was getting the hang of those chairs. But getting off – always exciting.
Although I had warned her, my best friend at the time lost her sense of humor when I fell taking her out with me. Neither of us were hurt except her ego.
She regained her sense of humor….eventually. After she gave me better instructions.
And then. Switzerland. Sooooo much nicer than the Poconos. So much harder, longer, steeper. Yikes.
The first morning the gals made sure I had the right equipment and rental skis. Gosh. THAT’s a production. Carrying all that gear, walking in those boots – I needed a Sherpa.
We gathered for the instructors to put us in groups of relative ability for the week.
They told each of us to ski down and stop.
At the bottom were the instructors.
My friends tried to send me first. I said no, I had to learn from them.
They skied down, stopped like they had down this before.
I pushed myself down and did a snowplow skid to the flat where I stopped.
The one instructor sent my friends to the left and me to the right.
Not wanting to be separated, I asked: Why are you putting me over here?
As only the Swiss can, he was blunt: Because you’re not as good as they are.
However, there was no English-speaking group. Almost all were German speaking groups. I don’t speak any German. Except little words from cruise ships with German crews: eingang (entrance), ausgang (exit), bitte (please or welcome), danke (thank you)
And one French group. I had learned a little French in school although it was hard in Paris – everyone spoke English and snorted at my attempts at French.
After much conferring though, the instructors decided to stick me with my French friends in the French speaking group, all of whom except me were pretty good skiers. We were in group level 4 our of 6.
The catch – 6 was the most experienced.
Oops.
Well this will be…..entertaining.
We rode the chair up. This time, I got off without taking anyone out. My friend’s pointers had taken. Phew. Or I was lucky. Hoped that luck held for the week.
The instructor had us ski two turns and then turn back toward the middle and stop.
Everyone followed him. I followed and went a little past the line unable to stop, sat down to stop, while sitting turned around and stood up.
The second time I did this, the guide looked through the line and said, “Victoria! What are yew dewing?”
Me: I’m busy. Don’t mind me (as I stood up).
I didn’t slow anyone down as long as he didn’t ask me what I was dewing.
We stopped for lunch on the mountain sitting outside. Some people had Gluvein (no idea how to spell it – but it’s wine with fruit in it – delicious). I only took a sip though – I needed not to be too flexible and definitely to have some wits about me.
Towards the end of the day, everyone but me was at the bottom of the one piste. The guide looked up and yelled, yet again: Victoria! What are yew dewing? Come down here right now!
Okay.
And I did.
I skied down on my skis, my derriere, and other parts. I watched as they all had growing looks of horror and that deer caught in headlights as it looked like I was going to do a strike and take them all out like bowling pins – the only strike I’d get that year.
Something of the lessons of the day must have taken hold as I was able to stop standing up, just in front of all of them just as if I knew what I was doing.
Except I had brought half the mountain of snow with me and covered all of them with it.
I’ll never forget the looks on their faces. Just not sure what to think.
We continued with the lessons. I have to say I got the most improved award. I usually do. Because no one else can start out that bad – one has to get a lot better….Or croak.
When we got to the bottom and finished for the day, our instructor said he was going to find a beginner group for me.
I boldly and guilelessly said, Please give me another day. I’ll be fine.
Frankly, I didn’t want to have to indoctrinate another instructor.
The instructor looked at me, sizing me up, if he were American he’d be sizing up his liability, Instead, I think he decided at least I was entertaining.
We had a fun dinner but I sure slept well that night.
The next day, I was probably graduating to the top half of the group.
He did all sorts of things like put your hat between your ankles and hold onto it. Fortunately someone was behind me because my ankles just don’t go together. I got my hat back.
He also had us ski down, lay back down, still skiing and stand back up. I tried it. Okay. Can do. Not the most comfortable.
This instructor was good. He gradually took us down more and more difficult pistes.
I basically learned how to get down a slope (other than a jump) maybe sideways but get down safely and standing.
One of the last days, we went to almost the top (bowl was closed) early. FRESH POWDER! WHAT a TREAT!
Now I know the joy of skiing. It was perfect – 2 inches of light powder. Beautiful sunny day.
The instructor had me follow next in line to him. A little bit of a challenge in that I tended to slow down a little more and had a bunch of people behind me. But following his tracks somewhat made me bolder. He knew this. (I still made my own tracks with his as a guide).
At one point, everyone had overtaken me, he yodeled up the mountain at me with all the echos: VEEEEEC TOOOOOR EE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Pliiiiii-eeeeeez les geeeee —-nouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuux!
I asked my French friend in English: What did he say?
She yelled: He said, “Pliez les genoux!”
It’s a good thing this was not an emergency –
I yelled back: I heard that – what does it mean?
FF: Bend your knees.
Ah. The penny dropped. All those years of ballet and doing pliez’s. They were just saying bend. (Bend the knees in fact).
Why am I always the last to know? or to figure these things out?
I tried pliez-ing my genoux – they don’t bend in those ski boots very well but I tried. I learned later, my idea of bending my knees was more sticking out my derriere. But the best instructors know that some people just don’t bend certain ways.
We floated down this huge, steep-ish bowl of light powder with a clear blue sky.
Glorious.
We were there for Valentine’s Day and one of the French girls, Mireille, wrote a Valentine’s card making it appear that the instructor had sent it. Pretty funny.
We went ice skating that night. We met the instructor’s family – cute kids, nice wife. That’s right: ski instructors are people too.
I stayed an extra couple of days since school didn’t start up again for a week.
The last day of skiing there I was on my own. I realized I really had been doing some great expert slopes but following a great instructor. On my own I thought: Oh boy. I have to get down.
So I heard the instructor in my head: VEEEEEEC-TOOOOOOOORRRRRR-EEEEEE-AAAAAAAH and pliez-ed my genoux as I took long wide traverses.
Great day. The mountain to myself. For a couple of hours.
What a glorious time.
The next day, I was exhausted, and it was dark and gloomy so I stayed in the village and took a break from skiing.
I learned later that it was the first day the bowl was open and that it was sunny above the dark and gloom. Maybe a metaphor for life.
I considered staying another day but was advised that the bowl would probably not be open the next day, or if it was, it had been crowded and not the greatest skiing the day before.
Time to go home. To Paris. With new memories of another great adventure and new skill learned along with some more French.
c. GCYI