RubbishWife

A Postcard from the Alps #2

 

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The Hotel Rustique is quaint beyond all quaintness. The key to the room has to be kept on our personage all day, which is a tad annoying due to the cowbell attached to it. I’m feeling more and more like Heidi everyday with it clanging in my bag. In support of the rustic mountain look, I’m now sporting a Heidi-esque hue to my nose and cheeks from the excess of sun and mountain air but I haven’t gone for plaits just yet. The climb to the top floor is proving more effort than the skiing- at least that’s downhill. Four flights of stairs including the drying room is more than enough for anyone, without lugging jackets, boots and helmets along for the ride. To quote AlphaMale, ‘You’ll have thighs like Sampson Lee by Friday Mrs.’ Which is possibly not the most encouraging of images. If you don’t know who Sampson Lee is google him but be warned, it’s not pretty.

Three days of glorious blue skies have led to a complete whiteout today with blizzards and Baltic temperatures. I’m not a fair weather person by any means, but diving off a mountain when you can’t actually see anything is beyond my comprehension. To whit, we are having a rest day today- a most welcome treat after the Accidental Black Incident yesterday. I’ll explain. Not having my glasses on means having to rely on AM to read the piste maps- I just follow blindly along. Heading down from the top of the mountain towards a well earned pizza yesterday lunchtime, we got half way down when he suddenly ground to a halt. Assuming we were looking at the view I stopped next to him, only to be greeted with, ‘Ah, oh, erm. We may be on an accidental black Mrs.’

An accidental black is code for ‘I’ve messed up and taken a wrong turn and the only way down is very steep’. And steep it was. At one point the steepness split in half, with one way looking decidedly steep and bumpy and the other decidedly steep and narrow. I opted for steep and bumpy- or moguls in ski terminology. I vaguely know the trick for moguls- you turn on the bumps and ride down the troughs. Good enough in theory but I seemed to have┬ásome form of communication breakdown between brain and feet and I made a complete hash of it. In my defence I didn’t fall down- it may not have been the most gracious descent in the world and it won’t win any prizes but I made it. Think Eddie the Eagle but in pink gloves and goggles. There may even be a film about me one day, who knows?

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