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ventaAt the back end of last year, five of us who knew each other at university got together for dinner for the first time in ages. We brought along our respective other halves, and had a jolly evening eating curry in a house in St John's Wood.
Four of the couples live in London(ish, if you count St Albans). The fifth has taken up residence in Munich and, recently, bought a holiday home in Austria. A general invitation was issued to visit them, which I mentally filed as the sort of polite thing people say.
However our Christmas card this year, and then a follow-up email, suggested we really should visit. ChrisC and I had said we were learning to ski (in the snow dome at Milton Keynes), would we like to visit before the end of the ski season and try some real snow?
We consulted air fares, compared calendars, and decided we would. So a week ago on Friday I took the afternoon off, trundled to Heathrow on the train, and hopped on a plane to Munich[*]. Rachel and Patrick met us at the airport, scooped us into their snarly black 4x4, and whizzed us down to Salzburgerland. We paused briefly before the border to eat dinner in an Italian restaurant with the most weirdly avant-garde menu I've seen in a while. I ordered "carbonara risotto", which turned out to be ham risotto, topped with a whole egg yolk, cheese croutons and prosciutto crisps, and jolly nice too.
The forecast was for snow that evening, and all the way south Rachel had been eyeing up the thermometer, and the sky, and the dreadful rain, and repeatedly chiding it. Not cold enough! We reached one end of their ski resort, in rain, which turned to sleet, and then even more suddenly to snow. By the time we'd climbed the remaining few bends to their apartment it was snowing heavily and I realised why they have such a snarly 4x4 (and why it has winter tyres, and why Patrick has done a lot of training for snow- and ice-driving).
The following morning, eating porridge, I gazed out of the windows at the mountains, and the trees, and the ski lifts... Rachel had assured me there were mountains the previous evening, but in the dark they'd been invisible. Now I looked out onto a ridiculously lovely alpine landscape, seeing the first early-morning skiers flying past the window in the lifts.
They took us to get kitted out with skis and boots (with me in borrowed skiing gear which would have almost fitted if Rachel weren't a good few inches taller), and eventually delivered us to the Baby Slope. We'd expected just to be left there, but they both stayed with us, offering advice and showing us how to use the drag lift.
Now, I am a very beginner skier. I had commented earlier in the day that during my lessons at the snow dome I hadn't yet fallen over (except for once, overbalancing when removing my skis after the lesson). I claimed I was saving up for something truly catastrophic.
I was, of course :) The Baby Slope is, for the most part, very gentle. However, the first 50 feet or so are (to me!) very steep and I just couldn't quite keep my speed under control. I inadvertently descended the steepest part headfirst, on my back, lying along the length of my skis before I had the wit to fall sideways and thus slow myself down.
Despite repeated efforts, I never quite got the hang of the steep bit at the top. I fell over in a variety of humorous ways, culminating in managing to pull Rachel over with me, lose both my skis, and kick myself heavily in the shin. By lunchtime I was worn out, a little dispirited, and felt like I was constantly sliding in all directions. We went back to the apartment for a little sit down, before walking up to a chalet half way down a red route where Rachel and Patrick joined us for a lunch.
Perusing the menu, I figured I could translate Speckknödel (ham dumplings) but not Kaspressknödel. Nor could anyone else, despite having eaten them. In the end I ordered soup with both in, and I still wasn't sure what they were :) (The internet suggests that they're made rather like I make stuffing, only with cheese in, and then fried.)
We managed a little more skiing before it got dark, at which point I was in favour of bonding with the sofa. However! The alternative being offered was a walk down through the village, and further mile walk up a steep hill. With a bar at the top. Much as I like bars it still wasn't enticing, despite admitting that a walk would probably do me good. Then it was mentioned that one can hire a sledge to get you back down the hill again. We set off.
The village was pretty, full of the sorts of buildings that look like they've been built for tourists, but which Austrians give every impression of just building anyway. The hill, when we met it, was really quite steep. And all hairpins. Largely unfenced hairpins. I began to wonder quite seriously about the wisdom of sledging down it in the dark. Despite the rather offhand notice at the bottom warning you that the footpath was also the sledging route, we met no sledges on the way up.
After beer, hot chocolate, or Gluhwein (to taste), we paid the bill, casually ordering "and four sledges, please". I actually missed the instructions (because I was browsing the bar's schnapps distillery), but had them relayed: first garage on the right, pick a sledge, leave it at the bottom.
The sledges were old fashioned wooden affairs, with plaited plastic seats. Braking and steering are done by sticking your feet out. Feeling slightly better having seen a large party set off (including smallish children), I rather tentatively slid myself downhill.
And it turns out sledging is fun. The course was a mile long, and though I came down it in a manner than an ungenerous person might describe as rather slow and wussy, I enjoyed it immensely. Steering is a bit approximate, but not that hard (though certainly harder than the party of pedestrians who made me a tiny little gap to pass through seemed to think). On arrival home we extracted stew from the oven for a very convivial dinner.
When I got up on Sunday morning it was snowing. Not hard but persistently; dropping tiny, fine flakes over everything. ChrisC and I were booked in for a group lesson, so we attached ourselves to the group and returned again to the Baby Slope. The lesson was for "beginners", and covered very basic things that we had already learned - however, for me at least, it was very useful for rebuilding some of the confidence I'd lost on the icy, bumpy snow of the day before. The lesson was delivered alternately in German and English, meaning I now know a whole bunch of German ski vocabulary as well :)
It carried on snowing. And suddenly everything was easier. Powdery snow slows you down, so gaining too much speed was no longer a problem. I was no longer in constant danger of slipping sideways, and could move around much more easily. In short, everything was a lot more enjoyable. Some parts of my sliding downhill even felt like actual skiing :) Sadly, the unfamiliarity of ski boots was beginning to take its toll and my shins were sore. Eventually we gave in and skied home along a short section of piste which passes right by our hosts' front door. Rachel and Patrick had been off careering around in thigh-deep powder off-piste somewhere, but came and joined us for a very late lunch.
And, eventually, we went and paid for our ski hire and the lesson. I'd been quite surprised at them just letting us wander off with skis and boots the previous day. After the lesson the ski-school owner did ask if we'd paid, but seemed happy with assurances that we would when we returned the gear. Very trusting people, these Austrians :)
And then it was a long trip home again. I'm so not a go-to-Europe-for-the-weekend kind of person, that I'm now finding it slightly hard to believe that a week last Sunday I was standing on skis, in the snow, on an alpine mountainside.
We haven't had a Designated Hero of the Week in ages, but Rachel and Patrick are jointly awarded DHW for being lovely people, good company, excellent hosts and kind friends.
[*] We went directly from London to Munich, skipping the New York and Paris stages.
--
Four of the couples live in London(ish, if you count St Albans). The fifth has taken up residence in Munich and, recently, bought a holiday home in Austria. A general invitation was issued to visit them, which I mentally filed as the sort of polite thing people say.
However our Christmas card this year, and then a follow-up email, suggested we really should visit. ChrisC and I had said we were learning to ski (in the snow dome at Milton Keynes), would we like to visit before the end of the ski season and try some real snow?
We consulted air fares, compared calendars, and decided we would. So a week ago on Friday I took the afternoon off, trundled to Heathrow on the train, and hopped on a plane to Munich[*]. Rachel and Patrick met us at the airport, scooped us into their snarly black 4x4, and whizzed us down to Salzburgerland. We paused briefly before the border to eat dinner in an Italian restaurant with the most weirdly avant-garde menu I've seen in a while. I ordered "carbonara risotto", which turned out to be ham risotto, topped with a whole egg yolk, cheese croutons and prosciutto crisps, and jolly nice too.
The forecast was for snow that evening, and all the way south Rachel had been eyeing up the thermometer, and the sky, and the dreadful rain, and repeatedly chiding it. Not cold enough! We reached one end of their ski resort, in rain, which turned to sleet, and then even more suddenly to snow. By the time we'd climbed the remaining few bends to their apartment it was snowing heavily and I realised why they have such a snarly 4x4 (and why it has winter tyres, and why Patrick has done a lot of training for snow- and ice-driving).
The following morning, eating porridge, I gazed out of the windows at the mountains, and the trees, and the ski lifts... Rachel had assured me there were mountains the previous evening, but in the dark they'd been invisible. Now I looked out onto a ridiculously lovely alpine landscape, seeing the first early-morning skiers flying past the window in the lifts.
They took us to get kitted out with skis and boots (with me in borrowed skiing gear which would have almost fitted if Rachel weren't a good few inches taller), and eventually delivered us to the Baby Slope. We'd expected just to be left there, but they both stayed with us, offering advice and showing us how to use the drag lift.
Now, I am a very beginner skier. I had commented earlier in the day that during my lessons at the snow dome I hadn't yet fallen over (except for once, overbalancing when removing my skis after the lesson). I claimed I was saving up for something truly catastrophic.
I was, of course :) The Baby Slope is, for the most part, very gentle. However, the first 50 feet or so are (to me!) very steep and I just couldn't quite keep my speed under control. I inadvertently descended the steepest part headfirst, on my back, lying along the length of my skis before I had the wit to fall sideways and thus slow myself down.
Despite repeated efforts, I never quite got the hang of the steep bit at the top. I fell over in a variety of humorous ways, culminating in managing to pull Rachel over with me, lose both my skis, and kick myself heavily in the shin. By lunchtime I was worn out, a little dispirited, and felt like I was constantly sliding in all directions. We went back to the apartment for a little sit down, before walking up to a chalet half way down a red route where Rachel and Patrick joined us for a lunch.
Perusing the menu, I figured I could translate Speckknödel (ham dumplings) but not Kaspressknödel. Nor could anyone else, despite having eaten them. In the end I ordered soup with both in, and I still wasn't sure what they were :) (The internet suggests that they're made rather like I make stuffing, only with cheese in, and then fried.)
We managed a little more skiing before it got dark, at which point I was in favour of bonding with the sofa. However! The alternative being offered was a walk down through the village, and further mile walk up a steep hill. With a bar at the top. Much as I like bars it still wasn't enticing, despite admitting that a walk would probably do me good. Then it was mentioned that one can hire a sledge to get you back down the hill again. We set off.
The village was pretty, full of the sorts of buildings that look like they've been built for tourists, but which Austrians give every impression of just building anyway. The hill, when we met it, was really quite steep. And all hairpins. Largely unfenced hairpins. I began to wonder quite seriously about the wisdom of sledging down it in the dark. Despite the rather offhand notice at the bottom warning you that the footpath was also the sledging route, we met no sledges on the way up.
After beer, hot chocolate, or Gluhwein (to taste), we paid the bill, casually ordering "and four sledges, please". I actually missed the instructions (because I was browsing the bar's schnapps distillery), but had them relayed: first garage on the right, pick a sledge, leave it at the bottom.
The sledges were old fashioned wooden affairs, with plaited plastic seats. Braking and steering are done by sticking your feet out. Feeling slightly better having seen a large party set off (including smallish children), I rather tentatively slid myself downhill.
And it turns out sledging is fun. The course was a mile long, and though I came down it in a manner than an ungenerous person might describe as rather slow and wussy, I enjoyed it immensely. Steering is a bit approximate, but not that hard (though certainly harder than the party of pedestrians who made me a tiny little gap to pass through seemed to think). On arrival home we extracted stew from the oven for a very convivial dinner.
When I got up on Sunday morning it was snowing. Not hard but persistently; dropping tiny, fine flakes over everything. ChrisC and I were booked in for a group lesson, so we attached ourselves to the group and returned again to the Baby Slope. The lesson was for "beginners", and covered very basic things that we had already learned - however, for me at least, it was very useful for rebuilding some of the confidence I'd lost on the icy, bumpy snow of the day before. The lesson was delivered alternately in German and English, meaning I now know a whole bunch of German ski vocabulary as well :)
It carried on snowing. And suddenly everything was easier. Powdery snow slows you down, so gaining too much speed was no longer a problem. I was no longer in constant danger of slipping sideways, and could move around much more easily. In short, everything was a lot more enjoyable. Some parts of my sliding downhill even felt like actual skiing :) Sadly, the unfamiliarity of ski boots was beginning to take its toll and my shins were sore. Eventually we gave in and skied home along a short section of piste which passes right by our hosts' front door. Rachel and Patrick had been off careering around in thigh-deep powder off-piste somewhere, but came and joined us for a very late lunch.
And, eventually, we went and paid for our ski hire and the lesson. I'd been quite surprised at them just letting us wander off with skis and boots the previous day. After the lesson the ski-school owner did ask if we'd paid, but seemed happy with assurances that we would when we returned the gear. Very trusting people, these Austrians :)
And then it was a long trip home again. I'm so not a go-to-Europe-for-the-weekend kind of person, that I'm now finding it slightly hard to believe that a week last Sunday I was standing on skis, in the snow, on an alpine mountainside.
We haven't had a Designated Hero of the Week in ages, but Rachel and Patrick are jointly awarded DHW for being lovely people, good company, excellent hosts and kind friends.
[*] We went directly from London to Munich, skipping the New York and Paris stages.
--
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Date: 2014-02-20 07:23 am (UTC)