1/31/2004

Week four of snow boarding, the legend continues. :  The big difference this week was that Mike arrived to join our crusade against gravity and skiers. The conversation before Mike was typified by the phrases:
"It's cold out here."
"It's warm in here."
"Why isn't it warm in here?"
"Guess what, it's snowing."
"I can't see anything."

After Mike had arrived, our repertoire of conversational gambits expanded to include the immortal lines, "Got any cheese?" and "I think I've broken my other thumb too."

He arrived from England in the land of cheese and garlic with eight cans of Heinz baked beans, and a big lump of English cheddar. When not eating cheese, or drinking Sire de Beaupre, Mike was falling down and injuring himself with a plank strapped to his feet. His tendency to gather momentum and his inability to turn made for entertaining viewing, as he sped straight down any slope he encountered to another limb-splaying accident.

posted by Garreth at 3:50 PM

Lyon airport :  A man walks past murdering a cheap cigar. A waiter empties the airport cafe ashtrays of filthy dead Gitanes butts. The tannoy chimes and a woman`s voice announces in two languages that smoking is forbidden anywhere in the airport by law. I suppress the gag of a non smoker in a cloud of death, and feel sad that I have missed my friends` wedding through ill health.
posted by Garreth at 1:28 PM

1/24/2004

Snowboarding - the onslaught continues. :  The instructors double-teamed our boarding class for week three. Twelve of us were hounded and harried through deep snow and rocky gullies by the galvanic Sandrine and the enigmatic Vincent. Vincent was defined by his ski-slope nose, and the hispid mucous icicles that hang below it. Sandrine was the bouncy cheerleader of the group, and told us that things were "coooool" and constantly laughed and asked my legs and board if they were fine as they protruded vertically from the snow. I generally lied and responded with a new french way of saying that I was excellent, marvellous, fantastic.

We needed two instructors - one to show us a decent route through the rocks, and another to bring up the rear and make sure any stragglers could dig themselves out of whatever snow drift they had planted their faces into. The stragglers were generally R and I.

Week three saw my body build up a tolerance to the cocktails of codeine, paracetemol and ibuprofen that had previously helped me float on the deep snow. By Wednesday I had started topping them up with extra ibuprofen and chocolate on the mid-lesson chairlift. My legs were about two million years before jelly in the evolutionary process by the end of Thursday's two and a half hour tour of virgin powder. R and I had been the snow anchors of the group, trying to swim and dig ourselves out of self-made craters as the other ten sat waiting for us as usual. Sandrine summed it up, "No good. When you 'ave no legs, you 'ave no legs."

On Friday, we waited for Vincent and Sandrine to arrive and start the lesson. As normal, we had assembled by the markers which denoted the experience level of the students. A new boarder turned up and asked if our group was the advanced off-piste group. I didn't think so, but a Dutch guy in our group corrected me. I looked at the markers again, and noticed for the first time that our group was in fact assembled by the marker labeled "Advanced Performance Snowboard". This marker was right next to the one labeled "Snowboard 2". The former is for head cases who have been boarding for four years, and can do anything on any surface. The latter is for intermediates who have two weeks of experience. "What kind of idiot puts these two markers next to each other?" I thought to myself.

The lesson started and we took a few lifts to get above the clouds. On a third lift, I quizzed Sandrine about the markers and the fact that we had clearly been in the wrong group for the last six days. She admitted that R and I were at the bottom of the group, and didn't have half as much experience as the other students. She'd let us stay because we had motivation and good humour and spirit. Amazing what sort of trouble painkillers and lies can get you into I thought, as we exitted the Stannah chairlift, and headed under an orange rope which cordonned off a steep and rocky crevice. Italy was below us, and the sign on the rope said, "Danger, do not cross". Beyond lay a near vertical descent.
posted by Garreth at 3:41 AM

1/22/2004

Yes, Sire :  The Sherpa supermarket is the best place to pick up some two and a half Euro shampain - Sire de Beaupre. Not strictly from the champagne region, but it does fire the plastic cork out at an obscene rate of knots due to the low atmospheric pressure here - some 2.3km above the level where it was bottled.

R: Shall we neck some Sire de Beaupre, drink of kings before the sauna?
Me: Er. Probably not the best idea to neck the fizzy piss now. Not when it's warm and we've got no glasses. Let's use the sauna first. My muscles need time to recover.

We arrived at the sauna.

R: We'd like to use the sauna
Sauna jerk: It's eleven Euros to use the pool, hammam, sauna, jacuzzis, blah, blah, blah....
Me: Does it get cheaper later?
Sauna jerk: Yes, it is only nine Euros after six thirty. In ten minutes.
Me: OK, we'll be back then, thanks.

Eleven minutes, an exploding cork, and one bottle of warm Sire de Beaufre later, we presented ourselves to the sauna.

R: We'd like to use the sauna.

Much sweating and dizziness later, we collapsed. I managed to get out of bed the next day in time for the sixth and final afternoon lesson.
posted by Garreth at 3:36 AM

1/19/2004

When it's good, it's very very good, but when it's bad, it's wicked. :  Yesterday, I hated snowboarding. I adjusted my boots and bindings constantly, complained about the pain in my feet. I swore, I sulked, I moped. I decided the best way to enjoy snowboarding was using a PlayStation 2, SSX Tricky and a nice warm bed with no boots on.

This morning I hated snowboarding. I fell, I nearly suffocated three times in the personal avalanches I started with my face. The instructors had all but christened me "Ca va Ron?" as they constantly inquired about my health. This afternoon, I realised that snowboards aren't necessarily reversible, and put my bindings back the right way. This meant the long part of the board was at the front and my face was mostly above the snow. I was no longer attacking the slopes ass-backwards.

The sun broke through the nine day long snow storm, a broad grin spread above my snow-free beard. I groated merrily through virgin pouf, which I presume means powder. I buzzed, I forgot about my feet, I gibbered ecstatically to strangers on chairlifts, I laughed and whooped, soared and floated.
posted by Garreth at 5:05 AM

1/17/2004

Board stiff :  Week one of snowboarding was about fear. Fear and pain.

Week two was about confidence and fear. And pain. And violent snow storms.

Our instructor for week one was an insipid thin lipped character called Stefan. Barely a smile crossed his face as he went through the motions of repeating:

"Weight on the front leg"

"On the frontside, for the goofy, turn the harms first and the upper body, and the board will follow"

"Keep the legs bent"

Week two saw us under the tiny wing of a charasmatic instructor called Claudio. For the first few days, all we saw of him was his jaw, his goggles, and his red ski ecole francais outfit. Eventually, he manager to get us into a bar for a break, and we saw that he had eyes and a bit of hair too. Week two was about enjoying yourself. For the people who were lagging behind and falling over, this meant that Claudio offered them the opportunity to enjoy themselves at their leisure rather than in our lesson - he offered them the chance to, "Get some rest."

Claudio looked like a supermario brother - small and flexible, and prone at the drop of a hat to bounce around, spin, and collect a magic star from an imaginary ceiling. Instruction was subtle, and we were constantly surprised at how many limbs still worked after each foray into the week-long blizzard. Claudio was wrinkled with stories - how he had been in three avalanches in his previous job as an avalanche starter. Claudio would bounce on his board and chime out cryptic ideas about snowboarding. There was rarely any concrete instruction except for the talentless Jim and Darren who would appear ten minutes late into the midst of the waiting class covered in snow and excuses. Claudio was more indirect. He would proclaim things like a Jedi instructor:

"Feel the snow - don't look - maybe listen, but really feel"

He would mutter french profanities constantly, and then issue another vague commandment:

"Play with the slope, feel your position."
"Don't be afraid. You are obliged to take the slope."
"Ice is the henemy of the snow boarder. With no visibility, sure we are afraid, and even to someone of my level, we can be surprised by the snow, but we must flow."
"In the deep snow, be gentle. You are the boss of your board."

The best thing about Claudio was his knack for suggesting shelter from the storms in whatever bar was available. Rum and ibuprofen made the lessons fly by.
posted by Garreth at 10:16 AM

The battle for Val Thorens :  I woke with a start after another night sweaty nightmares. The explosions had started earlier than usual today - around six before first light. Perhaps our side is losing the war - from the volume and the echoes around the valley, it was clear that the explosions were getting closer.

A quick check of my body reminded my brain of the pains and suffering that the enemy had visited upon it in the preceeding weeks. Static discomfort emanated from shoulders and my second favourite knee. As I raised myself from the bed, the dynamic sufferings resumed - a mangled hip-flexor, ripped triceps and a neck that refused to cover more than half it's regular range of motion.

Stumbling around for tablets to block out the war, I set foot into camp. I noticed the transports weren't moving, and this meant that supplies would still not be forthcoming. More than a camp, everything appeared to belong to a construction site. Bulldozers were forcing their way up snow packed paths on huge chained tyres, and monster trucks received shovels full of snow to ferry it further down the mountain, probably to sell it on the black market to parched north africans.

Explosions resound in the valleys as a continuous soundtrack to the war. Was it a war against french and Dutch skiers trying to push in front of you in the queues for lifts? Was it a race war against the so-called french? We didn't know we just followed orders. Go up the hill on a lift. Come down the slopes on a plank. Keep your eyes peeled. Watch out for avalanches. Stay alert. We were just gravity puppets. It was an unpopular war. We had lost the support of the tax-payers back home.
posted by Garreth at 10:10 AM

Random quote of the day :  "I am cleverer than you, and that's why I'm the bass player in this pop group."
posted by Garreth at 10:07 AM

Bruise pristine :  Fredrich Nietzsche never snowboarded. If it doesn't kill me, it makes me less likely to be able to walk next year. For pity's sake, did Nietzsche not understand atrophy and distrophy?

posted by Garreth at 10:06 AM

1/15/2004

Snake onions :  My boarding buddy is a reptile. His mediterranian mother admitted that he is never happy below 30 degrees centigrade. Our handy thermometer on the balcony advises us that it would have to be eleven degree hotter for water to melt outside.

What do reptiles do when it's cold? They seem to eat a good deal of raw onions. Conservative estimates put my buddie's sleep total for yesterday at around 15 hours.

posted by Garreth at 10:06 AM

1/14/2004

Ibuprofen :  "Snow board instruction is a business. So perhaps the instructors know the secret of snow boarding , but they don't tell you. They want to keep you turning up for lessons, always chasing the elusive secret."

"No, I reckon the instructors don't know themselves how they do it. They just look at people and can't understand why they keep falling over. It's natural to them to carve their way down the piste, and they have no idea what people are doing wrong."

"Could be that they are unconsciously competent. Or it might be that Ecole Ski Francais puts something in their breakfast every morning so that they forgot how to instruct. After breakfast all the can say is what they've been trained to say during electro-convulsive therapy sessions: 'And now peeevot', 'Weight on the front leg', 'Straight wiz ze upper body, and harms out for balaaance'."

"Or it might be that all there is to it is leaning forward, pivotting, and having a straight upper body. And we just haven't managed to do all three things at once yet. Maybe there is no secret, maybe they really do want us to learn."

"No, I wouldn't have thought so. It's much more likely to be drugs in their breakfasts, or some conspiracy to keep you going back for lessons. Nothing to do with our inability to follow simple instruction."


There's a woman with one leg being taught how to ski here in Les Menuires. A rope around her waist connects her to her instructor, who only uses one ski himself to follow her progress. There are small children, maybe only five years old, trussed up in protective helmets and fancy ski-wear. The mini-pupils stream down in a conga after their instructor, who often will tow a less confident child with a ski-pole. And there are accidents on the slopes. An upright crossed pair of skis and poles demarks that there is a prone person awaiting a sledge to be strapped onto, before being towed by a mountain rescuer to safety, and to somewhere they can have their bones re-straightened and their joints re-socketed.

Lastly, there is me. I am learning to snowboard. I am learning that falling over is a sport. I am learning that when I do fall over, if I carry on moving and get back to my feet, then I appear more skilled. One thing that is sure to make me fall over is my instructor, Stefan. Stefan with the long scar down his face and jaw, whose origin I daren't enquire about. Perhaps lion taming gave him the mark. Perhaps it was a treacherous rock on some off-piste helicopter skiing adventure. But it is not the sight of Stefan's scar that makes me lose my concentration and head into the snow face first. It is his unnerving ability to spot when I am concentrating on a tricky manoeuvre such as trying to avoid a tree. When he spots these moments, he yells my name. Then he yells advice in a strong french accent, such as, "Peevot ze back leg!"

The sound of my name is enough though. My head turns to better hear the advice about to issue forth from Stefan's direction. As my head turns, my shoulders move, my hips break rank, my legs lose sight of their mission, and as I hear the word, "peevot", I slam into the snow. If I was a dog and Stefan's other name was Pavlov, I'm sure I would associate trying to pivot my back leg with falling, pain and a beardful of snow. Maybe this is the anti-training in play that forces people to learn so slowly. Maybe this is why I keep going back for more lessons.

The other things that make me wipe out on the snow are never apparent to me until I hit them. They are the first three things I mentioned that I share the snow with. I generally crash into small children, the skiing monoped, or people awaiting medical attention.
posted by Garreth at 10:02 AM

1/12/2004

Meteorology is the new chiropracty :  Apparently it is raining outside or it hasn't snowed for two days if you check out snow reports for Val Thorens. Poppycock. It has been snowing solidly for two days. Obviously I only want to check weather forecasts, but if the meteorologists can't even tell what the weather is like right now, then I don't really have much faith in their forecasts. Do you need qualifications to be a weather forecaster? Or just some tea-leaves, some hallucinogens, and a goat skull necklace. Maybe weather forecasting was invented by a grocer in Michigan too.
posted by Garreth at 3:10 AM

Sevens :  Seven days of snowboarding with no major limb breakages. Sure, mistakes have been made, the musculo-skeletal system has taken a beating, and I can only rotate my head to the left, but I can still limp without painkillers.

Seven hours waiting for the keys to our four bed apartment in Le Joker in Val Thorens. Nothing like sitting in a shopping centre with all of your luggage and some skanky pizza all day. It all started to go wrong with the champagne breakfast to celebrate. We had a few things to celebrate - surviving the first week of boarding, the impending move up the mountain, and the low price of champagne. It was only after two bottles that I found out that the accommodation listed on our holiday 'voucher' did not exist. It took four hours to get this changed to existing accommodation (always handy) and a further three hours to get into it.

Seven beds in our outrageously large four bed apartment in Le Joker in Val Thorens. Come and join us.

Seven people starting our snowboard class. Seven years old the little girl who was one or two decades younger than all the other pupils.

Instructor: "What level are you? How many weeks have you been snowboarding?"
Little girl: "I don't know - I'm a novice really."
Instructor: "Can you do linked turns on a blue run?"
Little girl's pushy father: "Yes, she is quite proficient. She should be in the one week experience group."
Instructor: "OK. That's us. Let's go!"

Two minutes later we are waiting at the bottom of a gentle slope for the little girl. The instructor casts aside his board and walks up looking for her. Tears ensue. Pushy father insist she should be in the group. Girl rubs her leg in pain. Instructor talks to pushy father. Pushy father protests. Little girl looks simultaneously embarrassed and scared.

Six people remain in our snowboard class.

Seven inches of snow in the last day have settled on our balcony. A fraction of the depth on the pistes, but harder to make progress on, given the limited turning space.

Seven inches of visibility in howling snow squalls on the pistes. You can see your nose, but not the ground, rocks, posts, instructors and small children - the inevitable casualties of snow-war.
posted by Garreth at 2:57 AM

1/08/2004

French Tourist Information :  The Tourist Information Centres here in the Alps offer a dreadful internet service. Do not expect too much from the blog until I master French keyboards.
posted by Garreth at 10:02 AM