It takes me two weeks to fully recover from jet-lag. By Thursday I had still not fully recovered from it. I woke early only to hop back into bed. I didn’t realise how fast time had flown by for when I next looked at the clock it read 7:30am. I woke the children so we could eat a buffet breakfast early and so we could get a good parking spot up the mountain. We don’t usually eat a big breakfast but whenever we pay for breakfast like how one does in a hotel, we always eat as if eating for two. I think the novelty of eating in a different dining room from one’s own always kicks up an appetite and this morning was no different. We took one of everything and ate only half of each—like how one might behave at one of those chocolate smorgas board buffet things that they put out at midnight on a cruise ship—you know, not being able to make up one’s mind which delectable to take and so ends up taking one of everything even when one knows that all he or she should take is enough to satisfy his or her appetite.

After breakfast I went to the reception to book our rooms for another night. The elderly gentleman at the reception was very gracious, very nice—I have warped views about most everything so when I say that a person is very nice, I’m also referring to one that doesn’t throw contorting faces at me when I speak their language. The receptionist was first class and treated me like I was royalty. (One thing I learned about being a secretary, or the front person of a company, is that the customer always comes first even when you know that you are right. This guy was certainly of that school.) Unfortunately our rooms were booked for that evening but the receptionist exhibited just how flexible he could be while under pressure by studying his guest list and shuffling names here and there so that we could spend another evening. When all was well, we hit the road.

When we drove up the mountain this time the children commented how it seemed as if we had driven it like 10 times already. It gets that way after driving it meticulously just once. One comes to know the bends in each turn; where the pot holes are; and how to prepare for the 360 degree turns, the one lane bridges, the tunnels. Driving the road alone early in the morning or late in the evening can be an errie experience like how one might imagine the road to heaven on earth might be, until one is joined by drivers who know the road like the back of their hand and make it a piece of hell. While I think driving like an idiot can sometimes be impressive, it’s also near abominable to see drivers overtaking at top speed on a mountain top narrow winding road, especially when overtaking at turns and not knowing what might be around the next corner. Madness.

This was our first time skiing. The last time we enjoyed some snow fun was when we were invited to go toboganing with friends five years ago. We spent two winters in upstate New York. When we first arrived we experienced a snow storm; the previous day we were in Australia experiencing one of their hottest summers—from one extreme to another! While we acclimatised we much preferred to admire the snow from the inside looking out. A day at the snow toboganing was SO much fun though that our minds were changed forever—we were all set on returning! The following week however, the snow had melted and would fall no more that season—for sure we kicked ourselves silly for not getting out more often. Some time later we moved to Texas where you will be lucky if it snowed once!

So there we were, feeling like thrill seekers already as we took the piste up to where we would ski—I swear I would have been happy if all I did was go up and down the mountain repeatedly in that little box! I thought it would take awhile for the children to get the hang of skiing, but they grasped it quickly. Fleur is going through an gangly stage and looked alittle awkward on the slope about ready to snap in half if she fell. Frightening until I saw her an hour later looking a picture of grace. Paris, the “I can do anything” sort of child looked as if she was born on the snow. I saw her racing down the slopes though and it made my heart skip a beat. I had to tell her that it was okay to ski slow. Our children have never really watched the winter Olympics or anything else to do with winter sports so I was surprised to see Paris especially, using an Alpine ski posture already.

By 11am the stiff boots on my feet were killing me so badly that I had to take my gear off and be resigned to watch Chase instead. Once I did, Chase’s skiing improved tenfold. I was amazed how all my admonishings of “stay here with me,” “don’t do that,” actually prevented him from progressing. It allowed him to take risks and then tackle the next run in no time. By noon however we found ourselves in such a cloud that it made seeing five meters ahead difficult—I wondered how anyone could ski in such conditions. It was the same after lunch but by that time the children had grown edgy and I had become confident in their abilities. Crazy.

By 5pm it was time to go. The weather had also turned drizzly and everyone was getting wet. We returned the equipment, made the descent down the mountain road to the hotel and there canceled our booking. I figured if it was going to be overcast and drizzly the next day it was best to go home that evening. It would also save us a couple hundred euros. All the shuffling that the receptionist had done for us had not gone unappreciated though. The drive home was only 2 hours (and some) this time because we took the tollway. I don’t enjoy the tollway as much the scenic routes but I wanted to get home. It was an awesome day though—one that the children will never forget. I keep telling Olivier of all the fun he had missed out on and he agreed that we should make it an annual outing.