Description: ‘What’s that purple stuff all over the floor? Look, there’s some more…’
The Blonde and I were struggling into our ski gear when we realised that some of it had crossed the line between ‘classic vintage’ and ‘just plain old’. As we trudged to the nearest hire shop leaving a trail of footwear in our wake, the Blonde worked out that she’d got the disintegrating boots some time before her first kiss, which, in shoe years at least, is getting on some.
After providing the hire shop guys with an amusing old equipment anecdote that they would be using for days to come and purchasing our ski passes, we made our way to the Rochebrune téléphérique. The attention I drew during that first ascent up the mountain suggested that we should have put a little more business the hire shop’s way. Having skis that stand out above people’s heads are a source of some amusement these days. The long thin blades of 10 to 15 years ago have been replaced by short, fat ‘edging’ skis which make the whole tricky business of staying upright a sight easier. The Blonde looked rueful behind her cool new shades; I glanced around in blissful ignorance – at the time I knew little of my
faux-pas. About an hour later, after further pitying looks, some untidy tumbles and strenuous pursuits of runaway skis, I understood.
Our ski passes (€31.50/day) covered us for 160 pistes and 89 lifts of various shapes and amusing mounting styles around Megève and its surrounding villages – far more than we could possibly cover in a day. We restricted ourselves to a fairly leisurely exploration of the slopes around Rochebrune; my limited competence (1 week in an Austrian ski
schule 9 years ago does not an expert make) determining the route more often than not. Fortunately Megève is a beginner-friendly resort with a significant number of green and blue runs to provide the novice with a reassuring introduction. With the unstinting and over-flattering support of the Blonde and the rest of our party, I graduated to a couple of red runs before the day was out and can readily vouch for the challenge they present, to which some of my eccentric approaches to stopping testified.
Under a cloudless April sky we enjoyed a wonderful day’s skiing. All the ingredients were there: plenty of snow, uncrowded lifts, well-placed
refuges offering Savoyard classics and enough
vin chaud to make the final descent a little hairier than it ought to have been. The slushy snow made conditions less than perfect as the day wore on, but that’s the price you pay for skiing under beautiful sunshine at the end of the season. The Blonde demonstrated the elegant style that can only come from growing up in the shadow of the mountains, while I, during brief periods of competence, remembered why I fell in love with the sport all those years ago.
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