Snow Day #3

left to right: Robert, Annie, Derrek, Blake, Zachariah, Amy, Molli, Me

Foppolo, Italy
January 9 & 10
(Sorry J, I stole a lot of this entry from an email, I sent you, I know, LAZY!)

The Alps were, oh my, pretty fantastic. For as long as I can remember, I have been afraid of skiing. I am not all that adventurous. In fact, I tend to dislike heights and speed. both equally despised and unfortunately both are very prevalent in Alpine skiing. But an opportunity to ski in the Alps, come on!? Right? You just really have to get over yourself.

So, 8 of us hopped in two cars at 6 am on Friday morning, after meeting to drink quick cappucinos in Noverasco. We took two cars, one for the guys (Blake, Robert, Zachariah, Derrek) and one for the girls (Annie, Molli, Amy and I) Annie, a little whipper snapper of a girl, an athlete, a hiker and smart wool long underwear wearer. Her gear is both cute AND functional. I kept kicking myself, because over break, I had intended to buy winter gear on the mere chance that I could get invited to go skiing in the Alps! But never got around to it, so instead had to go to Decathalon and pick up what I could. So, it was early morning and we were on our way. Molii was in the front seat and had never skied before. Amy was in the back and is not the ideal candidate for winter sports. She is someone who can't spend more than two minutes in the cold without her extremities turning a pale white color. She has some condition, a name I can never remember but sounds really quite scary and after our extravaganza in Istanbul, where her feet turned a pale grey color, I tend to feel a little uneasy about Amy in the cold.

The two hour drive wound us further up in elevation and Annie's little smart car struggled on the mountain pass to Foppolo without chains on the tires. Yet, before we knew it we were in our little somewhat smelly, one star hotel called the Stella Alpina, and was literally 200 yards from the ski lift. The slopes were empty and the sun shone on the mountain and I instantly wished I neither feared speed nor altitude. But, I am not sure the universe really allows us to choose what we should be scared of.

I found myself less nervous then I had ever been on a ski slope. The easiest slope was perfect, a steady decline that allowed me to gently swerve back and forth to the bottom. Molli accepted Annie's offer for a free lesson and did one run down the hill, before she decided that sitting in the sun was more her style. Sometime after lunch, Amy convinced me to head to the top of a much harder hill. It must have been the pizzoccheri, a buckwheat pasta with potatoes, that is drenched in equal parts butter and cheese, a typical mountain lunch, that gave me the courage to actually say, "sure".

Once we got to the summit, it was if I was standing on the top of the world. You can't stand on a place like that and not be a little reflective and well, in my case, absolutely terrified. The slope looked a lot steeper than I was ready for, so I basically had my puke face on and Amy started immediately apologizing!

Zach, who had joined the fun after he had seen my terrified face upon exiting the ski lift, tried with Amy to talk me down the hill. Which meant, I rolled down in one snowbally heap. Amy was laughing so hard that she almost peed her pants. The fact she only had one set of snow pants gave her the incentive to hold it in. Zach helped out by screaming, "You look hot!" remembering my early rule that I thought I should only do things I looked good doing. It was, as we say in Italian, a casino (HUGE MESS).

By the time, I actually made it to the bottom, it was four in the afternoon, a respectable time for me to stop. So I found Molli and a glass of wine and waited until the others were done. The rest of the group joined us and more wine was consumed. Luke warm showers were eventually taken and then we headed to dinner, which included an amazing steak tagliatta and red wine risotto that was pretty heavenly. More wine was poured as the almost full moon rose above the mountain, making the snow glisten. The mantra repeated in my head, "You went skiing in the Alps!"

The dinner, like all Italian dinners, lasted for hours. Finally, after the threats of midnight running competitions up the ski slope abated, we decided to finish the night with some hot mulled wine. By then, I was more than drunk on just the Alps. Eventually, we wandered our two hundred feet to Stella Alpina and crashed.

The next day consisted mostly of sitting in the sun of the resort, drinking tea and writing. For lunch, we all met at the top of the mountain. This time I rode the ski lift up and DOWN the mountain.