Well, I am here to tell the tale of my absolutely brilliant little skiing Saree which I embarked upon this weekend. My wonderful hosts told me a few weeks ago that we would be taking a little trip and I was not sure if it would be in Andorra or somewhere else I have never been to before, and if you look at the pictures below you will see the exact region we went to Baqueira-Beret, which is in the Pyrenees. You know the range which boarders France and Spain? Well you do now.
After finishing Spanish Class, and being told I was to drop back to weeks 1 and 2 instead of progressing to weeks 3 and 4 - probably summat to do with emailing my new man for 3 hours a night instead of learning my verb-i-os; I legged it back to the casa to get my ski essentials packed - you know - shiny pink lip gloss, Prada shades, first aid kit, beer money and thermals. Sarah and I waited for Jose Ramon to get off work and we set off North West of Barca towards the mountains. It was dark so I had only the little bit of Internet browsing scanned earlier in the week to help me gain some idea of the gorgeousness I was missing. Boy was I in for a treat.
The Hotel was called the Apple Tree, and was hotter than the surface of the sun, which made me begin to worry about the next days temperatures, not that it would bother me as I would be remaining vertical all day - surely...Anyway we were tired as it was now 1am. No time for reading the rest of Brideshead Revisited - Does Charles ever get Sebastian into bed I wonder? Don't tell me, don't tell me. I have nearly got to the sex scene.
Breakfast consisted of lots of dead pigs, dead ducks and dead sausages, all very fatty, but good energy food so it was devoured with a few slices of white toast. I must say white bread is all the rage here, such a shame when it took me nearly 2 years to wheen me off the stuff. I digress. I made sure I ate as much as possible because I had heard somewhere that skiing burned off lots of calories. I had about 2k, enough or so I presumed. I hiredski poles and ski, ski, skis - ah yes that's their name. It was only 35 euros for a two day lend and the man measured me with a bit of old wood and an old fashioned shoe measure like one used to get clamped into in Clarks' as a kid. Off sky, ready for the slopes.
I must say the drive was slow, winding and queish. Everyone was planning on taking a little trip to the slopes it seemed, mind you looking round one can not imagine doing anything but. I was a bit perturbed my the numerous foot prints in the snow and was beginning to thing that a Puma, bear or Yettie was gonna grab me if I decided to go off piste. Once we arrived we started the long process of trying to squeeze one's feet into what seemed like fit for dwarfs and midgets feet only ski boots - Squashed, painful and totally unnatural. Now you have to remember my skiing knowledge is limited, well, was and I was absolutely shitting icicles at the thought of hurtling down a slope, covered in ice and snow, which seemed to resemble a very long version of something Eddie the Eagle Edwards may have reluctantly thrown himself down numerous years ago, you know when he was pseudo-cool-chic? It is a good job Jose was there, however he did let me have a go before he taught me the basics. Much to his amusement, I swanked down a vertical drop at 2,500 feet like a screaming banshee with her fingers caught in a car door. He could not stop laughing, especially at my stopping technique which consisted of launching myself sideways onto the snow, past the barriers and with a massive whack to the right hip bone. Nice.
After smacking into a cable car lamp post-type pole, covered in luminous orange padding, loosing a ski and virtually breaking my neck, Jose told me that I had to walk before I could run, or ski like I was on the loo before I could get down the mountain in a speedy manner. All this falling business would have to stop and I would need to concentrate and act like a total beginner before I could try and be a successful skier. He should have really listened to his own advice, as when we were due to miss the last ski lift to the car he decided to take me piggy back stylee with my skis in one hand and his poles in the other down the last slope of the day. Baring in mind the snow boarding gear I had bought on my mini break to Vancouver which turned into a 2 month doss round Europe, was bulky, his clothing was bulky too, the slope was a steep one and I weigh 10 stone all adding up to the word disaster, indeed lead to a huge error, too much speed, not enough control, ploughing into Sarah (who was calmly waiting at the bottom) and causing serious knee injury to the only proper skier in the party. All this and we missed the last lift. Not that the girlies were bothered, we knew we were not to be stranded to fend for ourselves in the bitter cold of the snowy wonderland. Nah, we knew all along that we had out eyelash fluttering technique to hand (waterproof mascara necessary), and got a lift from a ski instructor in his Jeep back down to the car. Sarah drove me back to the hotel so that I could get a well deserved bath and drove her fiancee to the hospital. To cut a long story short he has to have an xray in a week, but the Dr said it's a broken ligament or bone - to be determined once the ultra sound has been carried out.
Shame really as the instructor missed the second day on the slopes, and Sarah and I were left alone to dare to try the rest of the runs. Once I had the fear of God in me I was a sensible novice, got down 3 more runs, only falling once. I only fell once stopped as my little tree trunk thighs would not hold me up any more. This leaves me here now - back in BCN with legs I can not longer control and a walk akin to my dear old Great Grandma Biddy's (Bless Her Soul) who was the ripe age of 100 and walked like Golum off The Lord of The Rings, come to think of it she looked a bit like him in the end too. (Big fat joke). I think she was actually with me over the weekend, my Guardian Angel making sure no harm came to the me - only to the Spics!
Ola. Buenas Noche.
