Our Escapade on the Alps

THE ALPS - Stretching across eight countries, the Alps are one of the world’s great mountain ranges.  Last weekend, Juston and I took a road trip to southern Germany with a friend of ours and we had the pleasure of spending an entire day on one of the many beautiful and serene snow-capped mountainsides.

Arriving into Söll late in the evening, we stopped off for dinner at literally the only place open in the small village town. After a seven-hour drive (none of which I was able to contribute to because of the lack of a drivers license), we sank into the restaurant booths and toasted our beers to great weekend ahead. Hazem, a native of Jordan and fellow co-worker at Cameron, would be skiing for the first time in his life this weekend. J and I were quite thrilled at the prospect of introducing him to one of our many winter pastimes.

The next morning, we were the first ones in line at the ski rental shop to acquire our gear. The anticipation of skiing down the great mountains of the Alps was growing. I could see my heartbeat moving the shirt on my chest. Once again, another experience we may only have the opportunity of doing once in our lifetime. This was going to be sick! At 9:30 AM, after being outfitted with the finest ski and snowboarding gear, our rears were planted in the seat of a gondola and headed upwards toward the peak of a mountain. We could tell Hazem was anxious to get this journey underway. We were experiencing some last minute jitters ourselves. So, before reaching our stop, we shared some last minute encouragement and assured him we would be alongside to assist.

Once exiting the gondola, the thick mountain fog immediately engulfed us. Seeing your own hand in front of your face was challenging, not to mention the slopes of the mountain under your skis or the trees that lined the trails. Not being familiar with this mountain or any of the trails, I felt like skiing down them would be a death wish. You would be disappearing into the air and skiing aimlessly into what could possible be a tree, a fellow skier, or off the side of the mountain completely. I’m adventurous and will almost try anything once, but I preferred to live to tell the story about our trip to the Alps. Ergo, a team huddle was requested. It seems, the only way to get to a ski path that would be appropriate for Hazem’s ski-level was to ‘briefly’ ski down a Black (Advanced) trail until we reached the beginner trails. Okay, sounds easy enough. We got this.

Forty-five minutes later, we are right back to the spot where the gondola initially dumped us off. It seems the trail we cleverly decided to start on (en route to the beginner trail) was far more ambitious than we thought. Because of the considerable amount of fog and the many 90-degree angled slopes, we decided it would be safer for all those involved to walk to the next trail. That was until we realized, from the help of another patron, that the short walk would actually take over an hour to complete.  He advised we go back to where we started. With beads of sweat dripping from our faces and labored breathing, we looked back up at the steep slope we had just descending from. With heavy boots and gear thrown over our shoulders, we slowly scaled our way back to the top. A daring passerby chuckled at our attempt on his way down, before disappearing into the fog.  ‘Hey dude, I’d actually like to see the mountain I’m skiing down and live to tell about it’ I thought again.

Plan numero dos was quickly devised. We hopped a gondola back down the mountain to the trail we would stay on for the majority of the day. It was a nice trial filled with many Alps, which actually refer to the high mountain pastures below glaciers where cows graze, not peaks of a mountain. This is where Hazem began his first real ski attempt, or attempts rather. Like a newborn baby fawn, he struggled to keep his legs beneath him. J thought it to be of particular importance to instruct him first on how to ‘Stop’ before getting into how you actually accelerate and produce movement. As amateur ski-instructors we advised Hazem to use the ‘Pizza’ technique, pointing both skis in front of you to resemble a slice of pizza. Once this was comprehended, we moved on to feet/pole/body position. He seemed to understand. Putting it into practice was the next move.

The trail was quite a long one, winding between lush trees and offering scenic views of the mountainside throughout. Hazem was quite the champ on his first official ski run, despite the many wipeouts he endured. Although he understood the process of halting to a stop, he never actually mastered the technique the entire day. Which, as you can imagine, made for a very entertaining ski trip. Hours later, as we were all approaching the final leg of this particular trail, Hazem sped past us with beaming confidence. “Look at him go,” I say as he flies past us like a pro. “Let’s go after him,” Juston promptly replied. As we rounded the final turn, Hazem was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t until we came down the final and steepest slope of the trail that he came into view. At the very bottom of the mountain was Hazem, positioned like a lifeless body you would see at a crime scene. Halfway down the mountain Juston and I started to take note of his discarded equipment. First was a ski pole, then its mate another few meters down, then one ski, then the other, until all those little crumbs led up to Hazem, moaning and groaning in the snow at the foot of the mountain. In what sounds like a Jamaican accent he whispered, “I couldn’t stop, man.”  

Uncontrollable laughter took over my and Juston’s entire body. Hazem even laughed himself. For the entirety of the day, up and down the trails, every wipeout of Hazem’s brought us tears - the type you get from laughing incessantly.  More so than actually seeing Hazem fling his entire body over hills and into the snow to stop himself, it was the commentary that followed the falls that was priceless. Of course, we are not evil or mean-spirited human beings. We made sure no serious injuries were sustained before our giggle-boxes were turned on high. After beating the ground with his ski poles and repositioning himself on the pesky skis, Hazem would even join in on the laughter. Like I said, he was a real champ.

Late into the day, however, he was a bruised soldier. He was no longer interested in skiing, or falling. This is when ‘Team No Man Left Behind’ was introduced. As a mode of transportation to get us off the mountain we had currently been on for 9 hours already, Juston strapped on Hazem’s skis and pushed Hazem down the mountain as he rode on Juston’s snowboard. Other than the ski plows we had to continuously dodge, we were the last souls on the mountain. This was epic footage I just had to record. And so, I did. I was laughing so hard my cheeks started to ache. But as funny as it all was, we were ready to get down off the mountain and get back into our warm clothes and shoes. A beer was needed, stat.

We started to shed our gear once at the bottom and plan out which bar we were stopping at on the ride home, when we looked up to realize it was a ghost town at the ski resort. Our car was the only one still parked in the lot. The ski rental place was dark and locked. Not only did we have something of theirs, they had possessions of ours. Our shoes. The only shoes Hazem and I packed for the trip. Oopsie. How well do the German bars take to the ‘no shoes, no shirt, no problem’ adage, I wondered. At this point, we were pretty much giddy from exhaustion, hunger, and from our sheer bad luck. Thank goodness we had the car keys and our wallets! We opted to grab take out pizza, brews from the store, and convene back at our hotel.

Shoeless and in warm socks, we sat around our small hotel table and devoured the food in front us. We paused from cramming our mouths full of food only to recall events from the day, or to ask Hazem questions about the German singing show on the TV in front of us. It was a well-deserved hotel celebration.

The next morning, we continued to celebrate by going to return our ski rentals and to retrieve our precious footwear we had gone the night without. “Ah, the Texas speed racers,” the owner of the ski shop said upon us entering the store. “I sent out some guys last night on snowmobiles and told them to look for the three people trying to live in the mountains,” he teased.  “I’m glad you all made it down.” We laughed, handed over our skis, slipped our feet into our shoes, and waved goodbye. We would not be skiing on the mountain today and/or testing our luck or fate. No, our one long date with the beautiful yet demanding Alps Mountain was enough. We were thankful to be back on the ground, in shoes, and were ready to recount all the stories from the day before on the way home. This was definitely a ski trip for books.

(This post only reflects an abridged version of our trip. There were far more hilarious and you-had-to-be-there-moments that took place. I'm sure the videos will surface at some point ;) )