March 2, 2011
Linguaglossa, North Etna. It's my second time skiing there in the past month and I must say, even though the runs aren't the most challenging, it is breathtaking. The ski lift takes you up the side of the volcano (it's still hard to believe you can actually ski on an active volcano) and when you reach the top, the view over to Calabria and the ocean is dizzying. Any negative thoughts about Catania drift away into the clouds.
Now I wouldn't say I am the worlds most accomplished skiier but I can hold my own. My parents took me and my brothers to Mount Perisher back in Australia (yes, there is snow in Australia) when I was a teenager. And I'm sure I went on at least two trips, again to Perisher, in High School. And then there was the time on my University year abroad in Montana when I skiied at Snowbowl, Missoula with an avalanche sized hangover.
Now I wouldn't say I am the worlds most accomplished skiier but I can hold my own. My parents took me and my brothers to Mount Perisher back in Australia (yes, there is snow in Australia) when I was a teenager. And I'm sure I went on at least two trips, again to Perisher, in High School. And then there was the time on my University year abroad in Montana when I skiied at Snowbowl, Missoula with an avalanche sized hangover.
I do have to thank my brothers for being so mean and skiing off without me. It was a combination this and the unfortunate result of being the little tag-along sister that forced me to learn how to ski, just to keep up with them. There was this one time, however, that I didn't ski fast enough.
Embarrassing as it is to recall, it's a day I will never forget. My brother was way ahead of me and had followed the ski run to the left. Since he was well out of my view, for some reason I decided to ski right, ending up way off piste. And what felt like only moment laters, completely lost on the adjacent mountain. There were no people, no ski lifts, nothing. Just trees and endless snow. Naively, I had thought the stash of mini kit kats I had put in my pocket earlier would have sustained me for days if I was ever lost, but in that moment I was absolutely petrified. I remember looking down and noticing the ground was not smooth enough to ski on. I took off my ski's and decided to walk, awkwardly in the stupid boots, without destination.
After what seemed like hours but in reality might have been 20 minutes, as if from nowhere, a man on a ski mobile zoomed toward me through the trees. He commenced with an interogation, shortly followed by a lecture on how dangerous the mountains are... Okay dude, I'm a fourteen year girl and scared witless. Whatever you are going to tell me is just going in one ear and out the other.
I got on the back of the snow mobile only to fall off, head first, after about 20 metres when Mountain Man decided to go speeding off a jump. After another 10 minutes, we were back at the Perisher Ski Resort. I thanked Mountain Man, whose face remained unseen behind a pair of large Burton ski googles and one of those nineties style jester beanies that were the height of ski fashion back then, and rushed off the relay my brush with death to my parents.
Remembering this story, I can somehow sympathise with the fear that surfaced in my darling boyfriend on Sunday. It was only his second time on ski's and the whole time he had that panicked look on his face, which was worsened by the fact that 5 year old italian kids were skiing full pelt down the mountain, sans poles, like complete pro's.
By the end of the day, we had made it down the piste about 3 times, more than enough skiing for one day for a certain novice, so we headed to the Rifugio for a well deserved Pistacchio Cake soaked in a mug of Hot Chocolate - the best part indeed of a day on the slopes!
Embarrassing as it is to recall, it's a day I will never forget. My brother was way ahead of me and had followed the ski run to the left. Since he was well out of my view, for some reason I decided to ski right, ending up way off piste. And what felt like only moment laters, completely lost on the adjacent mountain. There were no people, no ski lifts, nothing. Just trees and endless snow. Naively, I had thought the stash of mini kit kats I had put in my pocket earlier would have sustained me for days if I was ever lost, but in that moment I was absolutely petrified. I remember looking down and noticing the ground was not smooth enough to ski on. I took off my ski's and decided to walk, awkwardly in the stupid boots, without destination.
After what seemed like hours but in reality might have been 20 minutes, as if from nowhere, a man on a ski mobile zoomed toward me through the trees. He commenced with an interogation, shortly followed by a lecture on how dangerous the mountains are... Okay dude, I'm a fourteen year girl and scared witless. Whatever you are going to tell me is just going in one ear and out the other.
I got on the back of the snow mobile only to fall off, head first, after about 20 metres when Mountain Man decided to go speeding off a jump. After another 10 minutes, we were back at the Perisher Ski Resort. I thanked Mountain Man, whose face remained unseen behind a pair of large Burton ski googles and one of those nineties style jester beanies that were the height of ski fashion back then, and rushed off the relay my brush with death to my parents.
Remembering this story, I can somehow sympathise with the fear that surfaced in my darling boyfriend on Sunday. It was only his second time on ski's and the whole time he had that panicked look on his face, which was worsened by the fact that 5 year old italian kids were skiing full pelt down the mountain, sans poles, like complete pro's.
By the end of the day, we had made it down the piste about 3 times, more than enough skiing for one day for a certain novice, so we headed to the Rifugio for a well deserved Pistacchio Cake soaked in a mug of Hot Chocolate - the best part indeed of a day on the slopes!
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