Seven days of snowboarding with no major limb breakages. Sure, mistakes have been made, the musculo-skeletal system has taken a beating, and I can only rotate my head to the left, but I can still limp without painkillers.
Seven hours waiting for the keys to our four bed apartment in Le Joker in Val Thorens. Nothing like sitting in a shopping centre with all of your luggage and some skanky pizza all day. It all started to go wrong with the champagne breakfast to celebrate. We had a few things to celebrate – surviving the first week of boarding, the impending move up the mountain, and the low price of champagne. It was only after two bottles that I found out that the accommodation listed on our holiday ‘voucher’ did not exist. It took four hours to get this changed to existing accommodation (always handy) and a further three hours to get into it.
Seven beds in our outrageously large four bed apartment in Le Joker in Val Thorens. Come and join us.
Seven people starting our snowboard class. Seven years old the little girl who was one or two decades younger than all the other pupils.
Instructor: “What level are you? How many weeks have you been snowboarding?”
Little girl: “I don’t know – I’m a novice really.”
Instructor: “Can you do linked turns on a blue run?”
Little girl’s pushy father: “Yes, she is quite proficient. She should be in the one week experience group.”
Instructor: “OK. That’s us. Let’s go!”
Two minutes later we are waiting at the bottom of a gentle slope for the little girl. The instructor casts aside his board and walks up looking for her. Tears ensue. Pushy father insist she should be in the group. Girl rubs her leg in pain. Instructor talks to pushy father. Pushy father protests. Little girl looks simultaneously embarrassed and scared.
Six people remain in our snowboard class.
Seven inches of snow in the last day have settled on our balcony. A fraction of the depth on the pistes, but harder to make progress on, given the limited turning space.
Seven inches of visibility in howling snow squalls on the pistes. You can see your nose, but not the ground, rocks, posts, instructors and small children – the inevitable casualties of snow-war.