Apparently once you learn cycling, you never forget it. They say the same is true for skiing too. Bullshit! (pardon my French). I learnt this the hard way on the ski-slopes exactly a year after I could effortlessly (over optimistic recall of events?) negotiate the blues pistes. But not so this time - I was surprised by how much my ability to ski had regressed in a year’s time.
My aforesaid skills and talents were being tested in Torgon / La Jorette which is part of the Portes Du Soleil region between Mont Blanc and Lake Geneva. Apparently, there are 650 kms of ski runs in the region. Of course I wasn’t able to test by tumbling skills over all of them.
Our instructor, Giuseppe, was neither French nor Swiss but Napolitano. We found it easier to address him as Pepe - it saved time when we were desperately trying to attract his attention (as in 'Pepe, I’m stuck’ or ‘Pepe help!!!!!!!’). He tried (quite hard) to make us lose our dependence on the ‘Snow plough’ and instead try to turn and stop with parallel skis (his shouts of ‘Ski Parallel ! Ski Parallel !’ still run through my ears).
For the first few days I struggled immensely with the slopes (even the not-so-steep ones) as I developed a fear of being ‘stuck’ on top. And it was not easy seeing the 3-4 year old kids negotiating the slopes with such ease (maybe it has something to do with their fearlessness or the fact that we adults think that we’re shouldering the burdens of the entire world and cannot afford to fall or break bones).
Every evening, après the après-ski, we would head down to the nearest town, Montreux (which was about 15 kms away). Montreux's landmark is the Chateau de Chillon (apparently made famous by Byron in his poem, The prisoner of Chillon), but the town also has a couple of Rock-music connections.
Queen (not Charles’ mother) recorded an album here in 1978 and Freddie Mercury liked the town so much that he bought an apartment there. His stay here is immortalised by an oft-photographed statue of his on the shores of lake Geneva.
The other rock-music connection is thanks to Frank Zappa.
He was performing at the Casino in 1971 when the casino caught fire and the members of another rock band, Deep Purple, saw the fire spreading over Lake Geneva and were inspired to pen ‘Smoke on the Water’. Apparently the fire had started when someone fired a flare gun into the ceiling (this intelligence-challenged gentleman is the ‘some stupid with a flare gun’ in the song).
Ok back to skiing. I finally got over the fear of getting stuck on the pistes (not easy at all to put the skis back on if you lose one of them on a steep slope). This loss-of-fear happened quite inadvertently - once when I got stuck on the slope and had just finished my wee picnic (whenever I fell on the slopes – I would just take out my provisions of chocolates and enjoy the scenery). So that day, I took off my other ski and walked down the slope. After that I lost all fear of falling on the slopes. And the rest as they say, is whizzing history. Whistler (Gold medal and all) here I come (Winter Olympics, duh!).
The skiing (or rather my attempts not to fall face down) was rewarded with body aches and pains, which were best tackled by a visit to the spa-town of Leukerabad known for its thermal springs (apparently in use from Roman times). We visited the biggest of these baths (apparently there are 22 thermal pools) at Burgerbad. These springs, though not as elaborate as the ones at Budapest, had something else going for them. The view! Sitting in the warm outdoor baths (with sub-zero temperatures in the air) one got a 360° view of the snow-clad mountains. No better way to forget ones aches, pains, and failures on the ski slopes.
