1. With my silk pajamas (the easiest to pack) and silk
sleeping mask (to help with the jet lag) I officially looked the part of the
much admired rich and famous growing up, or even better, Holly Golightly
without the cute earplugs; and
2. It pains me to admit it; I have been in the past and most
likely will be in the future, a spoiled and stereotypical American
tourist.
On my first two trips to the valley, the experience failed
to live up to my ridiculously high (and incorrect) European standards and
expectations…this was not the Europe that I had so lovingly left in 2009, the
one with easy access to trains, cute town square, restaurants with red and
white checkered tablecloths and cafes on the sidewalk…No, this was a one hotel
village with everything you could need provided in house. It was the equivalent of an all inclusive
Mexican Resort, only in the Italian Alps, with German as the main language and
in the midst of winter. I guess my
misconceived notion of an Italian vacation is how Europeans would view a trip
to California without a ride on the cable cars and a stroll through Fisherman’s
wharf…not what they had envisioned and as a result missing the true gems that
the city and country offers.
So, jaded as I was, I failed to see the sublime charm and
relaxing environment that the valley and vacation offered.
It did not go unnoticed this time around. The subtle routine of the place, while once
rigid, was now appreciated: breakfast at 8, one to two laps of skiing in the
morning, shower then lunch (not just coffee and cake as in years past), then an
afternoon of your choice: skiing, reading, sleeping, or the sauna. The only guarantee was that dinner was at 7,
it would be delicious and even after turning down one or two of the courses, I
would leave stuffed to the brim. And the
only thing to curb the pains of overeating were glasses of Ramazzotti at the
bar and a few (heated) rounds of Dopplekoepf, the German version of Hearts
where the rules are crazy, points system impossible to follow and the entire
Breuer family’s individual pride were on the line. When I left early on Wednesday, Annagret was
up 50 points and I was dead last with negative 39. Like I said, it is not the
most intuitive game ever invented and I don’t see them adopting Uno anytime
soon.
And while a Mexican Resort or metropolitan city may offer a
little more to do in way of activities, I have grown to like (love is still too
strong of a word), cross country skiing.
I even came mentally and physically prepared this time around. I had my own boots and cute pants and I was
in theory in better shape. It took less
than 10 minutes of actually being on the snow to kill all hopes of an Olympic
gold medal in the biathlon…one, because I have never actually shot a gun (but
could learn) and two, more importantly, I was still horribly ill prepared for
the physical exertion. Every move of my
legs would result in minimal forward motion…I could literally do the running
man in the skis without moving an inch…come to find out that I had the wrong
skis (meant for skating meaning no traction vs. classical which is what I was
attempting). This piece of information
was not lost on Martin, we planned to ski up the valley to the ski shop to get
the right pair and Martin thought I could just “fight it” for the first half of
the lap. I was less than amused. Things improved significantly with the better
gear and by the end of my third day, I had finally hit my, albeit slow, but
steady groove.
Unfortunately for me, just when the routine was finally
settling in, it was time for me to go…work called, leaving me at the airport on
my way home and Martin in Europe to enjoy a few additional days.
Until next year!
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