trip to tignes

Having joined the Ecole de Glisse who decided that the dates for ski season (mid december - march) aren’t worth following anyway, I went on the first ski trip a month early. Waking up at 4:30am for a two and a half hour coach journey was horrific, but when we arrived at Tignes it all seemed worth it. It was bizarre going from a rainy city to snow covered mountains, but the views were incredible! The last (and only time) that I went skiing was five or six years ago, so when we arrived at the foot of the mountain I struggled to even fit my boots into the skis without sliding backwards into an unfortunate French man. After said French man had to literally push me up the slope, I made it onto the chair lift trusting that I would arrive at a pleasant, practically horizontal slope. As per, this was not the case. Most of the other assistants are practically pro skiiers, so mixing this with the fact that before ski season only the slopes at the top of the mountains are open due to snow coverage, I was screwed.



After reaching heights I never knew possible, I was faced with a red slope. For non-skiiers, the baby colour system is as follows: green, blue, red, black (practically vertical). Therefore, considering I have only skiied once before, when I was a foot smaller and the risk of dying didn’t even occur to me, a red slope on one of the most difficult resorts in the Alps probably wasn’t such a good idea. I forgot how to stop, so when I moved an inch down the mountain I was all screams and bambi legs, ending up on my arse. However, some of the assistants were kind enough to stay with me, tutoring me while I plummeted own a mountain, crying.



Ten, twenty or maybe even thirty minutes later (there’s no sense of time on a mountain), I finally remembered how to ski. I did continue to fall over four or five times more, but when I made it to the bottom of the red slope I almost cried, but with relief and happiness this time. I was now all adrenaline-pumped rather than bambi legs, so we went on a search for a nice blue slope after the most expensive plate of chips anyone’s ever bought. The blue slope made me so happy; I was completely bombing it round the trail, hardly able to believe that I was skiing.. in the Alps.. as part of my degree. This is why everyone should do languages. However, the blue slope eventually lead onto the same red that I did earlier that morning, only this time so many people had been on it that it was practically ice. With it being the only route back to the bottom of the mountain, I used my new found skills and confidence and just went for it. This soon failed as I then slipped on the ice, and with my skis buckling one another, I faceplanted the mountain. Cassie found this hugely entertaining, while I spat out ice and cried at the freezing snow that was melting down my back. HOWEVER, I made it. And quite frankly, I can’t wait to do it all over again next weekend, hopefully minus the faceplant.

                                   

To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.

- Oscar Wilde

trip to the north

Northern England feels foreign to a southerner like me, and northern France doesn’t feel much different. I mean, my ears even popped about 5 times on my way up to York in the summer; clearly the only explanation is that it’s so far up north (forget logic). Last Monday I took a 7 hour train to Calais, meeting my family. My Auntie has a house in a tiny town (although I wouldn’t even call it a village, there’s no public transport?!) called Auchy-Les-Hesdin and it’s oh so French. Cute little boulangeries and patisseries and a tacky Thursday market to match. I’d begged my family to bring over some Robinsons orange squash and cadburys so I spent most of the 5 days munching on foods I missed, feeling patriotic.

Besides stuffing my face with British food, we travelled to Lille for a day. I don’t mean to sound ignorant, but there wasn’t much there. A few cool buildings, a fountain or two, and a courtyard outlined with cute stalls selling one hundred year old novels. Maybe I needed to do more research on the city to know where to go, but I kinda hoped it would be like Grenoble where you can just come across cool things during an afternoon stroll…

My obstacle of the week was having to explain to my Aunt’s French handyman that he didn’t do a good enough job on the kitchen - awkward. He managed to understand due to my excellent pointing skills and use of ‘ahh bof, je sais pas le mot…’ Nevertheless, he finished by telling me ‘Aahh Ev, tu parles très bien français!’ - okay, if that’s what good French is, then I’m going to frantically point more often. I almost cried with happiness; the assistantship clearly is as good an option for a year abroad than any other. Take that skeptics!

SNOW! Grenoble. France