If the eskimoes have 50 words for snow even they would be running out of synonyms. We have had every kind so far and it is only mid January. Flurries and blizzards and showers and everything else. Every morning the french JCB driver does battle with the latest offering from the mountain, cruising around the resort with the shovel down, scraping the road and crashing up snow drifts. Around here, he is the fastest vehicle, which is terrifying to watch. Especially when the sun is yet to breach the mountain tops and your host's work jacket merges with the early morning gloom.
Someone once told me that it was the law in France for vehicles to be equipped with snow chains. If this is true then no one has told the french. Hours of amusement can be had from watching the hapless citroens and renaults struggle for grip as they slide up and down the roads. Even better when a high end beamer turns up, fish tailing round the bends and, for once, giving way to other traffic.
The work continues the same, only the details change. Days and meals start to merge after a while, and the cookbook slowly gets left to the side. We were also told that the recipes had been developed for a year, not sure who they got to develop them but some of the methods and quantities do not stand up to scrutiny. But we adopt, adapt and improve and by the end of the season these books will be scribbled over and scratched out.
The snowsport lifestyle and culture is all pervasive, cafes hang skis from the roof, an evenings relaxation consists of freestyle films. The films are chocked full of mad snowboard and ski routes from all over the world, carving up fresh powder and riding lines on the most remote peaks. Now Redbull is in town as well, promising the best skiers and boarders doing what they do best, painting their art onto untouched canvases. There truly is art and a beauty in a perfectly carved line. Though it may be at least a couple of seasons before your host could even dream of making such art.
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