After a scenic bus ride through castled mountains and deep tunnels, we arrive just as the setting sun is casting a pink glow over the snow-capped peaks. Delightful. The cozy hotel is staffed by a lovely Mexican transplant named Jaime who becomes the weekend BFF. Delightful. Arrival G+Ts taken in graceful Art Deco surroundings. Delightful. The restaurant next door dishes out decent food and potent grappa. Delightful.
Thus lulled into a sense of security, awake next morning at a remarkable hour and hit the slopes. Unbeknownst to us, the WORST STORM IN YEARS (15 people dead across Europe) also hits the slopes. Visions of fluffy white skiing and leisurely lunches on sun-drenched terraces soon lost in the blizzard. Attempt to Push On Through. Morale fades, despite lashings of "hot chocolate." Area is closed for safety reasons, allowing for honorable retreat. Thaw out in steam room / sauna. Soak sorrows in bubbling cauldron of melted cheese.
The next morning lifts remain closed due to avalanche threat. Eventually we are allowed to ski. At times it is possible to see one's skiis, a marked improvement over the previous day. At one point small break in the clouds brings hope.

Exorbitant bus to Geneva--the only one!--turns out to be tourist coach complete with pestiferous tour guide. He loves everything. We hate him.
Lessons learned:
1) Make appropriate sacrifices to weather gods in advance (e.g. virgin chamois)
2) There is such a thing as eating too much liquid cheese
3) What you do is less important than who you're with
2 comments:
4. do not turn left down a crevice filled with 2 mt deep fresh snow when you can turn right and ski down beaten and not life-threatening path.
5. repeat adventure with same person many times.
6. Pestiferous tour guides should be SHOT
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