It's not all double Dutch!

We have just recently returned from our ski holiday, in where else, but the Swiss Alps. The question in Switzerland before the school winter break begins is not, are you going skiing? But, where are you going skiing? We were in Saas Fee in the Canton Valais for the sixth time! This year the weather was fantastic with blue skies (almost every day), powder snow – perfect conditions. Our school holidays coincided with the Dutch school holidays, therefore, the slopes, restaurants, ski locker rooms and dance floors were heavily populated with Dutch families.

There are many benefits to going the same ski resort, year after year. One of them being that my 9 year old son, who started skiing in Saas Fee aged 3, now knows the runs like the back of his hand! There is no stopping him and his five year old brother, is not far behind. Speaking of behind that seems to be where I am when all four of us ski together! I have to keep reminding my children that I didn’t start skiing at 3 years old, more like 33+. I have progressed, albeit it slowly, there are considerable improvements from previous years. One of them being that I know longer sh*t myself going up in the cable cars, not literally of course, just use to be a teensy bit worried about how on earth I would get back down the mountain, without the use of REGA the helicopter rescue operation in the Alps.

With both boys enrolled in five day ski school from 9.45am to 1pm, Toni and I boldly took various routes up the Alps, where many had been before us. There is no end to the Swiss ingenious ways of getting up those mountains. Cable cars, gondolas, mountain trains, chair lifts, button lifts, T bar lifts, in other words, there is no getting out of it! This year, I have to say is the first year that I really enjoyed it. I am not a fantastic skier and probably never will be, I say probably, as one should always live in hope! My parallel turns are getting better and I know now that when I approach a steep run, I can do it. Previously, I used to just sh*t myself, again not literally, but I hung around the incline for about 10 minutes, watching 3 year olds to 83 years whiz down it, eventually I would try to ski, tumble, slide and snow plough down it and then burst into tears in the middle. All this in the name of sport!

When the ski school was finished we collected the children and went for lunch. We just about had enough time to eat our pommes frites and goulash soup before they were were pleading, with us to hurry up as they wanted to go skiing again. At two o’clock, we were back on the slopes for another ordeal. One afternoon, we tried a ski route unknown to me, but of course, well known to my husband, Toni and nine year old son. Toni has been skiing since he was nine years old, but repeatly tells me that he has never had a lesson in his life, nor would I, had I been skiing since 9 years old I repeat back to him.

We agreed at the top of this run, what we were doing, who was following who and where the meeting place was. I was concentrating so much on the up and down movement as I turned, leaning on the outside leg not the inner leg, whilst doing the parallel turn, that I skied past the meeting point. On I went down the mountain, unaware of three people screaming after me.

This doesn’t seem to fit in any other paragraph, but seems like a good time to mention it! I would say over 90% of people nowadays, wear helmets whilst skiing. It is almost frowned upon if you have no helmet. This year my husband relented and he too like all the rest of us spent a good part of 300 francs on a new helmet and goggles to match. The thing is with a helmet on, it is harder to hear people talking and indeed screaming at you. On with the story.

My little parallel world was shattered as my 9 year old son "cut me up" and stopped me in my tracks. He yelled at me about how I had missed the meeting point and now we all had to divert our route because of me. “Did you not hear us shouting at you?” he asked. I stood and listened whilst he chastised me, then the other two caught up quickly and nodded heads in agreement with him. What could I say? I wiped my snotty nose (a curse we all have to bear when temperatures are minus 10) and followed him obediently down the Alps to the next meeting place.

As you can imagine I was glad to get feet back on terra firma. It was now well after 4pm, we started to walk slowly back to our apartment which was located about 20 minutes walk from the slopes. On route we passed many of the bars with outdoor heated terraces, packed with après skiers. My children loved to stop and watch everyone dancing up and down and listen to the music. They called them the “wild people”. My five year old son asked his ski teacher (who was, I would guess, in his late 30’s early 40’s) do you go wild after you ski? His reply, “I used to but not so much anymore” – I know how he feels!

Talking of going wild, Wednesday evening in Saas Fee is “kids disco” where we all went wild and danced with a big white rabbit aka “Snowli” all parents and children were obliged to do the Congo round the hotel bar and dance floor. Claudia (a friend of mine, who was also on holiday with her family) and I downed 2 large campari and orange (will I did, she only had one!) and then battled on the dance floor for the weekly title of “sexy mama”. Sadly, we were pipped to to the post by non other than Sigrid, a Dutch lady.

Even the Snowli can ski......

On the Thursday morning, Toni and I took a break from skiing, mainly to rest our weary legs but ended up doing a very steep walk which started from Saas Fee village up to Gletscherbrücke. We ordered coffee and sat outside on the sunny terrace, where there were some old motor bikes as seats nailed into the ground around a table, the closest Toni will get to driving a Kawasaki, man!

Despite all the "ups and downs" it was great week and we were all sad it had come to an end. We finished our holiday with a Cheese Fondue on the last evening, drowning our sorrows in a deep pot of melted cheese and wine on the side of course! Vowing to return for more of the same next year.