What a ski season
In the winter of 1999, two friends and I decided to do a skiing season in the French Alps. Our plans were to stay there at least for two months assumed that the three of us got jobs down there.
So, two days after new-years-eve, Martin, Christian and I left Sweden by plane, very excited for our first ski-bumming season.
When we arrived 23 hours later, we got shocked! There was hardly any snow and most of the ski slopes were closed. This was the nightmare for every ski bummer there is.
First, we all felt very down but the only things we could do was to ski as much as possible and pray for the weather gods. But after a while we hocked up with some British guys and drinking and partying became suddenly the top priority.
The following three weeks was just foggy if not black in our minds. We had almost given up the thought of a major snowfall and we couldn t afford going to another ski resort and by a new ski pass. It was out of the question.
But then it happened; I woke up one afternoon and saw tons of snow covering the treetops and the ground. At first I thought I was still drunk or that I was still dreaming, but after five minutes of conversation with my friends we realized that wasn t true.
My second thought was that we had only about one and a half week left (counted in money) and there was no time to waste. So, we got dressed and ran as fast as we could to the slopes.
The following five days were just perfect and there was no more drinking or late nights. There was finally just skiing in our heads.
But on day number six, God punished us for our drinking sins. One of my friends was about to do a skiing trick called an Helicopter , when one of his ski bindings released and he broke his leg on two places.
So the rest of our season, if you could call it that, we spent on a hospital in a nearby village feeling like a couple of losers.
So much for ski-bumming with a lot of alcohol and no snow.