The mountains are quite close to Santiago; our group went by minibus, and it took around an hour and a half to reach the ski center. The ski town's houses and cabins looked like little popups in the giant page of the mountain; the residences were clustered in bunches and stacked one after the other on the side of the road like wooden elf houses. This Saturday was one of the very last weekends of the ski season. Thus, the snow wasn't as ample nor as fluffy as it would be in the peak season; the silver lining is that because the conditions aren't as nice, there were not many people on the slopes. I am always afraid of someone running into me or me running into someone else, so I was happy with the decreased skier population.
The Andes are beautiful. Describing them does not do them justice: they are brown domes of earth with shrubby plants and cacti growing at the bottom and with bare ground and snow on top. Their characteristics make them excellent (at least for me) to ski because there are no trees to avoid.
I skied pretty much the whole day. Because I am a beginner, I stuck to the easy runs, but I adore skiing. It is the most exhilarating yet relaxing activity.
As much fun as I had, I can not rid myself of the most salient memory of the day. Thus, I have decided to share it:
It is close to one in the afternoon. I am resting on bright, white snow. It glistens under the sunshine, and the rays kiss my face with light. Unfortunately, the beams also cause me to swelter underneath my gloves, my black ski jacket and my black snow pants. While holding onto the ski poles, I shift my weight to plant my legs firmly on the side of the mountain. After I am stable, I peer up to about 10 ft. on the slope above me at the heap that used to be Lauren. She is down on the snow. It is her first run on the slope.
Her signature strawberry hat is askew; she is huffing a little, and she moves like an angry kitten who just can't open its eyes. In Lauren's case, she is irritated because she has fallen and can not get up. I think she may be saying something about asthma, but I don't hear her well. Even if I did, I would not know whether I should trust that fact or not. This is, after all, coming from the girl who at the top of the hill suggested that she take two Xanax before going down.
Beyond Lauren stands sympathetic figure of Paulina. Paulina is Dutch, and it is her first day of skiing as well; it is however, not her first run. All around us are the Andes, its different peaks blending in chains of blue, purple and brown. To even say "I went skiing in the Andes" gives a person a little street/world traveler credit. I note to myself to save that line for when Lauren falls down again. I sigh a bit as I remember that we are on the Spanish equivalent of a bunny hill.
"Just think! After this you can stay in the restaurant and have a MARGARITA!" I yell. "Now just GET UP!"
"I can't," Lauren says, "I have to take off my ski."
I feel a tide of impatience. If only she could get up with her skis, that would save us so much time...How wonderful that would be.
Lauren fumbles over her boots, her skis, her poles and her clothes. Skiing requires such awful and annoying equipment for one to fumble upon. Finally, she is up.
Okay. The sky is a bright blue, blue, blue and the snow is white, white, white. There is not a cloud in the sky. I take a breath and think: At least Lauren did not fall into the fence.
Paulina, on the other hand, was not so lucky. After the beginner ski lesson (which I took to refresh my memory), all the beginners skied together (not Lauren because she had given up for that moment). During the first run with the ski instructor, Paulina had zoomed past us other students. We had all thought that her zipping down the slope was just her being too impatient to wait. Later, Paulina told us her unfortunate story of not knowing how to stop, about her collision with the fence at the end of the run, and about her sad self, entangled in the netting that was supposed to stop her, 20 ft from the end of the run. Apparently, the ski instructor had to find her and then fish her out. I feel sorry for all the ski instructors who teach beginners; Paulina ran into a fence on her first run; I ran into a kid, and Lauren...
Lauren is on the mountain, and we are skiing again. I lead, then Lauren goes, and then Paulina. I love the wind in my hair and the swoosh of the skis on snow. I stop about 50 ft from where we were, praying that Lauren follows me. I feel bad dragging her onto the Andes. I never knew how difficult it was to learn to ski. I wish she would gain her rhythm and begin to enjoy it. However, as I turn back to find her, she is on the snow again. I fish for the motivational yell, "Just think, once you finish this run, you can say how you SKIED in the Andes! Get up!"
Lauren is tired. Paulina flanks her and encourages her as well, but Lauren fails to get up. This is perhaps her 6th time kissing snow. She takes off one ski. And then she takes off the other. We can see the end of the run, but it is over. I ski down to the bottom. Paulina follows. We watch and wait as Lauren slowly walks her way down the hill.
As soon as she arrives, we all go to the ski pulley. I go by myself up the hill. The snow is white and glistening. The sky is blue. The only sound is of my skis slushing through the snow. How can there be any place more lovely than this?
When we all get off the ski pulley, Lauren staggers towards the restaurant. She looks darkly around her catching her breath and missing all the beauty. Gasping out a shaky mutter, she manages to say "Never again".
Well, at least she manages to look under control in the photos.
No comments:
Post a Comment