Andalucía: Part 2 Skiing.

I am worried about getting sunburned, not falling, and not losing anyone.

I am not in ski school, but my sister is, I graduated last year. I am eight now, I know how to ski. I have on my beanie, my goggles, and my scarf. I unknowingly follow my Dad down a black diamond with moguls. Slowly and steadily, zigzagging across the mountain, watching for professional skiers flying by. 

He breaks the news at the bottom; I just went down a black diamond.

We step off the bus in Granada at about six-thirty with one thing in mind, what’s for dinner? After a quick check in/bag drop off/freshen up, we meet up in the lobby. A large group heads to a Chinese restaurant, so a friend and I follow. We walk into thirty or so of our fellow Americans sitting at tables, the only people in the entire place. Noticing there was only one waiter and after a glance at the menu, we dip.

We were in Granada, the place is known for its tapas. 

Tapas are like appetizers, most of the time you have to pay extra for them, but in Granada, they come free with a drink. I wanted to return to a restaurant where I had eaten at least three meals  last time I was here, two euros for a drink and a huge tapa. The restaurant is closed. No worries, we find another. We walk in and see four fellow students, we eat with them. It was excellent.

It is raining when we get up, still dark, and raining. 

The taxi ride is quick, and drops us off at the familiar bus station. The place I had spent an extra two hours at last year when we missed our eight a.m. bus to the Sierra Nevadas.

I sit down on the bus, excited; yet tired. I pass out.

I wake to sunlight, and snow. The rain had transformed as the bus climbed the winding mountain road. It was light out, but not sunny. I had never been in weather like this that I can remember. It was like I was inside a cloud; it was the closest thing I have ever been to a whiteout.

Men are standing there with bags full of scarfs, beanies, and gloves. I brush by them ignoring their offers for ‘very good prices’ and make my way to the rental station. I need skis, poles, and boots. It takes a while but before I know it I am doing the awkward sit/fall onto the chair lift. I am on, the people that are with me are on, and we are going skiing.

I am worried about getting sunburned, not falling, and not losing anyone.

The falling snow is thick and the fog is intense. The snow whips and bites at my face as I make my way down the hill. The flash of a refresher that I had last year has worn off. I have skied once since I was eight, and my rustiness is clear. Going is not a problem, I just turn the French fries downhill and gravity does the rest. Now the whole stopping ordeal is where it gets a little tricky. Pizza just isn’t cutting it on these slopes.

I surprisingly manage to maintain my composer the first couple of runs, although inside I have a running dialogue of words that wouldn’t be spoken at the dinner table.

I explore the mountain. The confidence grows and takes me to the summit. The wind up there is unbelievably strong and frigid; any inch of skin exposed numbs and burns instantly. The clouds pass over the mountain at the altitude I am standing, I am in the clouds. They are not as soft as I pictured. I am in a group of five; we start our way down and soon become engulfed in the whiteness. I can see the four other skiers and about twenty feet around me; it is as though I am skiing into a vast ocean of white.

It is like being in a strangely manipulated darkness.

La blancura infinitiva.

Lunch is in an interesting cafeteria half way up the mountain. After the layers upon layers are removed the faces are revealed. The faces of the others on the mountain, all reddened with some degree of wind/cold burn. A blend of languages surrounds me. I hear French, Spanish, American English, English English, and an array of other tongues and dialects I am unable to readily identify. Everyone is waddling around, doing the awkward ski boot stomp. Children are everywhere; many are the age I was when I used to ski.

I eat a healthy portion of pizza and an orange.

It is not as awkward getting on the ski lift after lunch. I head directly to the summit; on the ride up I can see patches of blue breaking through the whiteness. Stopping is getting easier, I start going faster. On the last ride down I perform a professional wipeout, a yard sale to say the least.

At the speed I was traveling, there wasn’t much I could do when I hit an unusual icy patch followed by deep powder. I started falling and decided to go for it, I tucked and rolled. Now that would be an alright suggestion if I wasn’t wearing two five and a half feet long metal skis complete with two poles attached to my wrist. I feel my skis come over me and then there is an explosion of sound and snow. I slide to a gentle stop in a fit of laughter. I have one pole, no skis, and no glasses. One ski is under me, the other about ten yards up the hill. Once I redress, I head to the bottom of the mountain looking like a snowman.

It’s not until later do I realize my watch is gone. Maybe someone else will find the red/orange ironman watch that found me this summer.

The summer working at the pool, taking care of kids, playing king of the hill on the giant floating ring, worried about getting sunburned, not falling, and not losing anyone.

I wasn’t set on skiing two days in a row, but the sheer childish delight I felt the first day, and the must appreciated pressure from my friends brought me back to the bus station for the eight am bus.

Due to wind issues, the top part of the mountain was closed, and the entire mountain was covered in ice. It was a good bit harder to ski, but the refresher I had the day before help tremendously. A group found a section of the mountain that wasn’t technically a slope, but a powdery downward drop equipped with rocks. We took turns attempting to ski down it. There were a few good wipeouts, and a snowboard that escaped down the mountain as though a ghost was riding it.

It was awesome. 

We returned to Granada, dead tired, stinking, and hungry. 

The hostel allowed us to take showers even though we didn’t pay for the night. I met some University of Virginia folk who are also studying in Valencia; they let us borrow their shampoo. I met the same people under the Fallas lights in Calle de Cuba last night. 

Small world.

So I agree, I am a little behind on my blogging, after Andalucía there was Fallas workshop, Bioparc, and of course Spring Break. That was an adventure on its own. Barcelona, Munich, Berlin, Brussels, Amsterdam, oh me oh my.

And now, Fallas is starting, today is the first day actually. Mascletás, fireworks, paella, bullfights, absolute insanity, I can’t wait. Today is the bullfight. We will see how many of these Americans can last the whole thing.

Chao!