I pull the shades to the morning sky. The sun has not yet
peaked from behind the Alps. Mountains like a fortress encasing this little
French ski town. I brush my teeth, wash my face. My clothes laid out the night before. Ski
socks, long-underwear, turtleneck, ski pants and jacket all decided. I grab my
boots, skis and poles and head to the elevator, down to the main floor. A man brings out fresh rolls, croissants,
fruit and arranges them on the counter in breakfast room. The coffee is strong,
bitter, delicious, awakening me, warming me. I sit at a table by the window
overlooking the Arve river below. The aquamarine waters from the glacial
torrent rush by. Glaciers melting above town have supplied this river and its
beautiful hue. I am so happy to be back here, ready to ski the Vallee Blanche.
I eat my toast with jam and sliced bananas…comforting fuel for a rigorous day
with my guide. Soon I’ll be wearing a harness and crampons to hike with my
equipment down the face of the mountain covered in loose snow, exposed…and then
ski untracked powder for miles. I have come here to test myself, to leave all
my worries behind, for a day. Just to be
me, on a mountain with no other cares. Maybe I’ll ride through town after on
the horse drawn sleigh driven by the old man with his furry horse at full
gallop singing Walking on Sunshine by Katrina and the Waves.
