La Clusaz
La Clusaz
WELL the only way is down, I fearfully think to myself.
My ski-goggles fill with steam.
Perhaps this steam is a release of anticipation as I try not to glance, then of course reluctantly glance at the descent under my not-so parallel skis.
I'm in La Clusaz, France.
The thick, lush snow on the mountains of La Balme, Etale and Beauregard have treks perfect for the novice and routes that are an absolute invigorating challenge for the elite.
It is descending La Balme where I feel I may never be proud of my skiing peak (no pun intended of course). My uncle, a skiing prodigy, confidently tells me that I can easily "snow-plough and turn" so I don't pick up too much speed.
I thought skiing would be like riding a bike.
If this is true, then in my case, skiing is like when your first bike had training wheels but the bicycle you return to ride later is a penny farthing.
It is awkward, challenging and sometimes humiliating as you pick yourself up from the snow rubbing your sore, bruised buttocks. But once you get the hang of it...I'll admit it: it's fun.
But what is difficult is trying to concentrate on skiing when you have the captivating views of La Clusaz filling your goggles.
You are always tempted to slide the goggles down to your chin, risking snowflakes slapping your corneas at a rapid pace, just so you can see the bigger picture which includes endless mountains and plenty of trees covered in what looks to be thick white cake icing.
As I ski down the mountain carefully avoiding the sharp cliff edges I reminisce about the town of La Clusaz in all its friendliness and beauty.
The people are welcoming with most speaking English. The food is brilliant with the restaurants on the mountains selling perfectly warming foods, an awesome supplement for ski intermissions.
At night the village is alive with street theatre, some enlightening, some characters slightly sinister but extremely intriguing and all definitely entertaining.
A standout experience has included New Year's Eve when I went into the village and watched the ski instructors career down the mountains holding flares. The crowd huddled for warmth and was suddenly encapsulated in this red, smoky haze.
Each audience member tried with difficulty to capture the perfect photograph while trying not to slide down their vantage point - off a hill covered in a layer of slippery, compacted snow.
The free mulled wine and hot chocolate provided by the council went down a treat while I later watched the fireworks in astonishment.
One spout of light sent stars shimmering across the sky which further perpetuated what seemed to be a magical spell held over this magical village in the French Alps.
"Mmmmmm incredible" I think to myself now as I glide blissfully along the fresh snow thinking about my brilliant week so far.
I'm hypnotised by the non-polluted fresh air, the brightness from the sun reflecting off the snow and attacking my retinas and the sleek smooth sound of ice being cut by my skis.
Nothing could wake me from this moment of glorious daydreaming and euphoria.
"Oh no! A tree!!!"
- Maree Butterworth
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