Snow
A week in Austria
I have the urge to send an e-mail and some pictures to my father, to tell him we arrived safely and to show him the beauty of the snow-clad mountains. He would have printed the photos, would have made paintings of what I sent him, would have tried to capture the light, the dazzling brightness of the sun on the snow, and the special atmosphere. Sending him letters, pictures, e-mails, links to picture galleries, it is the habit of a lifetime. There is no one who will be interested in what I experience as he was, no one to share those experiences with. It leaves a gaping hole, an emptiness. But here, among holiday makers, it seems unreal. When I go back home, things will be as they always were. But they won’t. And it will be worse when we have to dispose of the things which belonged to him and were so familiar to all of us.
Here I live in limbo, during this week of rest, sleep, physical exercise, fresh air, no obligations, an interregnum. I sleep and walk and book a massage to get rid of all the tensions, something I normally don’t take time for.
It has been snowing for over two days now. There isn’t much of a view, but it is exhilarating to walk through the soft deep white layers, not seeing any path or markings. The atmosphere is mysterious, the bare branches of shrubs and trees along the meandering brook sharply outlined against the milky whiteness. I walk and sleep and eat, a simple life. And I learn to play lots of new board games, read the children stories, carry their skis and poles and boots. I am a member of the vast army of grandparents who holiday with their children and grandchildren, although I am just a stand-in, but a welcome one.
Tuesday: After our arrival on Saturday we have seen no sun at all. It has been snowing continually for three days, and there still is this milky whiteness. In the morning I go for a pedicure. I had expected some basic work, but in fact it turned out to be an unexpected wedding feast for my two feet, which had up till now happily lived together for some sixty plus years or so. They were prepared like an Indian bride and groom, bathed in a beautiful wooden bowl, the water scented with herbs and aromatic oils and scattered with rose petals. After a nice long soak they were scrubbed, peeled, massaged, oiled, groomed and pampered till they looked like the feet of a new born baby. I expect they’ll live happily ever after.
With these new feet of mine I later went for a 3-hour walk up a mountain trail, through deep, soft snow, making slow progress. The views will be spectacular on a bright and sunny day. Now there was only this composition in greys and whites, the frozen waterfall with the long icicles hanging from nearby branches surprising with its aqua colouring, the deep colour of pure, solid ice. I crossed the ski slopes several times and had coffee in a bar half way up the slopes where the footpath unfortunately petered out so that I had to go back the same way I came – albeit enjoying different views. I think I had enough exercise for one day, and once home had a nap before engaging in board games with the children. Needless to say I lost, as I did not concentrate and amazingly enough the children were still full of energy after a full day of skiing in poor weather conditions.
Wednesday. A miracle. We woke up to a blue sky! It is cold, very cold. Because the valley is so narrow, it takes some time for the sun to reach every nook and cranny, as well as the assembly slope of the ski school. At 9 am . I am waiting in front of a hotel for the others who went up for a run before classes start, and am frozen to the marrow.
-12 degrees in the shade, and wind as well. When my niece and her eight-year old daughter pass me, they don’t even notice me! I go back by shuttle to make a big mug of piping hot coffee and buy a ticket for the ski lift before going back to join the others for a midday meal, the main meal. After our lunch we all go high up into the mountains with the gondola. The new snow is blinding in the sun, and the views are spectacular. There is a winter footpath, which winds down to the village. Fortunately there are several restaurants where I can relax, drink some mulled wine, enjoy the view and ease my muscles which protest as the slopes are very steep and slippery, and I have to tread carefully because I have to cross the pistes several times. It would not be very heroic to break a leg because of a collision with a real sportsman or woman. I take lots of pictures, have a drink with my niece and her husband, and slide down at places. But in the end the trip to the top, down and back home takes me all afternoon. In the evening they all go out again for night skiing on the illuminated slopes, which seems to be quite an experience. I happily stay at home with the six-year old boy. -16 degrees and open ski lifts, not my cup of tea today, or at any time.
Thursday
Today there are races for the different classes, and the six-year old boy wins first price! He is very proud as he should be and later at dinner wants to drink his lemonade out of the trophy cup. Well, why not? His parents and I take pictures with different cameras, but blinded by the sun I take a video of the wrong child! In their helmets, sunglasses and ski outfit they look all the same to me, especially since the sun plays havoc with my eyes. Fortunately the parents know their brood. I later see my mistake, when the little boy shoots past me slaloming as if he has never done anything else in his life, but I am too late to take shots of him. I do take pictures of him on the podium where he can’t stop smiling. One little child is in tears, although every child is given a medal. In the morning the weather is beautiful, a bright blue sky and not as much wind as yesterday. The snow on the slopes looks perfect. It is the first day that I can sit out in the sun in the time between the race for the children and lunch. One cup of coffee guarantees me a chair for a few hours. Pity I have forgotten to bring a book or pen and paper. In the afternoon the clouds reappear. I take the shuttle to Ischgl, a very elegant ski resort with lots of expensive hotels. The main street, a pedestrian area, looks quite nice, but I am more interested in the church. Very simple on the outside in white and yellow stucco, the baroque interior is surprising: marble – at least that is what it looks like -, paintings on walls and ceiling, a gilded altar piece and a very elaborately worked pulpit. It is all gold, pastel colours and sweetness. A pity I can’t see the organ, as the church is closed off by a locked cast iron gate, a work of art in itself, and I assume that the organ is over my head. I don’t spend much time there but take a shuttle back to be at the prize giving ceremony of the ski school.
Tomorrow will be our last day here, and I have promised myself a last treat at the wellness centre in a nearby hotel. After all, that is what grannies who do not ski, do!
Access to internet on holiday is a mixed blessing. One can keep up with friends, that is true, but on the other hand one feels obliged to read every e-mail that is sent, even if it applies to (voluntary) work. And so one knows there will be a special meeting at 10 in the morning after ones arrival back home, on a day one has to unpack, buy groceries, try to look civilized again and do the laundry. On a day one needs a lie-in after a long drive and a late night. So never tell anyone but your best friends that you have access to internet while on holiday. Neither give them your cell phone number.
Friday, Our last day here and it is still snowing. Apparently in Germany
After a peculiar meal consisting of an assortment of leftovers, we pack and have an early night as the plan is to start driving at 5 am ! One has to adapt as a surrogate granny!
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