I was a little bummed this morning as we drove up to Chamrousse for Kaitlyn’s ski lesson. Yesterday I called and canceled mine. Well, postponed it. And, yes, I did so in French. Or at least I did until the woman on the other end of the line begged me to speak English. I decided to because this whole week has been beautiful. In a spring kind of way. That’s not beautiful to a ski resort. A report from another mom yesterday at school after her morning lesson was that it was icy and you had to be careful to watch for the rocks sticking up, since half the snow that was there a week ago has melted. We figured the Piou Piou club (little kids ski school) could be taken care of with a couple shovels full of snow.
As we drove up, noting that the thermometer in the car told us it was around 8 degrees Celsius, we noticed the lift at the lower area wasn’t running. Then as we walked up to the ski school, we noticed none of the lifts were moving. A check of my watch… maybe they don’t open till 10. (that didn’t really sound right) Then Bill saw the signs hung above the closed lift-ticket windows. The lift operators were on strike! They were there, all wearing their Chamrousse-issued blue ski jackets. But instead of getting people up to the top of the mountain, they were drinking instant coffee and passing out information about their beef to interested would-be skiers. I didn’t bother to get one; I wouldn’t have been able to read it. I have read about the tendency groups have to strike here… although it’s usually bus drivers or train operators. And if what I’ve read holds true, they will be shuttling skiers up the icy slopes again tomorrow morning. (I’ll know, because Kaitlyn will be back at the Piou Piou club!)
While Kaitlyn mastered the art of skiing under big plastic hoops, Bill and I cruised the lodge, to check out the shops. I bought a book in English. It almost didn’t matter what the subject was. It’s a Michelin guide to the French Alps, including Grenoble. It says we have a fantastic art museum. (I’m supposed to go to that on Friday, so I’ll be the judge!) I stopped in one shop for a hot chocolate and was surprised when the woman gave it to me in a china cup. I forget, there’s no paper cups with those horrible heat shields wrapped around them here. Nothing is to go except from the pizza truck. So I sat outside with my chocolate chaud at the base of the main ski run, watching the happy sledders enjoying having the place to themselves. I also tried on some hats; I want one with ear flaps. Bill wouldn’t stay to give his opinion and I was too afraid I’d pick one that would make me look like a dork. I may take the plunge and make that purchase tomorrow.
Ski school was a hit with Kaitlyn again today. The group did well; they progressed to learning to use the rope tow. Kaitlyn didn’t exactly master it, but she squealed so loudly while trying we could hear her.
Kaitlyn didn’t make it all the way back to our house before falling asleep. Two hours of skiing under hoops, riding the conveyor belt and being dragged by the rope tow really exhausted her.
Bill and I figured if we couldn’t ski, we could prepare for when it finally does snow. And, it’s sale time in France. It’s the law. Stores are only allowed to have sales two times a year: in January and again some time in the summer. The French people at Bill’s office were surprised when he told them that skis and boots were on sale at a store we’ve come to like. So he figured now’s as good a time as any to drop a thousand euro… but now we both own skis and boots. I avoided the skis with pink butterflies and instead have some with a swirly taupe pattern. I could do without the inscription first luv. I don’t know why they make skis for women beginners look so silly. Maybe it is to draw attention away from our flailing arms.
Now, all we have to do is get some snow. I’m not in the business of praying for snow. See, when I was in the second grade, my friends and I prayed for snow and Indianapolis was slammed with a big-time blizzard. My Mom and Grandparents told me that I’d caused it. I vowed then, never to use my powers to produce piles of the white stuff. So now all I can do is hope… and hope that it doesn’t snow on my street while it’s at it.