A little piece of heaven

This post is longggg overdue.

I don't remember too much from my childhood skiing experiences - I remember the feeling of rushing down a mountain, craving more speed than my little body could possibly amount to.  I remember the damn T bars and the round disks that shot you like a rocket.  And I remember it being pretty.

Well, I got a taste of what exactly I grew up skiing, and then some, back in February when I visited a little place in the Alpes called Chamonix.

Three full days of skiing was all I got this year, but when it looks like this, those three days will keep me satisfied until next season.  Yes, we were completely soaked by rain on Friday, skiing through slush and wringing out our gloves at every possible moment.

Saturday was refreshing, with no rain and smooth runs.



















And then there was Sunday.  Grands Montants.

It was almost like an out of body experience, other than the fact that my body was dying (soo out of shape, Annie is making me soft).  The snow was heavy, shin and knee deep in places.  The runs were wide open.  The wind blew all the clouds away.  And the sun was shining.

Life literally doesn't get much better than this.

Plan B if the whole 'trying to get a job after college' thing doesn't work out? Ski bum in Chamonix - bartend by night, ski by day.

 We also ate phenomenally.  Lots of fondu, potatoes, cured meats, apple tarts, the most amazing cream and mushroom chicken I've ever had...