There were a
few things that were distinct advantages of traveling by yourself – for one,
you could decide what you wanted to do and see without having to compromise. You could go at your own pace and take it
easy perhaps explore a village, check out a city or perhaps edge your way along
the coast. Always at your own pace and never rushing unless you wanted to. I was learning a life lesson - “to go withthe flow” and trust my gut. At times I
was lonely and wished I had someone to share the sites and experience with, but
when you stay in youth hostels or budget hotels you’re never truly lonely
unless you choose to be. There are
people from all walks of life and from almost every country ready and willing
to share their travel stories and experiences with you over a beer.
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| A village in the western Tyrol (Austria) taken from the train on my journey into Innsbruck |
So it was
with this as a backdrop that I remember waking in Paris one cold fall morning
and asked myself the simple question that governed my time on the road - “so
what do I want to do today?”. I guess
the chill in the air, turned me to thinking about a life long ambition I’d had
since I was young - learn to ski.
Strange how a kid from a small rural community in country Australia
dreamt of one day learning to ski but there you have it. Having never seeing snow growing up made it
all the more mysterious and exotic so on the spot I decided I was going to “go
where the snow was” and learn to ski.
Growing up I’d heard that the Winter Olympics had been in Innsbruck,Austria – so what better place to start I thought to myself. It was relatively easy with a Eurail pass to
just show up at the train station and head off on the next train, but Innsbruck
with half way across the continent so after the better part of the morning
figuring out my route across Europe and getting some breakfast I headed to the train
station and boarded an overnight train bound for Munich with a connecting train
to Innsbruck the next day.
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| TW at Stubai base station - 1985 Note: the cool red ski pants! |
I was
excited as I arrived into Innsbruck that afternoon; particularly as majestic
snow covered peaks surrounded the town in every direction. First order of business was to find the
youth hostel (always number one priority when traveling – figure out where
you’re going to sleep. Yes I learned
that after my disastrous arrival into Copenhagen some months before), then
food, then in this case ski clothing… I needed something to wear to if I was
going to learn to ski so I headed to a second hand ski store of which there
were many in the town and picked up some ski pants (bib & brace style), yes
the stretchy 1980’s ones, bright red ones of course - man I was soooooo
fashionable! I can hear your sighs of
envy now…
So it was
with eager anticipation that I got up early the next morning, dressed as warmly
as I could in all my gear (yes, I’d procured warmer clothes by this stage
including a warm “down filled” ski jacket in Copenhagen and some gloves) and
waited with everyone else outside the hostel for the bus that would whisk us to
the slopes to begin my adventure for real.
The old bus that picked us up was already filled to overflowing and
slowly chugged up the steep valley toward what I thought was the slopes. Not quite.
The bus dropped us off at the base station where I rented my equipment;
we then had to board the gondolier for the trip up to the top of the
mountain. The ride up made me just a
little nervous, particularly as the city fell away into what looked like a
miniature play-set as we rose higher and higher and eventually into the clouds
and toward the “glacier”. Yes, this was
the first time that I realized that I was bound for not only the top of a
mountain but in fact a glacier.
As I arrived
at the Stubai Glacier Peak station (3100 meters which was just over 10,000 feet)
if I didn’t have second thoughts already I did now, as I looked at the
surrounding mountain vistas and the perilously steep mountain we’d just come up. I think it was probably a good thing that we
were above the clouds, which covered the actual view of the villages in the
valley far below.
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| Map of Stubai Glacier ski resort - circa 1985 |
Now most people would sign up for a lesson, but because I considered myself somewhat of an athlete and in pretty good shape, I didn’t think I needed a lesson, how hard can in be I thought that first morning (noticing a trend – yes, an early ingrained sense of invincibility!).
The first
day I observed what everyone else was doing and tried to mimic the way they
moved and glided effortlessly across the snow.
My turn now, definitely at a much slower speed and rather than directly down
the mountain I thought to myself I would just go from side to side across the
mountain till I got the hang of it.
Clearly this presented me with my next quandary – how was I going to
turn? So being the inventive guy that I
am I decided to just fall over on my side when I wanted to turn, then wiggle my
skis under me to now face the other direction and so it went. It was a slow and painful few days L
It was about
the fourth day and I was actually starting to make some turns, albeit wide slow
turns, but at that height there was still a lot of vertical to deal with so I’d
also learned to fall without really hurting myself too much. I must admit I was
beginning to enjoy the sensation of gliding over the snow and the scenery was
out of this world.
Just when I
was congratulating myself on “mastering” this sport I took an enormous fall,
the biggest so far. I think the term is
a “ski sale” as my skis were completely off with one up the mountain about 10
meters, the other within reaching distance and my poles were strewn about like someone
had thrown them from a second story window…. One in the snow leaning awkwardly with
the other half buried a few meters away, snow had also infiltrated every part
of my clothing and beginning to freeze my nether parts (how on earth did it get
down there so quickly?)
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| Cover of the Stubai ski trail map circa 1985 |
Learning to
ski in Austria was the first of many ski adventures over the ensuing years and
it still holds a special place in my heart.
I think my next favorite ski adventure was the time I ended up in
Andorra (small principality between Spain and France) hitch hiking in a snow
storm up a mountain pass, but I’ll leave for another time J
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