Posted by Lindsay Berra
I woke up Friday morning to see big, fat snowflakes falling outside my window in Sauze d'Oulx. Sweet! I crossed my fingers, because the same thing happened Thursday, and an hour later, the snowflakes had morphed into a steady drizzle. By noon, it was a gloriously sunny afternoon.
Don't get me wrong, the Italian Alps are beautiful, with or without snow, but I expected a winter landscape for these Olympics and the surrounding mountains haven't seen a good snowfall in nearly two weeks. If any of you are anything like anyone in my family, you're glued to "The Today Show," and according to my mother, they've done a great job of creating a winter wonderland for the viewers in the States, showing only the whitest of peaks and the ski runs that have been doctored and groomed for Olympic events.
But those are the only runs with snow. The other morning, I tested my luck on the slopes of Bardonecchia with two friends, Alyssa and Lisa. First off, I am not a good snowboarder. I can link turns, but that's about it. Lisa is at about the same level as me. Alyssa, however, is quite good. Riding the gondola, we could see patches of dirt and grass and rocks on the ski runs below us.
We took a second lift to go higher, thinking with more altitude, we'd find more snow. Instead, we found ice. And lots of it. We did one run, very slowly, picking our lines to avoid icy spots, rocks and sticks. Then we took a fork to the right to continue our way down and promptly ran into a cat track that signified the end of the groomed trails. Our choices were to either hike the remainder of the way down the mountain (a very long way over rocky terrain), hike back up to the gondola (surely another long trip) or take the nearly flat cat track wherever it may lead us. It's no fun snowboarding on flat cat tracks, so the three of us rode our snowboards like toboggans to the next lift. Alyssa shot video of this with her digital camera. I would share it with you had she not been the victim of a pickpocket on the bus in Torino. They are running rampant at these Games, stealing from spectators, tourists and journalists alike, but that's another story.
Much to our chagrin, the lift was not a lift at all. It was a J-bar, perfectly easy to navigate on skis, but quite another thing for a not-so-competent snowboarder. Alyssa explained: grab the bar, get it between your legs as quickly as you can, stand up straight (despite the compulsion to sit) and let the rope pull you up the mountain. Sebastein, the Italian lift operator who spoke no English and clearly thought we were crazy, helped out (not really) with hand gestures and a little demonstration.
Lisa tried first. She went about 5 yards. I had the same result. Alyssa tried, and it even took her a few goes to get it right. After a few more tries each, Lisa and I were about done with the hard falls at the hands of this ridiculous contraption. Sebastien intervened, and with our limited Italian, we established that he was going to get a snowmobile to take the incompetent Americas back up to the gondola.
"Dieci minuti," he said. Great, we thought: We like snowmobiles. He said that 10 minutes later, and 10 minutes after that, and 10 after that until we'd been waiting at his lift for over an hour. His sled driver was taking a nap, he said. Ah, how Italian. Then, he had to eat lunch, and drink his coffee. What would happen if one of us was hurt, we asked? "Morto," Sebastien replied. Wonderful. That inspires about as much confidence as the alpine troops running around with the big green feathers in their caps, but that's a whole different story, too. Sebastien's friend, another employee of the mountain, showed up. They crack two beers.
Finally, Employee No. 2 takes pity on us and goes to get the snowmobile himself. When he arrives, Alyssa, who mastered the J-bar and took another run while we waited with the crazy Italians, took off up the mountain. Though we're quite certain that snowmobiles shouldn't be operated while under the influence, we've had enough of Sebastien. Lisa hopped on the back of the snowmobile, which roared up the mountain under the hand of Employee No. 2. Dieci minuti later, the sled returned with a different driver, an old man in a pink ski cap. I hopped on. For all I know, he might have had a few, too. We went over the dirt patches. We caught air over a few bumps. He went ridiculously fast through a group of skiers at the top of the hill, scattering them like birds. Alyssa took a picture for posterity. (I can't show you that one either -- thieving bastards!)
Anyway, we finally got back on the gondola. Then, we caught the bus, a train, another bus up to my place in Sauze d'Oulx, a bus back down to the transport hub, another train to Torino and a cab to Lisa and Alyssa's hotel. I had hockey games to attend.
Since then, we've been praying for this snow. Because on that gondola, in the splendor of the Italian Alps looking out at the rock-strewn runs and dirt-faced mountains around us, we made a collective wish that we would rather be enjoying the 15 inches of new snow at Mountain Creek in New Jersey.
I think there's something wrong with that.
