Sara does skiing

When I was a kid, my mother invested large amounts of money in my skiing education. My sister and I, every year, heavily kitted out, would be sent to the mountains to learn how to ski. I was never very athletic, but I liked skiing. There's an element of fun, of freedom, of swishing glory about going down slopes. And when you go up again in the mechanical chairs, you get to enjoy the beautiful contrasts between the dark rocks and the crisp, smooth layer of snow.

My boyfriend's parents own a lovely apartment next to a skiing resort and he invited me for a few days. I haven't skied seriously in years, but I jumped on the opportunity. I needed a break, and I wanted to spend some time with AD, and even the prospect of meeting seven of his friends was not enough to deter me.

The train station in the mountains was typical of any small French station: empty and gloomy. I waited for the bus that would take me up, and discovered that I was the only passenger in a 200-place bus. Up we go. The driver was a small, bearded man, with clever eyes. When he engaged me into conversation, I answered politely, trying to keep my eyes on the road so I wouldn't be violently sick.
Turns out he was a militant Muslim and obviously quite keen on converting me.
"What does faith mean! Why don't you accept God in your life?"
I was slightly worried by the fact he did not seem to pay any attention to the winding roads ahead, and tried to talk in a placating way. Whenever he got heated up, he waved his hands away from the steering wheel. I was feeling very nauseous by this point. After swerving violently, the bus almost crashed into a rock. I was almost hoping we would have to stop, so I could be quietly sick behind a tree. No such luck: I was theologized at for an hour.

Finally we arrive.

AD was waiting for me at the bus stop and I was so happy to see him. Still very dizzy and unwell, I went to the apartment to Meet the Gang.

It went quite well. I liked his friends and got along well with them. And oh, the skiing. AD is a very good skier, but I'm a very reckless one. I love skiing very fast and jumping off bumps, and taking difficult slopes. I had a lovely time. At the bottom of one of the slopes, AD smiled at me.
"You have a very...aggressive style."
We skied mostly with his ex-girlfriend-turned-best-friend, who was a good skier and great company. She also adores mountain cheese, so we bonded over that.

Skiing all day, cooking huge cheese-based meals in the evening, and then talking all night to AD: pretty much perfect.

Of course, on the way back to Paris, I had to take an (empty) bus back with my theologian driver, who continued to proselytize and piss me off, but this time I didn't feel so queesy, so I could react intelligently, instead of murmuring monosyllables while clutching my seat.

Now it's back to work. But I have a few freckles on my nose to show that I had a holiday.