Tag 72: When Columbus Only Discovered Skyscrapers

09.09.2016

Our mission to teach the Maoris a little about the art of skiing is changing more and more into a real challenge to even feel a little snow between our toes due to the events of the past few days. So, yes... this expression has stayed with me a bit from days at the beach. But that's also what makes this place so special. Within days, if not hours, it's possible to exchange a snowboard for a surfboard and see fresh mountain air replaced by the whispering sea breeze.

A tourist bus takes us up the mountain road to the Treble Cone ski area, just to please Gudi. In hindsight, I realize that my concessions and sacrifices not to drive my own car were probably wise due to the steep gravel road.

Finally arrived at the ski area, we are greeted with sunshine, Easter weather in September, and ski equipment that could not even cut butter with its "edges". Honestly and without exaggeration, I claim at this point that it would hardly be possible to master these initially rather steep slopes without listing the slightly better (but still extremely modest) advanced equipment.

After this intermezzo, we are lucky enough to be able to use our lift tickets, as the only lift company that has our true Austrian trust is also represented here. So we board a definitely retired 1970s Doppelmayer chairlift and feel like we're in the Kitzbühel of the previous century. Bedded a bit too hard and missing a canopy as well as a seat cushion that warms the gluteus maximus, we still realize that it has already been worth taking the trip. The view is phenomenal and so different from Austrian mountain panoramas that we briefly feel a bit exotic - even though we have our trusted skis strapped to our feet.

Because of this fact, we quickly pull ourselves together and devise our true mission for the day. Ready to be received at the summit with fanfare and accolades, we are hit with a shock moment. Flags suddenly wave from the snow on the most beautiful slope, in front of the absolutely fascinating panorama. And not just one flag, several of them. Disappointed, we realize that apparently someone has already conquered this piece of land. But it gets even worse. Upon closer inspection, we recognize that the countless, conspicuously parallel flags bear all too familiar A1 emblems. Gudi is so confused that she immediately checks her non-existent cell phone reception. Without even having the slightest time to digest this humiliation, a giant, only clad in what appears to be painted-on body paint, shoots past us. After a short moment of confusion, we realize that we have just been surpassed by our own home country, the Austrian skiers. They apparently train in the New Zealand summer and give us a feeling similar to what Columbus would have felt if he had come across the New York City skyline in 1492.

Upset that Austria evidently not only occupies its own mountains, we decide to still spend a day skiing. In the end, it turns out to be very nice, even though I don't want to withhold some insights. In New Zealand, a black slope definitely does not mean a groomed run, let alone guaranteeing a lift at the end of the slope. Instead, you have the dubious pleasure of testing your personal fitness with a fifteen-minute ascent. Ski jumps are definitely not built here in a way that landing in a flat part of the slope can be ruled out. It feels as if I am ramming my knee into my stomach, right through the for men quite important, outsourced organs. Not to mention that cheap mountain hut food looks different. So you pay a whopping €15 for a small can of beer and a piece of pizza!! That's why today I will only drink four cans, exceptionably.

Despite these new insights and the more than meager attention paid to our futuristic abilities by the locals, we spend a really nice day.

In the evening, we meet up with Michi and enjoy a farewell beer in the camper with a view of the lake. Tired and unwashed, we go to sleep.

Gudi's glorious laws:

I don't have to shower, because I haven't sweated anyway.

I also agree with this rule, mainly due to a drastic lack of alternatives and sub-zero temperatures. Thankfully, sleeping in each other's stink works perfectly fine, and those who know me also know that I absolutely don't tend to sweat even a drop during uphill climbs in the sun.