Ski the Alps

When I first thought of moving to Europe, one of the things towards the top of my list was to ski the Alps. I didn’t know much about it, but I knew it would be amazing. So once the holidays were over, I rounded up some dudes for a Man Trip.

Seamus Jones: From Pennsylvania, looks like a young James Cromwell, barrel chested, loud snorer.

Michael Bourn: Buddhist Arizonian who has been partying non-stop since 1989. Fell in love with a Wicklow girl. Last known whereabouts: Southeast Asia.

Rob Davis: AKA Hearth-throb Rob. Ladies (and sometimes men) can’t keep their hands off him. You know he wants to party when he says, “I’ll have one but that’s it.”






Thuong Nguyen: That’s Tune Win. 37 but looks 25. Vietnamese with a Tennessee accent. (Mondee, Tuesdee, etc)

And me: well you pretty much know me, plus I would feel silly writing something like that about myself.

As you can see, we decided to grow some stellar mustaches for the trip. Why? Simple: for kicks. You might also notice that Seamus, despite being a grizzled 30+, is unable to grow visible facial hair, garnering him the nickname “Cinnamon Sprinkles,” much to his dismay. His attempt to relinquish this nickname by darkening the beard with mascara was futile, only subjecting him to further ridicule and heartache.

We must have talked about the trip for a month ahead of time. Hats off to Cinnamon Sprinkles for organizing pretty much the whole thing and making the video afterwards. In fairness, he does the least at work so it made sense.

On January 16, 2008 we set off on our adventure. I got to the airport pretty early (745am) and found Seamus half a pint down already. It was then that I knew what kind of trip this would be, and I nearly hugged him. We sat and had a nice pint of Guinness with breakfast while we waited for the others.

When they arrived, we couldn’t stop laughing, mostly at this picture:

For some reason I was offered a job with the highway patrol, and Rob was being recruited by the Irish Pimp Association. We graciously declined.

When we got on the plane we were as giddy as a bunch of Orange County girls on the way to the Paris Hilton Shoe and Purse Jamboree. When the flight attendant came by to take our drink order, I tried to order every beer I could think of that I knew they didn’t have.

Me: I’ll have an Old Milwaukee please.
FA: Huh?
Me: Keystone Light?
FA: We don’t have any of those.
Me: What about Colt 45?
FA: We have Heineken and Guinness.
Me: Oh cool I’ll just have a Natty Light then.
FA: Heineken or Guinness sir. (losing patience)
Me: Ok please tell me you have Milwaukee’s Best.
FA: (Stern look on her face that said: order a GD Heineken or Guinness or I will lock you in the shitter!)
Me: Heineken please. Thank you ma’am.

We landed in Geneva, Switzerland where we were met by a van to take us across the border to Chamonix, France. Chamonix is a lovely little resort town in the Alps near Mont Blanc, the highest peak in the French Alps. We were staying in a hostel that was something like €24 per night and we had low expectations. We really only wanted a place to sleep on the cheap. We were pleasantly surprised. The hostel included breakfast and dinner, both very good, and had a good mix of people and a decent bar. We had a six man room and the 6^th man ended up being a guy from England who we think was probably gay. We apologized in advance for what we knew he was about to suffer through for the next 4 nights.

That first night we rented our gear, ate dinner at the hostel, and ended up drinking Amstel there until late. Four of us went to bed and Thuong went out with some new friends to another bar. Amidst all the snoring I think I heard him stumble in at about 430am. When we all got up at 8 to hit the slopes, he was nestled under everything he owned, which he had somehow dumped out of his bag. We didn’t see him until late that afternoon.

There are several places to choose from to ski and we picked one at random. It was only a short walk from the hostel to the bus station, which took us straight to the lifts. That first day was the worst weather we had, but it still wasn’t bad. A bit foggy and windy but we still had a great time. Bourn was the self designated navigator, and once we got him to hold the map right side up he did a phenomenal job. Quite a few falls that day, except for Grandpa Jones, who never went fast enough to even worry about a wobble. At one point I saw him sipping tea and knitting a shawl while making slow gentle S curves down the mountain, not a care in the world.

From here on the details get a little fuzzy… I know we went out that night, but I couldn’t tell you with 100% accuracy the order of the following events. This is only partially due to the amount of beers consumed, but also the amount of time (and subsequent beers consumed) since these events took place. I’ll tell you the stories and you can put them together in a way that suits you best. Interactive blog!

I do know that that night we went out to a nice dinner and I had something called Raclette. Raclette is a meal that consists of a giant wedge of cheese placed on a special heater that melts the sides, which you scrape onto an assortment of meats, potatoes, and breads. It was superb. I remember it well because it gave us all terrible gas for the rest of the trip. Toasty on the slopes, menacing in the hostel. We had that with some good wine. I’ve never seen or heard of this anywhere else but I recommend it if you ever come across it. There was a pub there that we went to after that. It was a quieter place that people went to before they really went out for the night. We stayed a while and met some other travelers. Once we were done there we finished up at the hostel and went to bed.

The second day of skiing we went to the other side of the valley. This side was more wide open. At the top, they had this cable car that went from peak to peak and it seemed to just disappear in the fog and go nowhere. Once you got above the clouds, it was like a clear sunny day and it was actually quite warm. This offered some of the most breathtaking views I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what it is about the Alps, but they seem more beautiful than the Rockies. Maybe that’s just because they are newer to me.

This was the first day we had Thuong and he was, shall we say, how do I put this delicately, a terrible skier. The man couldn’t keep his skis on if we nailed them to his feet. You know those plastic fences they put up around tricky spots so no one goes over the edge, but every time you see them you think, “no one is that bad. I bet no one ever gets caught in those nets,” ? Behold:

That’s Thuong, in one of those nets, at the end of one of the gentlest catwalks you will ever see. They were training toddlers how to “make a pizza” to stop, and Thuong ended up looking like a fly caught in a spider web. Someone actually had to use Thuong’s own ski to fish him out. Ok maybe I’m beating him up too much, he picked it up later but I think we can all say he was on his butt more than the rest of us.

That night (or one of those night, they’re all running together now) was a big sports night. There was an important rugby match on as well as an NFL playoff game. We found a pub called Munster’s that had the game on so we hung out there for a while. It ended up being 99% Irish people so we felt right at home. I don’t remember anything about the football. I think about half way in we all forgot about it. There were plenty of people to talk to and we found ourselves explaining the game quite a bit. Munster’s was in a town square with a few other places so we bounced around quite a bit that night. Somewhere along the way I remember being at a cool bar with the best cover band I have ever seen. I also remember slipping on some ice in the middle of the road and falling to the ground. You know on cartoons where they slip on ice and their legs keep trying to keep up and their arms go flailing? That was me. I can actually remember, while I was sliding all over the place but before I fell, thinking that I must look like one of those cartoon characters. Seamus and Rob D witnessed the whole thing and we couldn’t stop laughing for hours. For the life of me I can’t place which night that was. We ended up at the only nightclub in town for what we called dancing and, as usual, finished in the hostel and went to bed.

The third and final day of skiing we all felt a bit groggy but spirits were high. We went up the side of the mountain near Mont Blanc. We skied for a couple of hours before we stumbled across a lodge halfway down the mountain. The weather was nice, we were a bit tired and parched, so we stopped for a snack and a “quick beer” while we sat outside. 3 hours later we were 6 beers deep we were still in lawn chairs on the deck. 6 beers x altitude = an excellent head for skiing. Most of the antics that occurred on the slopes (which you can see in this video) happened that afternoon when we finally went back out. It was the first time I’ve ever skied with liquid courage and I have to say it was really fun.

The trip home looked like 5 of the most tired boys in history. It felt like I didn’t sleep for days. With all the snoring going on, I probably slept 45 minutes total. I’ve also never drank that many beers over a 4 day period in my life. We yawned, farted, and laughed the whole way home. It was a highly successful trip that we still laugh about often. If you’re ever in the neighborhood, ski the Alps.