Breakfast was croissants. Not cheap, tasteless supermarket croissants. Rich, buttery, hot croissants. Homemade and fresh from the oven. Gee, those croissants were good. The taste stayed in my mouth for ages, even after I had struggled with my huge ski boots and put my layers of clothes on, it was only when we walked to the bus stop the taste slowly left my mouth.
The bus ride takes you down a winding road and past trees, weighed down with snow. It looks like something out of a Christmas card. But my favourite part of the bust ride is when it passes a lake, but you have to look really hard to see the outline because its frozen over. There are little holes in the water and I can almost feel the freezing water lapping at my feet.
But before you know it I am lugging my heavy skis of the bus. The hardest bit is the steps. Before you board the gondola you need to heave your skis up the steps. It sounds really easy, but when you have ski boots that feel like they weigh a ton the last thing you want to do do is carry two heavy, unpredictable skis up twenty five steps (yes, I counted).
But the gondola ride is worth it, I step into the carriage and brace myself because it zooms out the docking station like an arrow. I press my nose to the window and let the frosty feeling seep into my face.
The gondola swings into the docking stations. We are at the top of the mountain. I lug my heavy skis to the top of the slope and strap them on. I push of and I fly down the mountain side. I brace, glide, plough, crouch, zigzag, everything and when I fall over I hold my cheek to the snow instead of getting up because I want to remember every single thing.