The first time my husband took me to the mountains, over 40 years ago, I was totally unprepared. I had a trendy Topshop mac and boots with heels. When we arrived, I looked out of the car window at all the people milling around on the snow, wearing bright coloured clothes and furry boots. I couldn't wait to join them. I dashed out of the car, slipped over and fell flat on my face in the snow. How on earth could they all stand up, let alone walk about. I was also freezing in my short mac. We headed for the nearest rifugio, ordered a vin brûlé and pasta e fagioli -and at last I saw the appeal!
Now, years later, I have all the gear but still no idea. I come to the mountains because my husband loves skiing. While he swishes down the slopes, looking like he's delivering milk tray to the lady, I stomp about writing postcards and drinking cappuccinos .
What I really like is the dopo sci, or après ski, as we say in English.
This is where we can at last enjoy the mountains together.
To
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