I dont know where we are going now...

My last few days in Courch have been phenomenal. The valley rally was followed by a splendid night out on Friday. My friends and staff organized a going away party for me on Friday night. It consisted of going to the Refuge, my favorite bar in 1850 as well as the Funky Fox to see Bring Your Sisters, arguably one of the best bands ever to hit a stage. Our goggle beards were flaunted. Tears were shed. Clothes were taken off. Pints were dropped. Shit was chatted. Reminiscing took place. Jaegers were drunk. Bombs were drunk. The night also consisted of me being crowd surfed, something I swore I would never ever do. There is nothing scarier than being carted through a bar by a bunch of pissed Brits. On the bus ride home everyone felt it pertinent to take the piss out of me and talk in ridiculous American accents. My staff has requested that I record the standard pep talks that I give them before service every night so that they can replay them each evening when I am not here.

The remaining days consisted of me sharing a piece of my mind with my resort manager, our 9th chef walking out of the kitchen, and more chocolate and baguettes being consumed.

On Monday before I headed for Geneva, we all went for hot chocolates at the Bar Le Schuss and watched the world go by. It was hard for me to comprehend that would be the last hot chocolate I would have from there in a while. I promised myself that I would be back again to have another hot chocolate.

Now that this amazing ride is over, I cant help but relate to Dakota, the Sterophonics song. I remember watching them perform live on the piste in Ischgl two years ago. Never did I think that their song would resonate through my mind years late. The song seems fitting for me right now. My Operation Magpie has been cut short by a few weeks. Although I have completed far more and achieved more in this season than I ever imagined, I am still not 100% ready to part with Courchevel and the life I have created for myself here in Courch. There is so much I am going to miss.

I will miss my backyard. I will miss the mountain air. I will miss waiting outside of the grocery store at 7.30am in an attempt to buy the missing cheese and ham that did not arrive in our deliveries. I will miss the bitching and moaning that resonated from our room every morning when the alarm went off. I will miss the ability to blame all problems and issues on the altitude. I will miss my lova Emma. I will miss my pain au chocolats. I will miss opening the windows every morning and being greeted by the majestic mountains. I will miss the feeling that overcame me every time I was able to tell guests that I live here, this is my life. I will miss being able to call Roth and telling him to get his prosciutto buns over to shred the pow with me. I will miss my Sandwich Pecheurs. I will miss my staff. I will miss the excitement that I felt everyday when I rode the bubble up to the mountain. I will miss Franks. I will miss laying in bed with Emma and stuffing our faces while we watched Sex and the City for the umtienth time. I will the feeling of utter peace after blowing off steam on a fresh powder day. I will miss the moment when I came to the realization that I understood everything that was said to me in French. I will miss being the only girl who could hang with and keep up with the 12 boys who let me infiltrate their ski circle. I will miss people taking the piss at my accent.I will miss my new friends that I have made. I will miss sitting on the lifts and yelling at the "gay bladders" below. I will miss seeing the look on peoples faces when I tell them that I am in fact not Canadian, but half American. I will miss being able to tell people on ski lifts that I am in fact a Seasonaire. I will miss getting up at 4am on transfer days. I will miss sitting outside at the Bar Le Schuss whilst drinking espressos and watching the world around me. I will miss having the luxury of being able to decide everyday whether it was worth skiing or staying in bed reading a book.

I will miss the numerous times that I reminded myself that this was the best decision I have ever made in my life.

The list is endless. Operation Magpie was more than a success. This experience is something that I will never be able to justify with words.

As the song goes, "I dont know where we are going now." I have no plan. It seems to have worked for me so far so I think I will just go with it.

See you next year Courch...

http://picasaweb.google.com/ohalfen/LastDays#

Hot Messes

What could be safer and more fun than skiing in ridiculous costumes after getting drunk off toffee vodka???

Valley Rally is a drunk Scavenger hunt-race that is completed on the slopes of Courchevel and La Tania by teams of 4. The only rules are that each team must be comprised of at least one boy and one girl and there must be two disciplines showcased by each team. Emma, Ian, and I of course determined that we were going to ski and we all felt it would be pertinent to have our fourth member, Carl, participate on "gay blades." He kindly obliged as he was given no other choice.

The morning began at 9am when Emma and I desperately tried to figure out what we were dressing up as. We were well aware of the fact that our two other teammates, Ian and Carl, were extremely serious about this valley rally and had been planning their costumes for quite sometime. Thus, we knew we could not disappoint. Fortunately for us, Elisabeth had been kind enough to send us matching nightgowns for Valentines Day. Little did she know that they were going to be worn on the slopes. We were also lucky enough to have been given a washed Pig that smelled of peach lotion by a certain Mrs. Knappenberger. What more did we need for a suitable costume? Some Christmas lights, some tinfoil, and some love. We were set. Out of this the "Hot Messes" were created. Once we were dressed and ready, the boys -joined us for some strategy planning. Crazy Carl was dressed up as a Mexican Snowman. We are still trying to determine what Ian was dressed up as. Once Emma and I were done pissing ourselves at the sight of their costumes, we made our way to the Bubble bar to begin the days festivities.

The race commenced with a healthy serving of Jaeger bombs as well as pints of Mutzig that housed candy and eggs. One of the goals was for each team member to hold onto their egg during the race as it would provide you with massive points in the end. Unfortunately, we lost our eggs right as we got off the first lift. Although we were the first ones out of the bar and up the hill, we were quickly passed as Carl was unable to put on his "gay blades." The race consisted of us making it to 6 checkpoints, alive. During the race we were defaced with pens, tackled by opponents, given points for completing the most ridiculous naked tricks in the park, forced to drink garlic vodka, instructed to trade underwear with our teammates, directed to bob for apples in flour while sitting on our naked teammates, and forced to drink toffee vodka. After we reached our final checkpoint it was a mad dash to the finish line. Somehow, Emma and I got separated from Ian and Carl and they ended up waiting at the middle of the slope for us, although we were already down at the finish line. I am blaming that on the excessive shots of toffee vodka.

All in the all it was by far the best day of the season. I have not skied that hard and that fast ever. It was a thrill chasing other teams down the slopes in attempts to snatch their balloons and break their eggs. Watching the looks and hearing the laughs of other punters on the slopes as we skied past them was priceless. The looks of other skiers in the lift lines as we were throwing ourselves on each other, whilst trying to take off each others skis and throw them down the slopes was charming. The looks on the park riders faces as Crazy Carl got naked and did a 360 off the jump was extremely priceless as well. The thrill of skiing as fast as possible to the finish after having pounded more toffee vodka than necessary was the best of it all.

Oh, I forgot...having to deal with Carl landing in the Gendarms custody was the most enchanting part of the day.

Here are some pics that showcase the day:
http://picasaweb.google.com/ohalfen/CourchValleyRally#

All the gear and no idea'r

Everyday I meet people who are triple treats. Everyday. These people can sing, dance, AND act. I am not one of those people. As I will never amount to being a triple threat, I have decided that I am going to become a double threat. Hence the reason I have taken up snowboarding. I have rented myself a board and I have decided that I am going to become a snowboard chick during the last 5 weeks of the season. The snow blows and there is no need to go off-piste skiing, thus, I am going to wreck myself on a board. I have spent one entire day on a board and I have managed to perfect the art of boarding down blues and reds. As I walked out of the chalet this morning, I felt like a total knob with my board and my boots. Not to say that snowboarders are tools, I just felt like one as I had no clue what to do with my board, how to carry it, let alone how to walk in the boots. I was a bit weary as to how the day was going to play out, however; I was pleasantly surprised when I realized that it is not as hard as it looks. I have quite a lot of war wounds on my knees to prove how "easy" it is. I also cant move my shoulders or wrists. It is so worth it though. Soon I will be murdering the park, pulling 720s and Methods off the jumps. Ha! Even though I am going to become a pretend snowboarding chick, I do have to say that my heart still belongs and will always belong to skiing.

The Perfect Cure

Did a guest grab your arse this week and demand that you get them a beer? Did your ferret eat your pet mouse? Did you drink too much toffee vodka last night and feel like you got hit by a bus? Did you eat too many pain au chocolats for breakfast? Did you put your pants on the wrong way this morning? Did you have to end something good just because you knew it would be the only way to avoid the inevitable? If you answered yes to any of those questions, I have the perfect cure for you. Go grab Crazy Carl, your assistant chef, and arguably one of the sickest and most nutterish skiers in resort, and have him hit the hill with you. Dont forget your beacon, shovel, probe, and of course your loaded iPod. On the way, grab a nutella and banana crepe that you can stuff your face with while you patiently ride the bubble and admire the bluebird day and fresh powder. As you trek to the top of Creux Noirs, make sure you yell rude comments at the "gay bladers" who are trying to make their way down the hill. Before you traverse over and drop in, put down your skis, mute your iPod, and do a 360 degree turn. Marvel at the surroundings. Take in the view of Mt. Blanc and its hat. Look out to Tignes and Val d' Isere. Check the drop off to Monteret. Once you have done that, strap on your skis and mosey on over to the top. Turn on your beacon and strap on your helmet. Move to the edge of the monumental mountain and map out the line you are going to create. Start blaring "Jerk It" by Thunderheist and drop in. As you cruise down, take extra strong turns so you can get face shots of powder. If you are feeling extra ballsy, make sure to take the time to hit the numerous drops on the way down. Dropping off the jumps and hitting the powder will cure all. Stack it on the way down if you are feeling super crazy. Having snow down your pants and in places where you never thought you could get snow will be sure to make you laugh hysterically.
Do this whole process at least three times. If this doesnt cure you, I dont know what will you nutter.