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.

An Italian in Courch

Last Wednesday I was greeted by the latest addition to the Italian family. Mr. Daniel Roth paid a visit to the Courch. Fun was had and oh was it fun. It was great having a familiar face around, as well as someone who understands my accent.

1664 was drank, a jacket was stolen, yellow snow was made, coffee was paid for in 5 euro and 1 euro cent coins, sit down, sit down was sung, bluebird days were had, espressos were enjoyed, Dan was called out for being the only standing boozer in the Boulotte, asses were made out of ourselves at a family restaurant, fondue was eaten, apres was attended, and pow-pow was shredded.

All in all it was a successful three days. Although he may contend that Chamonix is better, his assessment is incorrect as he bases his theory purely on the fact that you can take a bus from one side of Chamonix to the surrounding mountains. Fortunately, I have the luxury of skiing there instead of having to bus it.

I kept having to refrain from asking where to next as it felt so normal to be on the hill together and I kept forgetting that we were not spending one of our usual days in Chamonix or Hood. I did relish in the fact that we both had moved from across the pond, were living in different countries, and still possessed the ability to meet up in a small town in the Alps. Quality.

As I was shoving him on the bus that may or may not have been headed towards Geneva, I have to say that I was wishing that the time had not gone by so fast. The only thing that kept me smiling was the fact that I knew he is headed back to shred it up in Courch in 11 days.

Here are some pics:

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

Traffic Light and Fancy Dress

Fancy Dress is a concept that I have still been unable to grasp even after having been surrounded by it for the past three months. When I first heard that I was invited to a fancy dress party, I was concerned because all I brought with me was ski gear and hoodies. My mind was unable to grasp the reasons as to why seasonaires would bring fancy dresses to a ski resort. Ski resorts are supposed to harbor rank ski pants and torn ski jackets, not prom dresses. When I finally realized what a 'fancy dress party' was, my mind was opened to a new world. I felt as though I had not yet lived life to the fullest. Fortunately for me, the Brits have expanded my horizons and have opened my eyes. The Brits use the excuse of a fancy dress whenever they can and however they can. Last week I had a group of 10 lads who decided to show up in fancy dress for dinner. Now, this fancy dress is not the type of dress parties we have in America where girls use any excuse to dress up like prostitutes. Much time and thought goes into the preparation of the fancy dress costumes. One was dressed up as Betty Rubble, with the dress, wig, and whole dealio. He even had scary contacts to go with this entire getup. I marveled at the thought of them purchasing their outfits in the UK and packing their bags for their trip. When I saw them walk out into the dinning room in their costumes I gasped, worried that they might upset the other guests. I quickly realized that all other guests deemed it all to be quite normal. I was just the ignorant one. This was the most brilliant part of the entire episode. Not only do the Brits like to get dressed up in fancy dress for dinners and a night out, these 'Punters' (as the British ski tourists are called) dress up in a fancy dress when they ski. It is by far the most ridiculous thing I have ever seen. I have seen people dressed up as cats, cowboys, 80s skiers, etc...They don't just have the hats or cats tails, they have the entire getup.

Last night I was introduced to the most brilliant fancy dress concept of them all; Traffic Light Parties. Apparently, everyone dresses up as a traffic light. If you are single and willing, you dress up as a green traffic light. If you are taken and no where near available, you dress up as a red traffic light. If you are somewhat available and there is a small chance you may be interested, you dress up as a yellow traffic light. I was speechless when I found out about this wonder. My question is, how do you get away with dressing up as a yellow traffic light when your partner is attending the shindig with you???

PS. My assistant chef quit again. This is what the 9th time now that we have lost a chef? Splendid.

Thank you to Terra, Bernie, Claud, Mom and Dad, and Carrie for sending me the lovely packages that I have been receiving daily. The cards were all hung up on my wall. The candy was all promptly eaten. Skiing was avoided so that I could read all of the trashy nuddie magazines. Thank you thank you! Receiving these pieces of home were just what I needed.

Pending until May...

Daily I am asked by nosy guests what it is that I will be doing after the season. Those who live here in heaven; the French Chalet owners, shopkeepers, staff members, and the woman who says hello to me every morning, (I still don't know her name after 3 months), have refrained from asking me this childish and ignorant question. After having been hassled by embettant guests numerous times and after giving them the inarticulate look like, "This is my life, there is nothing else," my roommate, Emma, and I, have decided that my official response is that my 'real life' is pending until May. Call it brilliant, call it what you will, I have imprinted this plan into my brain, that way my worrisome and rather tweakerish mind will allow me to enjoy all that is to enjoy here. Thus, when I get asked the inevitable question concerning my future life's goals after this endeavor, I kindly let them know that I am pending until May and that they can refer to my secretary after that.

Whilst I remain here in Courchevel, I continue to eat my way through the country. And no, I am not exaggerating when I say this. My days do not revolve around skiing, in the least. My days revolve around eating. And by eating, I mean eating everything that I can get my sausage fingers on. I came on this excursion thinking that it will be like fat camp, instead I will be enrolling in one once I am done. As I live with 2 brilliant chefs, I am treated to gorgeous (yes, the Brits use this adjective when referring to food), breakfastes, lunches, dinners, afternoon teas, high teas, and lord knows what else. It has gotten to the point where the zipper on my salopettes (another fav British word of mine for ski pants), are extremely tight...so much so that my zipper has failed to stay up at times which is not conducive when I am gliding through the pow-pow or when I am chatting to hot ESF instructors. Damn cheese and pain au chocolates.

Last Thursday, our day off, the cell was turned off and 12 hours were spent away from the chalet. No calls from my boss. No calls from tea-totaling guests informing me that the tea urn had run dry. Nothing but freedom, powder, laughs, and beer. Being away from the Chalet for 12 hours is unheard of, unless you have managed to end up in a French prison and are unsuccessful at bribing the Gendarmes to let you out. I digress. Emma and I met up with our friends Jo, Aaron, Lucifer, Aver, and Nick. We spent the entire day riding the entire mountain. At about 4 pm we decided to participate in some well deserved apres. Thus, we pulled ourselves together and skied from one side of the valley to the other side. 4 hours later we were tossed and standing sans ride out front of the bus station. Apparently the last bus had just left minutes before. I know this might sound trivial to those of you in a metropolitan city, however; missing the last bus here is like getting to Taco Bell 2 minutes after it has closed. You are screwed. From what I remember, just as if we were in a movie, a nice, older, Frenchman pulled around the corner in his extra-large van (there are none to be found anywhere) and saved us. He kindly placed all of our gear in his van and proceeded to take us to our hometown so that we could continue partaking in the festivities. Grandma, her boots, 1 glove, and 2 poles, and 2 skis made it home at 11.55. It was all worth it. The next day I came down with my 3rd lung infection of the season and was out of commission for 4 days. So worth it.

On a lovely bluebird day last week, we had an hour to spare in between meetings and the usual, thus, we decided to unleash ourselves on the glorious Les Avals. Les Avals is the valley between 1650 and 1850 that houses epic off-piste terrain. Although it had not snowed for 3 days, there was no trace of that. There were fresh tracks to be had everywhere. The hike out is a strenuous half hour hike; however, every nanosecond of it is well worth it. Every time I do the valley I am convinced that I am in the Chronicles of Narnia. It truly is enchanting. The hike out is the only time that I ever turn off my iPod when skiing. This is quite a feat for anyone who has had the privilege to ski with me. I digress yet again.

Turns out that one of my geriatric guests from 2 weeks prior asked my rep Charlie if Emma and I were a couple. Apparently he was "concerned" that I kept referring to her as 'love' and 'dear' and felt it pertinent to take it upon himself to find out. Quality!

Emma and I are completely hooked on the Sex and the City DVDs. Although I have never been an avid TV watcher, I am dreading the day that we run out of episodes to watch. Watching these videos has become therapeutic for us. Whenever we have a bad day or a horrid guest experience, we turn on an episode. I am addicted. It has gotten to the point where I find myself narrating my life, just as Carrie Bradshaw does. I haven't really determined how I am going to get over this. I am open to suggestions.

I had my first visitor two weeks ago. It was my mum. She was only here for a couple of days but they were all amazing. It was great having a piece of home around, it was also great getting the chance to show her my new home and let her experience all that I experience on a daily basis. I think that in the short time she was able to see why I love this place so much. We did everything from tan in the sunk, drink, insult one of my rude Austrian guests, to having fondue for lunch and dinner one day. It was amazing and I loved every second of it. I was sad to see her go. Luckily, I am going to be granted with another visitor next week. Mr. Dan Roth is leaving his Ancona and venturing to 1650. I am looking forward to it.

Here are some pics of my February:

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