matt's 101 in 1001

Just returned from a week-long snowboarding trip to Engelberg in Switzerland, thus explaining my five-week absence from this weblog. I hope.

Anyway, here for your five minutes of pleasure, is a journal of my eight days of pain.


Day 1: arrive in a bright, green and sunny Engelberg having spent the better part of the day on every method of public transportation known to man. Fortunately, there's snow further up in the mountains. There's just enough time to pick up our snowboarding gear. Despite the fact my mittens offer me the dexterity of a seal and my boots result in me walking like Frankenstein's monster, my snowboard is very pretty. Accordingly, I am thrilled at the prospect of hitting the slopes tomorrow.


Day 2: having had a big night last night, I am far from thrilled at the prospect of hitting the slopes today. Nevertheless, I receive my first snowboarding lesson, most of which was spent on my rear end. Having great difficulty attaching my boots to my snowboard bindings (which I have discovered are women's bindings) - I feel this is God's way of telling me I should not be doing this. After all, He put me on this earth with two perfectly good legs and not than a flat, laminated plank of wood bordered by a steel edge.


Day 3: anticipated nothing but aches and pains this morning, but feel surprisingly okay. Head back to the demeaningly-named Starterland - a slight incline on which I have spent the last two days - to brush up on my falling technique. Not only accomplish how to attach my boots to my board in under three minutes, but also learn that the key is to alternate which buttock you fall on. Am yet to put this into practice, but feel it is valuable information nonetheless.


Day 4: receive second snowboarding lesson, only to have our instructor shockingly tell us halfway through that it was time to head up to the runs. Take a chairlift up to Jochpass (roughly the same height above sea level as Mount Kosciuszko) where I careened my way down an entire run - occassionally whilst on my snowboard. Not just any run, mind, but a red (medium difficulty) run. Exhilarating, but exceptionally tiring on the body. Navigate the same run twice more and later on, the red run that precedes it and an allegedly easier blue run. Took several nasty falls down several steep inclines. Developing the annoying habit of tripping over a soft pile of snow only to land on a hard patch of ice immediately following it. Still, I've been doing just fine so far; I can handle it.


Day 5: every movement I make is sheer agony. Whenever I sit down, I react as if I'm being disemboweled. Even simple tasks such as compressing the pump on a bottle of liquid soap evoke bloodcurdling screams. Meanwhile, it snowed heavily overnight and the temperature has plummeted to -20°C. Head back to the slopes, the cold mercifully rendering my aching limbs numb. Unfortunately, the heavy snow and deep fog persists throughout the day, making it impossible to anticipate what exactly I will be falling on (rocks, ice and disgruntled skiers are amongst my most popular choices).


Day 6: unable to move at all. Struggle to get out of bed worse than if it were a Monday morning. Snowflakes as large as watermelons continue to batter me as I step foot outside. Why do people live in such cold places? I know colonies were set up here centuries ago, but surely the time should have come where one generation said, "Pack your bags, kids. We're leaving. It's just too freaking cold!" Only last a couple of hours on the red runs before heading up to the top of Mount Titlis to check out the view from a staggering 3,028 metres above sea level. Boasting to have the "highest bar in Europe" (though strangely neglecting to mention the height records of the watch store on the same level), I wander around caverns and glaciers deep beneath the ice, hoping my lightheadedness is attributable to the height and not the frostbite settling in to my fingers and toes. Head back to Engelberg for the afternoon, taking part in an Indiana Jones-style quest for a pair of boardshorts in a ski resort town. Bizarrely, I actually find some and head to the sauna for some downtime. I enter the change room, only to find that this is continental Europe and boardshorts would not be required (perhaps change room was not the best choice of words). My head still giddily at 10,000 feet, I actually go through with the ordeal. Despite being naked in front of many people for the first time since my birth, it's an incredibly theraputic occassion once you get used to finding new and innovative ways to keep yourself concealed. Top tips: tactfully stretching, massaging and scratching yourself in acceptable places works well; reclining does not.


Day 7: I am now seeing the world simply in shades of blue and white. My face, meanwhile, has turned a deep shade of purple. Possibly forever. Decide to try a few newly-opened blue runs at Gerschnialp. What the map did not explain, was that to get to these runs, you must trudge for what seemed like miles through thick snow and icy winds, uphill both ways, and then contend with what's known as a T-bar lift. Despite several attempts to cling to this device, including one misguided effort in which the lift is painfully ripped from between my legs, I fail to get off the ground. I ask for instructions from the nearest staff member, who merely whacks the lift with a giant wooden stick. We opt to take some posed photos of us snowboarding and head to the sauna. ...what? It was literally 100°C warmer than outside, despite the fact I had to shed all five layers of clothing.


Day 8: heading back to London, where it's a scorching 6°C. An amazing trip, despite the elements. Feel I can comfortably snowboard, having learnt that the trick is simply to not fall.


A belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all!