The Garmisch Classic

Riding the chairlift up the Garmisch Classic I realized why people love skiing. It was so quiet, in the same way going to the beach is quiet. Shouts of laughter drifting across the slopes, air that smells so good, and that satisfying crumpling snow sound. From up above, skiers and snowboarders winding their way downward send up a soothing noise not unlike waves crashing on the shore.

While the kids were in Day Two of ski school, Chris and I took the gondola up the mountain to winter paradise. Bavarian lunch spots, towering mountains, loads of snow, families everywhere, and all levels of slopes branched up and out from the arrival spot. You can also ski all the way down the mountain, but when I say “you,” I definitely do not include us.

After warming up on the bunny slopes we took the chairlift to the next level to try some easy runs.

We got separated and I waited for him a looooooong time at the bottom. No rescue vehicles zoomed by, so I figured he was alive, but after a quarter of an hour I texted him:

Things Chris might be doing:

Camping

Napping

Having a picnic

Reading the news

Contemplating the beauty and transience of life

Yodeling

Pooping in a snow hole (snow dump)

Quick run to the minimart for shampoo, shaving cream, Irish spring soap, and military times

Learning Japanese and how to play the guitar

Fondly remembering deployments

For some reason he was annoyed by this until after lunch, when he found it very funny. He did not think that slope was as fun as I did.

For lunch we went with the shortest line—a cheery red food stand surrounded by red umbrellas and striped lounge chairs. We got the last two Bavarian pretzels from the rotating countertop pretzel-holder and a rattler to share. The chairs were full, so we stretched out on a snowbank. The snow was cold on my back, the sun warm on my front. A guy to our left curled up and dozed and a couple to our right rolled a joint. I would have taken a little nap if we hadn’t been on the clock to pick the kids up.

Chris and I wanted to do different runs before heading down, so we split up on purpose. I followed some Thai security guards taking a ski lesson onto the chairlift (no sign of the king unfortunately!) and tried a couple new easy slopes. Chris went back to his favorite and was surprised to hear “Hi, Dad!” Isaac had progressed from the practice run to the mountain!

Our plan was to meet back at the gondola to go down the mountain and pick up the kids, but when the time came I couldn’t find Chris (a common tale). I waited 20 minutes before texting him a haiku:

Should I make a list / Of things Chris might be doing? / Here I stand alone

Again, he was not amused for some reason. What can I say? The mountains move me to poetry. I was so inspired I decided to ski all the way down the mountain. This was a mistake. I figured there’s no way the easy blue slope just ends, right? Sure, the map shows red red red and some black but it’s probably fine. It wasn’t. After sloping through beautiful, silent, sweet-smelling pines with an entire ridge of mountaintops beyond, the trail dropped off dramatically (still easy blue), then became ice and slushy with holes of earth showing through. People were wiping out all over the place. I saw some kids crying. I started to feel nervous. Then the path ended abruptly into a clearly marked difficult red section that I couldn’t see at all because as far as I could see, it ended the way early explorers probably pictured the world ending—sheer and terrifying. Fortunately there was a butt-hook lift back to the top, so I texted Chris “I screwed up—hope you can get Eloise. I have to come up before I can ride back down!” and hopped onto the lift…and promptly wiped out so bad they had to STOP THE ENTIRE LIFT so I could roll around in the snow like an idiot, hoist upright again, and shuffle in shame to the end of the line. And I was SO HAPPY to do that rather than attempt that red/black part. Someone who is a very nonchalant skier would surely laugh at this rendering of the terrors of the cliff face, and to that person I say: would you like to add a shark to fully complete this equation of terror?

The kids had so much fun in ski school they wanted to ski some more, so we did. We rented all the gear out again, carted the kids to the top of the mountain, and spent hours whizzing by each other on the bunny slopes.

I’d woken up at night in a cold sweat picturing Isaac zipping out of control off the edge of the mountain, but in real life he was smooth and controlled. He wanted to try the chairlift up to the higher slopes, so we did! He was great!

“Wow! I didn’t even notice those!” he exclaimed about the mountains. We saw his friend from school in Belgium ski by (and met up later to play in the outdoor hot tub at the hotel).

“This is way much more better than Belgium school,” said Eloise, enjoying some cocoa on the mountaintop while Isaac took Chris down the slope he and I did together a couple times. “I want to do six more days of ski school.”

Me too, kiddo. Me too.