the french alps

Here are some pictures I took from when I went skiing for the first time. Mind you, I skiied once and, while it was quite a skiing disaster, it was very fun. (If you, like me, endeavor to erase from this souvenir the fact of being harrassed by the skiing instructor. Oh but, it was mild harrassing, you know, a la française.... Blergh). I knocked down a kid or two, and it was quite impossible for me to stop sliding all around.

I was very much alone during that trip, so I spent most of my time walking in my new snow boots. Which were also red, and did not go with my borrowed pink and beige ski jacket, but I was so glad of being where I was that I did not mind one bit. So I walked all around the ski camp, walking amidst expert 5-year-olds skiiers, very a la Bridget Jones.

I asked strangers to take my picture when I got tired of my self portraits, which would pass more as selfies because for a self portrait would be something of this sort:

image from nywele styles

There was this one walk, to a lake, that was suggested to me. It was such a lovely, eerie walk. The snow was falling, the wind was blowing, and all I could see was white. White laying flat in front of me and white standing tall next to me. There were some rebelious streams that refused to freeze over, much to my liking. I could spot, here and there, groups of people, very far off in the distance.  There was a man skiing, by himself. I took his picture and thought of "The Long Distance Runner"; I thought he was The Long Distance Skiier.

There were moments where everyone disappeared, I could see no one. And I was alone, in the middle of the cold and pure whiteness. It was sublime. I could hear nothing, nothing but the blow of the wind, but at one moment that too faded out and I could hear absolutely nothing. My hearing was blocked out by the absolute loneliness and so I stood there, deaf, watching the sknow flakes form little eddies around me.

Later that night I witnessed the graduating celebration of the afore mentioned 5-year-old skiing geniuses, they all descened from the top of a mountain, holding candles in their hands, and then there were fireworks.

The mountains are so haunting, so lonely, so quiet. I wish to return.

The long distance skiier

A very lonely ex-cigarette

Oh viens chéri, on mange à 1000 mètres de la terre.

- Moïra