Ski Season

It is wintertime in Switzerland, which means that it is ski time in Switzerland. Fortunately, there has been a lot of snow the last few weeks which means that the skiing is good and even total bums like me can go out and have fun. It is my aim that before I leave this country I will have advanced to the level of "mediocre" skier, no matter how much pain, suffering and freezing weather that involves. So far, there hasn't been too much of any of that bad stuff, but then again, my advancement hasn't progressed very far.

Right after the New Year, my labmate Jens had an apartment in the mountains reserved for a week of skiing with his girlfriend and some friends of theirs that would be visiting. Due to some last-minute changes of plan, a space opened up in the apartment and I was invited to join Jens and his friends for a couple days of skiing. As I had stayed in the US until after the New Year, I basically got off the plane here in Switzerland, unpacked my bags from the US, packed my bags for skiing, slept for 5 hours, then got on a train to meet up with Jens and his friends. It would be an understatement to call it an adjustment for me to leave California, where it was warm and sunny, and then the next day to be in the middle of snow with temperatures in the teens and 20s. It was gorgeous, though.

Fig. 1: The view from the apartment in Valais.

With the new year came an (almost) all new Paul.

Fig. 2: The New Paul features all new skis (sorry Swiss Army), goggles, and a helmet for safety. He still has the same vintage ski poles and totally inappropriate pants (I think Soph bought these for a camping trip eons ago and then gave them to me because they didn't fit). Pictured with the New Paul from left to right, Jens, Matt and Jackie (Jens's friends from U Michigan).

I got to spend three days straight skiing "beginner" slopes with 9-year-olds, and by the last day I was able to do some of the same pistes as normal-sized human beings. It actually did feel like quite a transformation: when I started, I was timid, nervous, and constantly hitting the breaks so that I wouldn't go too fast. By the end, I felt confident skiing on decently steep slopes and I generally tried to go as fast as possible. I honestly believed that I had improved to a not totally shameful level of proficiency. Oh, how foolish I was.

Hot off of my success with Jens and his friends, I decided to agree to go skiing with Serge a couple of weekends ago. First, he wanted me to go with him and some visitors from out of town to a nearby resort, which sounded like a great plan to me. Then, the plan changed -- the visitors weren't coming and instead we would go to somewhere nearer to Geneva. Then, the plan changed from "downhill, fun, casual skiing" to "monstrous, uphill, death-march skiing" in the mountains with mountain man Bernard as the guide. I think I have adequately documented my previous misadventures with ski de randonée or peau de phoque as it is known. If I were sane, I would have ditched as soon as the plan changed from "downhill" to "uphill," but much as Icarus , filled with hubris, decided to fly too close to the sun, I decided to test my new skills in the most difficult possible circumstances.

Fig. 3: Jens showing off the peau de phoque.

When we started, it was cold and snowing. Although I thought I would die in the parking lot, by the time we got started, I was so hot that I had unzipped my jacket and taken off my helmet and gloves. Skiing uphill is really hard work, but similar to a nice mountain hike, its not too hard to get into a rhythm and actually start to enjoy the views which are usually pretty stunning. After a few minutes, I heard Bernard say, "Watch out. Try not to get your skis or boots wet, they'll freeze." We had come across a creek in the forest and the only way across was to balance delicately on snow-covered rocks. Anyone who has ever been hiking with me will know that creeks are my nemesis and rarely to I cross a small stream without accidentally dipping a boot or two into the water. My first attempt in the snow was not much more successful than one might expect.

Fig. 4: Crossing a creek with skis on is about as easy as it looks.

After a couple of hours, we decided to take a break. "Break" here is a relative term -- as there is generally very little surrounding you that isn't covered in a think, powdery layer of snow, there isn't really anywhere to sit. So, you just stand on your skis and try not to think about how tired you are. As we had stopped a couple hundred yards uphill from the nearest cluster of cabins, we didn't really expect any company on our break. Thus, it was somewhat of a surprise when we saw that we had a visitor.

Fig. 5: Mountain Kitty! Although she probably belonged to a chalet out of sight and down the hill, I'd like to believe that she was a wild cat, living off of her cunning, guile, and the frozen corpses of other skiers.

As the cat was super friendly, we all had a good time feeding it bits of dried fruit, watching it try to "ambush" our skis, and of course having it climb all over us.

Fig. 6: I guess it's pretty cliché to take a picture of yourself in the mountains in the middle of nowhere with a cat on your shoulder, but I just couldn't resist the temptation.

As you can almost see in the above photo, by the afternoon the snow had stopped and the weather was fantastic. Hiking (especially in the US), it's not so hard to get to places where you literally can't see any signs of civilization, but it really is a whole new level of pristine isolation when you can't see any signs of civilization and everything is covered with thick snow. This really is the one advantage of ski de randonée that cannot be matched by any other activity.

Fig. 7: Although technically you could still see a ski lift on the mountains behind us, I think this was about as far from civilization as I have been, here in Europe.

Of course, it was not all uphill skiing. For the other people in our group, the real highlight was the return trip -- downhill skiing on thick, untouched powder. I had been warned that skiing on thick powder was more difficult than skiing on manicured pistes at ski resorts, but (again) I figured that I was good enough now that I would be up to any challenge. This did not turn out to be the case.

First, I didn't account for the fact that I was extremely tired before I even began. After hours of climbing, my legs were tired and I had developed huge blisters on my heels. I found out fairly quickly that I could barely lift my right leg, which made turning on my left ski pretty much impossible. Second, not only was the snow powdery and thick, it was extremely varied. Every once in a while, you would hit a relatively hard part or a extra powdery bump and if you lost your balance -- wham. Finally, I was totally unprepared for the fact that if you went too slowly, you would sink into the powder and thus have basically no chance of staying on your skis when you tried to turn.

So, my attempt to go downhill went pretty much like this: Stop, go fast, crash, pick yourself up, repeat. The snow was so thick that when you fell it was like landing on a giant pile of freezing cold pillows, so it wasn't too painful, but it got to be pretty embarrassing after about the 20th fall. Every once in a while, though, I would actually manage to stay on my feet and make a really cool, cutting turn, producing a wave of snow. It was like being the star of one of those "Ski Utah!" commercials, at least until I inevitably ate it ten feet down the slope.

Fig. 8: It is fairly easy to identify me in the picture above -- I'm the one covered in snow. As you can see, I am getting ready to make a turn onto my left ski, which means that much more snow is in my near future.

The end result was that all of the confidence and pride that I had built up in my previous ski trip was totally and utterly destroyed by the end of this one. I reached the bottom a bitter, broken man and for the third time in my life I swore that I would never go on another ski de randonée for the rest of my life.

Ski WrapUp

It is pretty much the end of ski season here, even in Switzerland; so Mom, you can finally stop sending me articles about people dying from head injuries while skiing. Fortunately for me, though, I was able to sneak in two final days of skiing in April and May -- once at Glacier 3000 in Switzerland and once at Chamonix in France -- with no head injuries to speak of. Hooray!

Glacier 3000 is part of an enormous ski area which stretches across the Alpes Vaudoises and Berner Oberland in central/western Switzerland. As the name might indicate, most of the ski area is on top of an actual glacier, which means that parts of the resort are open year around. The top part (which is open all-year) is very gently sloped so it is absolutely perfect for beginners. If you want to go skiing and you want to visit me, this is the ideal trip any time of year!

Fig. 1: Glacier 3000. What's cooler than being cool?

Since the pistes are easy, a bunch of obstacles and jumps were built to attract more experienced skiers. You couldn't pay me enough money to go off of a jump on skis (the fact that I know two people who literally broke their necks trying to do this might be affecting my decision), but my labmate and buddy Marc decided to give it a try. Before watching the video, I repeat Marc's defense that "there was a lot of wind slowing him down in his approach, and thus he did not get as much speed as he would have liked." I still think it was pretty incredible, check it out for yourself here.

Fig. 2: The highest peak in Europe is partially visible behind the baddest mofo in Europe.

Chamonix is on the other side of the a from Mont Blanc, the highest point in continental Europe. Although it involved waking up at 5 AM, I decided to take up Serge and Bernard on their invitation to join them there for one final round of peau de phoque. Frequent readers of this blog will remember my last adventure with peau de phoque -- skiing uphill with special fabric attached to the bottom of your skis -- and many will wonder why I would willingly submit myself to such torture a second time. Sure, the first time was painful and traumatic, but I have a short memory and an eager desire to do exhausting outdoor activities. I also had a new pair of boots and my trusty Swiss Army skis, so I figured I would be in somewhat better shape, material-wise. What could go wrong?

Fig. 3: While I felt pretty comfortable with my Swiss Army skis, I have to admit I was a little bit jealous of Serge's skis. They were not just SHARK, but MAX SHARK.

For someone with my (lack of a) skill set, the real challenge with peau de phoque is going downhill, not uphill. Since one is rarely near a piste of any sort, downhill skiing is almost always of the challenging, dangerous variety. Thus, when planning our route, it became clear that at certain point I would have to leave the group and go back down to the resort to spend the rest of the day doing traditional downhill skiing while the rest of the party went ever upward. Serge volunteered to stick with me, so our plan was to ski a bit and then prepare lunch for everyone when they returned.

Although I only got to do a bit of uphill, it was actually fun, challenging, and not nearly as painful as the first time. As the slope we were climbing was very steep (it would have been tough to do with hiking boots in the summer), we were forced to make switchbacks. If you think about the geometry involved, this is a fairly difficult thing to do in skis. When it is time to turn around, you can't turn gradually (you'll eventually be facing too steeply uphill and you'll fall badly), so you have to make almost a complete 180 degree turn in two awkward steps. Many people consider this to be the most challenging aspect of skiing with peau de phoque and in fact it is something that one generally learns how to do on flat ground with the help of an instructor. I got some instructions when I hit the first switchback, and from there I was pretty much on my own. I will summarize by saying that some falling ensued, but fortunatey not too much.

For lunch, we decided to have a barbecue. Now, what you're probably thinking is that we were smart enough to bring a hibachi with us, or that they had little bbq pits near the snack bar, or something else normal like that. Wrong -- here's what we did. Serge and I skied a little ways away from the main eating area, then we broke off of the piste and headed into the woods. Once we found a small cluster of rocks, we ditched our skis and started digging a hole in the snow for a fireplace. Hole dug, we went off into the surrounding trees to scavenge dead branches and whatever else we could find that looked like it might burn. Once we had a sufficient pile, Serge built a tepee style fire with some newspaper as tinder and we were set.

Fig. 4: Serge tends to his fire. Just off camera: non-crazy people

First off, I can't believe that the plan actually worked. Were we to try this in the US, it would be a failure on so many levels that it would not even be worth a second thought. Having a bbq at a ski resort? No way! Even if you had a gas grill that you brought with you, there is no way that they would put up with an open fire anywhere near a ski slope. Building a fire in the trees no further than 200 yards from the chalet? I think you could definitely get arrested for this in the US, but, of course, you wouldn't get any further than gathering a bit of wood before you'd get a stern lecture about resource management, fire safety, and selfishness, so it would be a moot point.

Since the chalet wasn't too far from our little fire pit, anyone from the resort could have seen us, had they looked. What would they have thought? The whole thing made me feel like some sort of country bumpkin in the city for the first time, unaware of local mores and customs; like some yokel shooting and cooking squirrels in Central park. The fact that we were roasting meat on sharpened sticks certainly added to these feelings.

Fig. 5: Paul sharpen stick. Make stick pointy. Pointy stick hold meat.

Fig. 6: Bernard tends to the cervelas, the national Swiss sausage. If you're jealous of his awesome goggles, those too can be purchased at the Swiss Army Surplus Store in beautiful Morges.

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As ski season ends, hiking season begins. I've got a new hiking book the other day, so if you come and visit, bring some decent shoes -- the mountains call!

Technically, it is on the "forbidden" list, but ...

Here's the deal: everyone here skis. Unlike in the US, where skiing is (rightly) seen as an effete, elitist pastime for the aristocracy, skiing in Switzerland is part of the national identity and thus enjoyed by everyone. By the time they can walk, most Swiss are expert skiers (see previous posts on this topic) and it isn't uncommon for people to go skiing nearly every weekend from December to March. This year, we've had an exceptionally heavy snowfall, so conditions are excellent.

The incredible popularity of skiing here has a number of both positive and negative consequences. First, it means that going skiing is not very expensive; by Swiss standards, it is downright cheap. Although there are some big name resorts (Verbier, Zermatt, Gstaad) that cater to Russian petro-billionaires, the vast majority are small, family-friendly, and affordable. Second, the skiing is very close by. From my apartment, I could be on the piste in less than 2 hours, using only public transportation. In a lot of places, narrow-gauge trains run virtually to the top of the slope. Finally, there are tons of options. If you were to go for only a single day, you could probably choose from a half dozen places. If you were willing to make a longer trip and stay a night, you could choose from dozens. There is no end to the variety.

The only major negative consequence of skiing's popularity is that people who don't know how to ski (like me) will find themselves lonely and bored all winter long.

As mentioned in a previous post, my mother has great concerns about me going skiing. Most of this is due to typical, unfounded, maternal worrying, but there is a real grain of truth here, as well. As many of you, my dear readers, know, I have on one other occasion (before my arrival here in Switzerland) attempted to go skiing. It wasn't a great experience. There was crashing, bruising, broken bindings, getting lost, wandering down the wrong mountain, waiting for hours for a bus that didn't come, finally borrowing money to get on a bus that actually did come, and well, in summary, I did not exactly bathe myself in glory. Thus, it was with great hesitation that I decided to go against my dear mother's wishes and once again throw myself on the mercy of the pistes. I figure, if I can't learn to safely and enjoyable ski in Switzerland, where can I learn?

The biggest hurdle to learning how to ski is equipment. Renting gets expensive very quickly, and it just doesn't make sense to shell out hundreds of dollars for equipment that you may not use more than a couple times. Of course, there is a third option ...

The Arsenal in Morges -- a half-hour down the lakefront from Lausanne -- was some sort of castle or fort back in the day, but is now the home of the Army Liq Shop, your one-stop spot for all your Swiss Army surplus gear. In addition to tents, tables, crates, gunny sacks, and clothing, you can also purchase slightly used skis. As the army uses these for mountain training, they are configured for ski de randonée (off-trail, uphill skiing) and thus come with fancy bindings and a set of peaux de phoque. The kit includes the skis, ski poles, bindings, and peaux de phoque for the ridiculously low price of 30 CHF. That's like $27 for pretty much everything you need to ski, minus the boots.

Fig. 1: Swiss Army skis and poles. No, the skis and poles do not fold up and fit in your pocket.

As you can see from the picture, the skis are in good shape. The bindings are a little bit worn, but mechanically, everything is great. Stylistically, well, the skis are a bit unusual. They are heavier and thicker than most downhill skis and they aren't curved like newer skis, which means that if I can learn to ski on these, any other skis would be a breeze. The boots were the cheapest pair I could find that came in my size at the local sporting good store. Even still, they are a huge improvement over the rental pair I had for the trip to Grand St. Bernard, which I guess tells you the importance of a comfortable fit. As for the poles (or batons as they are called here), well, let's just say that they drew a lot of attention on the pistes.

Fig. 2: Modern ski poles are made out of advanced carbon fiber polymers and titanium. These are made out of 100% SEXY.

This style of ski pole hasn't been popular for downhill skiers in 30 years, which means that I am either way behind the times or way ahead of them. A lot of people gave them kinda funny looks and a couple of the employees at the ski resort asked questions about them, so they were clearly the star of the show. Based on all the attention, you can mark my words now: these will be the batons to have next ski season.

Gear purchased, a few of us headed to Lelex in France (very near CERN and Geneva) for an afternoon of skiing on Saturday. Although at first, I started on the bunny hill (technically, I think it was a "ducky hill" as there was a giant inflatable duck at the bottom), by the end of the afternoon, I had skied a small green piste numerous times and I had even taken the ski lift to the top and skied down a long green piste to the main area. I definitely made huge improvements and am looking forward to going again and working on my speed and technique and not just "not falling and hurting myself."

Achieving One's Goals

As a general rule, I think it is a good idea that everyone keep a mental list of things they would like to accomplish in life. Nothing formal or complicated; just a few things (easy or difficult) that would really make you happy to do. For example, one of my goals in life is to form an all-ukulele all-David-Bowie cover band called "We can be Bowie -- just for one day." I'm still working on that -- I will keep you informed of my progress.

Why do I bring this up? Well, after last weekend I can cross off one of my dreams in life. I'll get straight to the photographic evidence.

Fig. 1: Pretty much the happiest I will ever be in a photo, ever.

Last weekend, my good friends from Stanford, Rafael and Pin-pin, flew down from the dreary United Kingdom (where they are both doing post-docs) to visit Switzerland. As they were more interested in hitting the slopes than seeing the sights in Lausanne, it was up to me to plan some sort of outdoor adventure. After consulting with some mountaineering experts (i.e. Bernard, from Valais), a plan was hatched to visit the Col du Grand Saint Bernard -- the Great St. Bernard Pass!

As Wikipedia will tell you, the Great St. Bernard Pass is the oldest known route through the western Alps and thus has been an important crossing point for millennia. In the 11th century, St. Bernard himself built a hospice on the pass to aid pilgrims and travelers crossing the Alps. The hospice has been in continuous operation since then, having been expanded and rebuilt a few times over the years.

Until a tunnel was built in the 1960s, the narrow road over the pass was the shortest path between Martigny (in Switzerland) and Aosta (in Italy). Unfortunately, the road is snowed in between October and May and un-passable by car. Thus, the only way to get to the hospice in the winter is to make the 5 km journey (with 500 m of elevation gain) through the snow.

In order to cover this sort of distance in the snow, one has two choices: snowshoes (see my previous post on the topic) or skis. Skiing uphill? Yes! Called peau de phoque (seal skin) or ski de randonée (ski hiking), it is very popular in Switzerland. The idea is that you temporarily attach these strips of fabric with very uni-directional hairs onto the bottom of your skis: they allow you to slide forward, but prevent you from sliding backwards. If you want to go downhill, you just take off the strips and away you go. Presumably, the name comes from the fact that the strips of fabric (which are now made of some sort of space-age polymer) used to be actual seal skins. If you are a good skier, you can move somewhat more quickly than snowshoes uphill and -- of course -- way more quickly downhill. If you are a total novice, like me, it would probably be faster to go with snowshoes in both directions.

A couple of labmates (Marc: world-class rower and athlete; Serge: expert skier/crazy person; and Jens: German) and Loren (of Grenoble) joined us for the expedition, although Bernard (the initiator) and his wife were unable to make the trip as they both came down with the flu that morning. This would come back to annoy us later.

Fig. 2: Pin-pin, Rafael, Marc, Big Dummy, Loren, Jens and Serge.

Rafael and Pin-pin wanted to snowboard the next day, so they rented snowshoes. The rest of us went with the peau de phoque. The Hospice website suggests that the combination of 5 km of distance and 500 m of elevation in the mountains is the equivalent of 10 km of "effort." They also suggest that you start no later than 2:00 or 2:30, as it takes roughly 2.5 hours to make the ascent and it starts getting dark aroune 5:00 or 5:30. Thanks to the sporting goods store not being open from Noon - 2:00, we weren't able to depart until nearly 4:30. Nonetheless, we were confident that we would make it up just fine.

Fig. 3: Pin-pin showing off her snowshoes. These were probably the right choice for going up the mountain as they are both lightweight and mobile.

If you've never peau de phoque'd, I would describe it as such: it is roughly as efficient as you would imagine strapping big pieces of wood to your feet and trying to walk uphill to be. For someone like me, who has only been on skis once in his life, it was not a particularly efficient process. The rental boots didn't fit very well nor did I know how to adjust them properly, thus my shins were rubbed completely raw by the end of the hike. Also, this little excursion was the first time I'd exerted myself physically in about a month, so in retrospect, it probably wasn't the greatest idea. Thankfully, a dose of codeine at the bottom of the mountain and the dream of a warm meal at the top of the mountain kept me going and not long after it got really dark, we made it to the top.

Fig. 4: Serge (backwards), Marc, and Jens show off proper peau de phoque'ing technique.

Fig. 5: The views in the mountains were incredible.

The Hospice is run by chanoines (canons) which are like monks, for the most part. They provide dormitory style beds, hot meals, and mass five times a day for visitors. Upon arrival, one of the monks came up to us wanting to know what happened to our other two people (we made reservations for 9). We explained that they came down with the flu and couldn't make it. He was not pleased that we didn't call and change the reservation as it meant that they had prepared too much food. We explained that we were extremely sorry about the whole thing and tried to explain that we were really in a hurry to get going and just made an honest mistake. This did not go well with the monk.

Dinner was nice, and afterward we got to watch a nice propaganda film about the history of the hospice. There was a nice sort of living room, with board games, comic books, and other entertainment, so we passed the time playing cards and reading comics. Serge and Marc taught some of us foreigners how to play Jass, the national card game of Switzerland, so it was an educational experience.

Fig. 6: Card sharks at work. Pin-pin is reading "Tintin au Congo," a delightfully racist comic book in which the natives are so dumb that they speak worse French than Tintin's dog, Milou.

For the most part, the Hospice was really nice and I think we all would have had a great experience except for one thing: this one monk just would not stop harassing us about the fact that we didn't call to change our reservation. He must have hassled me at least 5 times about the fact, culminating in his insistence that when we paid, that we ought to consider all the expenses that we cost them in heating and food for the missing people and we should add to our bill "what our conscious told us" was a fair amount.

Needless to say, this didn't fly with some of our group and some fairly spirited discussions ensued. Most of us paid a bit extra, just to avoid a fight, but it really left a bitter taste in our mouths. I guess when you go spend a night with monks, you should probably be prepared for an extra large dose of Catholic guilt. Oh well.

The next morning, Serge, Marc and Loren set off for another peau de phoque adventure to a nearby peak, Rafael and Pin-pin took their snowboards and headed down the mountain to the ski station to snowboard all day, and Jens and I wandered around the hospice with the spare snowshoes. Fun was had by all, until it was time to leave.

Fig. 7: Rafael and Pin-pin, just before they slam some Mountain Dew, eat some Extreme Pizza Flavored Goldfish, and take it to the max!

Once ready, we had to take the peaux de phoque off of the skis and start skiing down the mountain. As mentioned before, I don't exactly have a glorious history of ski experience, so this was a bit of a challenge for me. Fortunately, Marc was an extremely good instructor and taught me many many things, and by the time I was at the bottom, I was doing alright. I only had a couple falls, none of the serious, and even though I didn't exactly bathe myself in glory, I didn't embarrass myself too badly, either.

Fig. 8: Another stunning view of the mountains. In general, the skies get bluer and more beautiful the further up you go. At the same time in Lausanne, it was gray and ugly.

Once we made it to the bottom, it was time for a drink at the restaurant, and that was the end of that adventure.

Fig. 9: Most of the crew relaxing after an exhausting weekend.

Oh, did I forget something?

Fig. 10: Is it physically possible for a picture to say "Come to Switzerland" more than this one does? Can anyone resist it?

The hospice at the Great St. Bernard Pass is probably most famous for being the home of the world-famous St. Bernard breed of dogs. Although during the wintertime, the dogs are not kept at the hospice, they are kept at the beautiful Fondation Barry, a short drive away in Martigny. Friday, before we made our ascent, we stopped by the foundation for a quick visit with the dogs.

Fig. 11: Who's a good boy? Are you? Yes you are!

Although there is a museum with all sorts of historical information on the pass and the dogs, the real draw is the puppies. For a nominal fee, you can see the puppies. You can photograph the puppies. You can take videos of the puppies. And you can pet the puppies. It truly does not get any better than that.

So, I can finally check off "Visit the home of the St. Bernard dogs and then see more of them in a single day than most people see in a lifetime" from my list of things to do before I die. If you come and visit me, you can do the same thing.

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P.S. A lot more photos are available at my Picasa account here.