Dutch Wolves Hoovering the Grass

The astute observer will be able to tell apart several very distinct types of skier. One of my personal favourites is the so-called “lone wolf”, a middle aged extremely skilled male skier who will pass you on the slopes alone with his hi-tech gear and rucksack so fast and in such a beautiful way, carving, that all you can think is “god I wish I could ski like that.” And also: “Why do others manage to ski with a rucksack and I find it bloody annoying?” Apart from the lone wolf I also very much enjoy the “flying dutchman”. This species of tall, thin skier originating preferentially from the Netherlands is characterised by his special talent to avoid bending his knees and to perform turns (after all, all they do is slow you down.) and has a remarkable inability for breaking. It is a breath-taking sight. And a threat to your life. But also highly entertaining. But mostly dangerous, really. 

I want to cry.

Now that I’ve engaged you with a few funny observations I can proceed to discussing the real issue of the day: There is no snow. It really makes me sad.  

I can see the grass, flowers blooming and everyone working in tourism planning their suicide.  I am worried. What is happening to our planet? I don’t really care about skiing. I mean, it is nice and it will be sad if I won’t be able to take my children or grandchildren skiing. (No, they will not go to the indoor skiing in Milton Keynes.) But what worries me is the bigger picture. Standing on top of a 3000 m mountain today I felt very small. Seeing these panoramas is incredibly humbling. Those mountains have been there forever. And they will be there for another eternity when I and this blog will long be forgotten. But those mountains, that used to be covered by beautiful white snow every December since I can remember, those mountains are now way too brown. And brown is the colour of shit and I don’t like it. This morning we got up very early to ski with the moon watching us. 

I bet the moon wants to cry, too.

 That same moon watches my friends’ elderly grandma when she, bless her, hoovers the grass in her garden, because her brain is slowly losing its proper function. Nobody has hovered my beloved mountains. Simply, the snow did not fall. This morning I almost fell, not because a flying Dutchman crashed into me, but because the hills are covered in ice, not snow, and it is bloody hard to ski. Tomorrow we are going back home to the city, where a snowless December is very normal. And we will probably forget about the sad sights we’ve seen here. Including the family of five sat at dinner at our hotel, all five highly engaged with their smartphones, none of them talking. Really it would not make any difference if they were all alone. Argh I just saw too many depressing things these days. Tomorrow I will have prosecco for breakfast to drown my sorrows. Did I mention I dreamed about the black death last night? Before I get too involved with my depressed mood due to lack of snow I will stop and go watch a documentary about Smash Bros with my brother. Wait. I’m watching someone else play computer games on TV? Oh can this day just end please.