What could possibly go wrong on a ski holiday? Especially when the forecast promises perfect weather and fresh snow has fallen overnight. Nothing, I thought. Or at least not much. I’ve rarely been so wrong. But it’s not just the weather and the company that matter. Sometimes the accommodation can be an adventure in itself. Welcome to the madhouse. Take a seat, grab a drink and get ready for the strangest story I’ve ever experienced on a winter holiday.
Laden down along the road
First things first: the hotel’s location is unbeatable. Right in the middle of the ski area and accessible directly by cable car. A dream. If only the car park were right outside. Instead, according to Google Maps, the hotel’s own parking spaces are 600 metres from the base station of the large gondola lift. Walking along the road with suitcases, ski boots, skis and all our gear doesn’t seem ideal.
We ignore the designated spaces and park right by the station in the day skiers’ car park. Even on the short walk to the gondola, I find myself wishing for a third arm to help whenever something threatens to slip to the ground. None of this is quite as easy as it looks. But we make it into the gondola. A slightly rocky start, nothing more.
Construction work at the breakfast table
Once we reach the top, the effort is quickly forgotten. The rooms are brand new and the view is magnificent. A welcome drink finally puts us in holiday mode. I could get used to this, I think as I close my eyes that evening and bury my face in the comfortable pillow. For now, all is well. I still have no idea what the next day has in store for me.
Well rested, I take a seat at the breakfast table. I get myself a coffee and have an omelette made. A perfect start to the day. Almost. Nearby, a ladder scrapes across the stone floor. Two men take off their shoes and climb the ladder beside us. They put a foot on the bench and start working on the wall behind us.
Dust trickles down. One of them is hammering. Two guests gather up their dishes and move to another table. What’s going on? Well, apparently the TV is broken. So much for a relaxing breakfast. But never mind, my legs are itching to get going anyway. There’s fresh snow waiting outside, after all.
“I do the same sh*t every day”
Fresh snow? Yes, fresh snow. And quite a lot of it, too. Felix pulls out the camera. There’s still an untouched corner on the terrace in front of our hotel: “If you stand in there, we can see how much it’s really snowed.” So I do. I’m standing in the snow when a snowball suddenly lands just in front of me. Amused, I look around. I see a second one flying towards me.
The smile vanishes from my face when I spot the furious person throwing them. About 20 metres away, a man raises a snow shovel, gesticulating wildly. He’s shouting at us. I can’t understand a word. Not that I need to. He’s already on his way over. Face bright red and arms flailing, he stands in front of us. Yelling at us. Swallowing half his syllables. I stare at him, struggling to understand. What on earth is going on?
Rumpelstiltskin 2.0
Okay. I’m starting to understand. We’ve trampled the snow. The snow we weren’t supposed to walk on. A beer-garden bench was meant to serve as a barrier. There are now three footprints. We really do deserve to be yelled at. At least, that’s what the man with the throbbing vein on his forehead, who seems incapable of speaking at a normal volume, thinks.
We apologise. Of course, we didn’t mean to make extra work for him. He just keeps shouting. He hops around us like Rumpelstiltskin. We have no idea what kind of idiots he has to deal with every day. He’s had enough of this sh*t.
He’s so caught up in his bubble of rage that he seems completely oblivious to his surroundings. I slowly take two steps away, hoping he won’t notice. At that moment, he turns on his heel, continues swearing away and heads back to the hut. I breathe out. Phew. Now that was an unusual encounter.
At that moment, an announcement comes over the sound system that normally plays upbeat après-ski music: “You could ask before you go trampling all over someone else’s snow. It makes a sh*tload of work. But those sh*tty tourists don’t care about that these days.” It’s clear he means us. Ouch. Later, we find out that Rumpelstiltskin 2.0 is the hotel manager. He could probably use some practice dealing with guests …
“Did you see that fat woman …?”
We consider leaving. At least checking out of the hotel. The encounter that morning has really put me in a bad mood. I’m someone who likes everyone to get along, and I don’t really handle confrontation well. I normally avoid situations like that, try to fit in and am happy when everyone else is happy.
But the mood passes, we have a good day’s skiing and our spirits lift. So we decide to stay after all and head to the dining room for dinner. The food is very good; there’s nothing to complain about there. The courses are generous and I surrender before dessert. Full but happy, I’m sitting at the dinner table again. Until … well … until the waiter comes over to us.
He casually sits down on the bench next to us with a sly look: “Did you see that fat woman over there?” I look at him, puzzled. What does he mean? “You know, the fat woman who was sitting there with her husband and two kids.” I’m still staring. I’m almost tempted to rub my eyes. Am I dreaming? He can’t be serious. He carries on regardless: “It’s really disgusting, letting yourself go like that.” Felix steps in and says it’s really none of his concern and that he should reconsider his attitude instead.
He tries another two or three times, but finally realises that his nasty comments aren’t going down well with us and makes himself scarce. Phew. What was that? A waiter bad-mouthing guests after an otherwise very enjoyable dinner? To other guests, no less. That’s completely unacceptable. I’m disgusted.
Time to leave!
The next day, the nightmare is over. We leave the hotel. Bags packed, we stand at the cable car station, ready to head down. We joke about our recent encounters. No one’s going to believe us anyway, we agree. But our amused conversation is abruptly interrupted: “I’m not staying here another day!” The voice belongs to a man balancing his bags on a luggage trolley. He seems to have brought his entire household with him.
Another voice asks if he’s found somewhere new yet. The answer comes quickly, without a second thought: “No! But anything is better than continuing to work here.” Felix and I exchange a silent glance. We’re thinking the same thing. This is all too much. Let’s get out of here!
One final hurdle
Even now, we don’t get out of this without another surprise. At the car park, it hits us full force once again. Every parking space is empty. Only behind our car has the snowplough piled up a wall of snow. Of course. What else? After all the action of the past few days, we’re not really surprised anymore …