They say that one of the things that every woman should have before turning 30 is a juicy past to look back to. Well, I have to say that I at least have that part fulfilled.
Last Christmas, I was going through a rough patch in life and feeling very low and out of myself (this was due to unexpected changes in my personal life that I won’t be disclosing here). I felt stuck in my place and my town, and I knew I needed to get out and go somewhere. So with a determined mind, I booked a one-way ticket to France on the last-minute and hastily packed two duffel bags with winter clothes enough to last me a while.
I arrived first to Paris, walking among the pre-Christmas crowds and visiting the main sights. It wasn’t my first time in Paris and I always wanted to explore the rest of France, so I took a train to Lyon, a city in the south east of France, known for its cuisine. I tried some weird food. Snails and pig feet? These are common dishes at the Bouchons Lyonnais (traditional eating houses). I genuinely liked Lyon because comparing it to Paris, you feel like it’s more authentic and French. Less touristy. More local. Smaller, but less worried about pickpocketing.
I spent few days visiting several places in the regions and planning my next town to visit. That’s when I stumbled on Chamonix. One of the largest ski destinations in Europe. Mountains. Snow. The base of the majestic Mont Blanc, the second highest mountain in Europe. I am not used to mountains and snow. I do not ski. I’m more of a beach and warm weather person. Fuck it, I said to myself. I’m going, and I’m going to learn how to ski. YOLO. So I booked myself a €13 FlixBus ticket to Chamonix, and I was set to go.
In Chamonix, I stayed in a small room at a 3-star French style inn. The hotel was overlooking the river and mountains which allowed me to wake up and admire the amazing every morning. I loved it. The town was pretty, sparkling with pre-Christmas decoration and lights. People buzzing and families and ski/snowboard enthusiasts visiting from all parts of the world. This was the week before Christmas, and although it was crowded, it had an overall lively atmosphere.
My ski lessons were a challenge. It was the first time in my life skiing and I was scared and anxious about many small things here and there, but I pushed myself to continue. After taking two ski lessons, I was able to use the button chair in the learning area by myself and be comfortable skiing down the long learners slope. So I kept practicing in the beginner area by myself for the remaining days of the week.
During one of the breaks and out of curiosity and boredom, I was checking out people’s profile on Tinder I laughed at how I was not able to understand anything, as most profiles were written in French, German, etc. Then I stumbled on one profile that was written in English. Mathieu (not his real name). He had pictures of him skiing and being outdoors. He had “Ski instructor” as his job and he was around 29-30, just a couple years older than me. His profile description was: “Interested in ski lesson? Swipe right!”. I obviously swiped right on that.
We had a brief messaging exchange. He asked how my ski practice was going, which I replied: “crying and have a sore butt from how much I have been losing balance and falling”, which was kinda accurate of my situation at that time. A few hours later, he replied something like: “Oh no, I cannot let you leave without giving you a lesson. Let’s meet and see how you’re doing on the slope?”. We agreed to meet the next day at the beginner slope.
The next day, I waited for him at the bottom of the slope, at a small outdoor cafe area with tea in my hand. He walks up, carrying his skis, and wearing a winter hat and sunglasses. He calls my name. “Yes, it’s me” I reply. He gets closer walks towards me. I notice his helmet hair and face and brown eyes. To give a visual, he looked somewhat between Pedro Pascal and Daniel Brühl. He seemed fit and comfortable carrying the heavy skis all the time. I wasn’t surprised about that; he lives in this area and has been skiing all his life, and he skis for living as well. We had a friendly chat and go to know each other a bit more as I was drinking my tea. Asking each there questions like: Where are you from? What do you do? What brought you here? etc.
After finishing my tea, we hit the slope and I noticed he immediately turned into his ski interdictor mode. As a ski instructor, he was friendly, easy going, patient, and definitely had that “teacher voice tone”. He was giving me directions and instructions as we’re going down the slope, and I found this feedback quite helpful. We spent the next two hours doing several runs on the slope, where he was giving me exercises and instructions and I was doing my best to learn as much as possible. I got better on the blue slope (which is a bit steep than green) and was starting to shift from snow-plough turns to parallel turns. I started to enjoy skiing and got more comfortable at the more difficult sections on the slope.
At the end of the two hours, I thanked him for the time and tips that he gave me and expressed how much I appreciated that. He said he was happy to and that he better started heading off to not be late on a family meal (it was the day or two before Christmas). For a quick second, I thought about me having dinners all by myself for the past few days since I was on a solo trip. I also found that people at Chamonix at that time were mostly families, couples, or groups of friends who came together. There wasn’t a lot solo travellers like me. I generally don’t mind solo traveling. However, because it was Christmas and I was feeling a bit bored being by myself all the time, I asked if he would like to join me for a drink on some evening before I leave to Switzerland the next week. He happily agreed and we exchanged numbers.
I genuinely just wanted someone to talk to and have a drink with, but it turned out to be a bit more…
To be continued.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/tzfh9s/fm_apres_ski_shenanigans_with_a_french_ski
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