After staring longingly at the mountains of snow on the streets, I finally made it to the slopes this past weekend. Angie, the volunteer in Tetovo who hosted the New Year’s party as well, once again let 20 of us crash at her place. We went to the nearby ski resort on Saturday. It was fairly crowded, but seemed even MORE crowded because the concept of a line does not exist here. I shoved many a child and rather enjoyed it. (I only wish I knew how to say “No cuts, no butts, no coconuts” in Albanian.) Also, I witnessed my first biathlon. (That’s the sport with skiing and shooting… so THAT’S what they did with the weapons the government collected after the 2001 conflict! The paramilitary biathlon must consist of skiing and throwing dirty bombs.)
The ski centers here are quite different from those in the States. Most of the “runs” here are above the timberline, so they resemble bowls more than trails. Also, sledding is allowed on the runs, so towards the ends of the runs, there are tons of people walking up the slopes and scooting down on their mini-toboggans, exacerbating the already profligate chaos. And sledding apparel is more akin to runway fashion than puffy jackets and snow pants – pink corduroy suits with matching pointy high-heeled suede boots, for example… and that was just the men. Also interesting was witnessing conservatively-dressed Muslim women having snowball fights. Don’t let the headscarves fool you! These women know how to rock the casbah.
At least it was relatively cheap compared to the States – 8 dollars for the lift ticket, 8 dollars for ski rental, 2 dollars each way from the town center to the slopes, a dollar for a bottle of water – so I can’t complain too much.
Best of all, I was able to catch up with some folks that I hadn’t seen in awhile, as well as spend time with Beth and Shaun. Conversely, worst of all, I had to sleep on a hard floor. I felt like I was in one of those Tempur-pedic mattress commercials where they have the pulsing red lights on the parts of the body that are irritated by a “traditional mattress”. No wonder slumber parties aren’t popular here. Bless American carpets and the pads that lie beneath them.
