Momondo

HAPPY NEW YEAR

2008-12-31T15:34:00Z

At Momondo we want to wish you all a happy New Year with lots of travels. 2008 has been fantastic and we hope to see you many times in 2009.

All the best,

The momondo-team

EXTREME SPORTS AND EXTREME ATTITUDES

2008-12-31T08:01:00Z

Photo: Elbartoxxxxx

It’s always the same old song: ”When you subject yourself to extreme challenges, you find your own strength and get to know yourself better.” So, you’ve got to climb Mount Everest, swim 18 kilometres under water, or sail around the British Isles in a canoe made from compressed rice paper. If you do that (and especially if you’re the first in the world to do it), you’ll experience an inner explosion of rosy and true happiness. You’ll be intensely connected with your inner self . . .

But, my friends, it’s all a hoax. You won’t gain one additional iota of happiness by pushing a soapbox cart across the Alps or run to St Petersburg and back wearing only a loincloth, or contesting any of the extreme records that haven’t been set yet.

Photo: Eric Lon

You often hear people who do extreme sports tell about how they feel so much more alive the closer they are to death. But from my point of view, they’re already dead inside. If it really is necessary to challenge life in order to notice and appreciate it, your soul is dangerously damaged. I think these people are people who just cannot see the true and basic values in their lives, that is, love for other people. We’re talking about people who throw themselves into self-made crises, hoping to find a purpose hidden in the very struggle to survive.

Photo: Scarleth White

These athletic kamikaze pilots also claim that they’re really struggling to transcend their own limits and barriers. I don’t believe that at all. They just love to be the first to do something extreme. They must constantly exceed and surpass one another. Earlier, it was a glorious achievement to climb Mount Everest; nowadays you need to ride your bike to the northern ends of Sweden first or climb up there without oxygen – and in ten years, you’ll need to go there by pogo stick for it to have any value as self-development (meaning, if anybody is to notice it).

Photo: Kev Purcell

I can’t help thinking of foolhardy mountaineers and extreme skiers and other media heroes of our time as junkies. And like drug addicts, these extreme-junkies are merciless in their hunt for the next fix, their next high. They show no consideration – not for themselves, but especially not for their families and friends.

When extreme athletes talk about contempt for death, it’s a linguistic sham, because it’s really about contempt for the people who care about them. It’s not very sad to die; usually it’s over pretty quickly – and once you’re dead, it’s impossible to feel sadness. What’s bad is to be the ones left behind to deal with the sorrow. That’s why these deadly dangerous deeds are, in my opinion, proof of a highly egotistical mindset, an unbridled focus on yourself and your personal needs, as well as a morbid craving for being noticed, famous or talked about.

Photo: Eric Lon

And it’s actually utterly unnecessary, because the truly extreme experiences are waiting somewhere inside yourself. If you want to try something really challenging, do volunteer work in a refugee camp, or try helping an immigrant gain a foothold on the Danish labour market, or say something nice to a person you detest . . . that’s extreme. And you run no risk of breaking anything – except maybe a bias or two.

By Thomas Uhrskov

Go further: Read here about how meditation and tai-chi make you a better skier and click here to find out about Finland's 5 best ski resorts.

HELISKIING IN ALASKA

2008-12-10T15:27:00Z

Photo: Dirkgroeger

By Christian Hincheldey

The powdery snow whirls through the air while the helicopter fights the turbulence above us and disappears into the deep blue sky. Slowly we move our protected upper bodies from the pile of skis and backpacks that otherwise would have been sent into orbit by the power of the rotor.

We are at the summit of The Pipe Line in Alaska’s Chugach Range, a range whose staggering amounts of snow and amazingly steep hillsides meet the demands of even the most seasoned off-piste skier or snowboarder. This is our second lift, and while the delicate snowflakes slowly settle on the 45-55 degrees sloping hillsides, we remove most of the ice coating our skis before getting down to business.

The bindings click, and at the very edge of the hillside our guide yells with his characteristic accent, “Okay guys, ready to go vertical?” We can’t see the hillside yet, because we have to jump onto it from a two metres high snowy ledge that defines the mountain’s jagged profile.

Our first jaunt was a nice, relaxed run down a glacier, but this is extreme. I look at my friend, Frank, whose face seems to have changed colour, chameleon-like, at the sound of the guide’s cheerful voice. He’s quite a bit paler than the reptile, though.

Photo: Dirkgroeger

Our front guide Rick and his tail guide Ty lay down the final guidelines for the upper slope. “Listen up, guys, when you shoot into her, you wanna go fast down, no stopping and no falling. Do huge, fast turns, so you don’t spend too much time on her.” This introduction doesn’t make Frank’s skin colour appear any healthier, but he grits his teeth, takes the plunge and disappears into the powder.

After seven seasons as guides in Austria, Frank and I had a dream of going to Alaska to test the mountains, take some pictures and maybe do a documentary on skiing in Alaska. We got hold of a digital video camera with a decent colour card, plenty of film and of we went.

We arrived in Anchorage late one evening towards the end of March, rented a car and drove down to the small town Girdwood, home to Alaska’s only “real” skiing area (with ski lifts). Our budget was too tight for a 4x4 for twenty days, but ten minutes of non-stop charming convinced the salesgirl to upgrade us from economy class to a genuine mid-size automatic Mercury floater with summer tires! The car had ample room for all our gear and four pairs of skis, but we did regard the summer tires with a certain suspicion, especially when we woke up the next morning and discovered 60 centimetres of newly fallen snow. We didn’t know anything about the condition of the roads up in Thompson Pass at Valdez.

Photo: Dirkgroeger

Alyeska at this end of the Chugach Mountains would prove to be an excellent skiing area with just six ski lifts, one of which was a cabin lift, and a breathtaking situation right by the Turnagain inlet. The backbone of the area – the north face – which is a wide hillside with a number of black off-piste routes, called “double black diamonds”, had a reputation for being some of the very best woodland skiing terrain in all of North America, and that proved to be correct. “The Christmas Chute”, a steep ravine on the north face, would later in the week be used for the Red Bull Snow Thrill, another “free-skiing” event in which free-skiers from all over the world compete on extremely steep hillsides. The weather in Alaska is totally unpredictable, and we had driven through this particular ravine in a dense fog the previous day without knowing it. We had simply assumed that it was a perfectly ordinary black diamond.

After a week of warming up in the mountains around Girdwood and the local ski bar Chair 5, we were ready for Valdez, and a full day’s drive in the floater brought us to Thompson Pass, approximately 45 kilometres from Valdez.

Before leaving home we had checked the four helicopter operators of the area via the internet. The cheapest and most hardcore supplier of heliskiing in the area was ABA – Alaska Backcountry Adventures (the first to introduce heliskiing in the Chugach Mountains).

They promised sublime powder experiences with the slogan “Access the goods”, and that did sound promising. The initial meeting with ABA in Thompson Pass was indeed auspicious. Three helicopters, an old propeller-driven aircraft and a container with an office constituted the basis of ABA. In the middle of nowhere. Following a so-called heli-briefing, where you learn how to behave around the helicopter and how to load your skis, we completed the mandatory avalanche search course. Equipped with a so-called avalanche beeper, you have to find a person buried under the snow. The course would prove to be valuable to many participants. Then we were ready.

Our classic alpine skis really got us value for our money. Several hundred turns through the most awesome powder snow. Our two guides both use so-called flat skis, which prevent you from sinking down into the snow and almost make you surf on top of it, a bit like a snowboard. In Europe this kind of skis are sometimes called senior citizen-skis.

After the second heli-lift we’re completely busted, and once again we’re ridiculed for our traditional skis, which from their point of view take too much effort. A battered old truck picks us up by the highway and drives us back to the ABA base. In the evening, when the temperature drops to minus ten degrees Celsius, we start the engine of our floater and head towards every ski-bum’s paradise, Tzaina Lodge. In this wooden cabin, a heavy, ambient reggae-ish music captivate skiers and snowboarders from all over the world. The events of the day are washed down with a couple of cold beers before we drive back to our tent. Utterly exhausted, ignoring the rumours that the first bears possibly have left their winter lair, we crawl into our sleeping bags while the northern lights illuminate the sky above us.

Go further: Read about skiing in Chile in July.

GREAT PRE-SEASON SKIING TO BE HAD IN TIGNES, FRANCE

2008-12-02T09:09:00Z

Photo: FrankLong

London has just opened its first artificial ski slope at the O2 in Greenwich, but if you want a taste of the real thing before the season starts, there’s plenty of action to be had in the high altitude resorts in the French Alps.

This November, uninspired by fake snow and a crowded indoor arena, myself and two companions got ahead of the game and travelled to the French resort of Tignes for a long weekend’s pre-season ski.

Les Arc looking down on Bourg St. Maurice Photo: Dom Edwards

Leaving South East London by car at lunchtime on Friday and making the journey by Eurostar, we arrived in the French alpine town of Bourg St. Maurice at around 10.00pm – just in time to grab a delicious ‘Super Grenier’ pizza at Le Grenier Des Cinq Lacs. You won’t find a better pizza in the valley … or indeed, a larger, more intimidating Jeroboam sized bottle of Green Chartreuse.

The town of Bourg St. Maurice is open all year round and lies at the base of the Les Arcs resort. Just a 50-minute drive up to the Espace Killy ski area, it is home to the world famous Val d’Isere and Tignes ski resorts.

The ‘Grand Motte’ Glacier in Tignes is also open for skiing all year round and the open runs are serviced by the impressively quick Grand Motte Funicular, the Grand Motte cable car and also a series of chairlifts and drag lifts.

However, it’s worth knowing that due to a combination of early season dumps and snow making canons, the resort opens its slopes all the way down to the base resort of Val Claret from early November.

As we headed to slopes early on Saturday morning, the scene was almost picture-perfect – breathtaking blue skies and freshly snow-covered peaks, and not a patchy mountain in sight.

The mountain is open from 8.00am (when it is very icy and fast) until 3.00pm (when it starts to melt and becomes slushy and slow), and you’ll find all different levels from stumbling beginners to national racing teams in their skin-tight cat suits.

Our first run of the winter was from the top of the glacier at 3,656 metres, down the exhilaratingly steep ‘Descente’ black run, and finishing up in Val Claret at 2,100 metres. The views were exactly as you would expect in the heart of winter and only by looking down the valley would you have an inkling it wasn’t a beautiful February’s day.

With two full days of skiing to be had, there was plenty of time to try all the runs on offer, from black runs to the more sedate blue runs, and even test out our skills on the moguls course. There’s also a freestyle snow park with 3 sizable jumps, but being all over thirty, we left this area to the local kids who ruled without question.

Leaving early on Monday morning, we were back in London by 6.00pm after a most successful trip, feeling nicely tired and all with just the slightest hint of a goggle tan.

Written by Christopher Fischer

Go further: Read about skiing in Chile in July and get a portrait of Saint Foy.

WAGRAIN'S SECRET OASIS

2008-12-01T10:52:00Z

Photo: VRoig

Actually, I don’t really want to be writing this article at all, for secrets are best kept if you keep them to yourself. But on the other hand I make a living of writing advice on skiing and ski holidays, and for that reason I’ll have to disclose a secret, well-kept so far, about the Danish skiers’ favourite region in Austria, Wagrain.

The secret has a name: “Die Rote 8er” – “The Red Eight”. The name refers to a gondola lift complete with piste, restaurant and hotel. The piste is wide, beautiful and quite varied. The restaurant at the halfway station is called Edelweiss Alm. It’s a cosy place and the food is really good – they serve so much more than just schnitzel. The hotel, also called Edelweiss (variation in names has never been a strong point in Austria), is just fine and richly deserves its four stars. And both piste, lift and hotel are integrated parts of the skiing area of Wagrain/Flachau. The Red Eight is actually situated right in the middle of the skiing area.

Photo: Randomduck

Most of week 7 was spent in the vicinity of the red-painted gondola lift. And we couldn’t help smiling at the paradoxical fact that our piste most of the time was significantly less populated than the main pistes in Wagrain and Flachau – even though everything is connected.

It seemed weird to us that a big part of the skiing area apparently isn’t known to the majority of the 12.500 Danes who visit Wagrain each year. The explanation is perhaps found in the prevailing zeitgeist. We’ve become so spoiled and restless that we constantly demand options. The more the better. That’s why we refuse to run down dead-end pistes. If the run doesn’t automatically lead to other pistes, we’re simply not interested. Maybe it’s because we nowadays are more concerned with quantity than quality. Apparently our demands correspond to those of the fox in his burrow: we want several exits. A piste that ends in a car park and a lift that merely takes us back to the summit don’t have the same appeal as the over-crowded piste next to it, just because the over-crowded one has three different lifts to the summit. And to be perfectly blunt, that’s plain ridiculous.

Photo: Randomduck

So allow me to strike a blow for the area around the red gondola lift: the next time you find yourself in Wagrain or Flachau, choose one of the many lifts to the summit. Once you’re up there, position yourself facing Flachau and with your back towards Wagrain. A bit below to the left you’ll see a sign with the words “Die Rote 8er”. That’s what you should aim for. Here you’ll find a long and rather beautiful woodland piste. And at the halfway station you’ll be able to choose from a range of eateries, blue pistes, a nice and well-run children’s area with a conveyor belt lift, igloos, a tepee with a bonfire, ski carousel and a kind of bobsleigh track, on which the bobsleighs have been replaced with swimming rings and inflated inner tubes.

If small children are part of your holiday entourage, you will naturally be concerned with questions of security, restroom facilities and child-friendly lifts. Those are all present in the vicinity of the middle station of the red gondola lift, and especially after the children’s area have been significantly extended in an attempt to make the area less of a secret.

Photo: Randomduck

Close to the halfway station, halfway up the mountain side between Wagrain and Flachau, you’ll find Hotel Edelweiss. 30 years ago, the building provided the daily framework for a farmer and his cattle. He did, however, have a couple of guest rooms available to tourists passing through, as per tradition in Austria. But space for the cattle was reduced each year, while tourist space was increased. And today the family has no cattle, but rather 35 rooms with room for 70-100 guests.

The young couple who took over the hotel from their parents in 2003 has managed to create a great balance between relaxed luxury and informal cosiness. Because the hotel is situated on a remote mountain, a certain natural calm descends over the place once the lifts close. Then you’re left with the swimming pool, the sauna or the common room with the fireplace, where free cake is served. During the week you’ll get acquainted with the other guests, and nobody raises an eyebrow if the children play rambunctiously in the corridors.

If you decide to drive there, be sure to remember snow chains. When we where there, it snowed every day and only 4x4’s and vehicles with snow chains had any hope of getting up the mountain – and down again. The prices for a stay with half-board varies slightly according to the size of your room and time of year, but expect a price of 70 to 120 euro per adult per day – and compared to 2-star hotels in Flachau and Wagrain, that’s very good value for your money.

There is only one problem. Many of those who checked out last winter immediately booked for the following winter, so it gets sold out pretty quickly. But don’t give up. It is still possible to find lodgings close by, for instance with some of the mountain farmers who still maintain a more equal distribution between cattle and tourists.

Written by Thomas Uhrskov

Go further: Read here about extreme attitudes towards extreme sports click here to find out skiing in Jasna, Slovakia.

WAGRAINS HEMMELIGE OASE

2008-12-01T09:31:00Z

Foto: VRoig

Af Thomas Uhrshov

Egentlig har jeg slet ikke lyst til at skrive denne artikel, for hemmeligheder har det jo med at vare længst, hvis man holder dem for sig selv. Men på den anden side har jeg gjort det til min levevej, at komme med gode råd om skiløb og skiferie - derfor bliver jeg altså nødt til at afsløre en hidtil velbevaret hemmelighed om danskernes favorit-område i Østrig, Wagrain.

Foto: Randomduck

Hemmeligheden har et navn: "Die Rote 8er" - eller på dansk "Den Røde 8er". Navnet hentyder til en æggelift med tilhørende piste, restaurant og hotel. Pisten er bred, smuk og meget varieret. Restauranten ved mellemstationen hedder Edelweiss Alm. Den er hyggelig og der serveres rigtig god mad - ikke kun schnitzel. Hotellet, der hedder Edelweiss. (De er ikke så gode til at variere navnene i Østrig) er bare helt i orden, og lever op til alle fire stjerner. Og så er både pist, lift og hotellet en integreret del af skiområdet i Wagrain/Flachau. Faktisk ligger den røde 8er lige præcis midt i skiområdet.

Vi tilbragte det meste af uge 7 i området omkring den røde æggelift. Og vi kunne ikke lade være med at smile lidt over det paradoksale i, at der for det meste var væsentlig færre mennesker på vores piste, end på hoved-pisterne i Wagrain og Flachau – selv om det hele hænger sammen.

Det forekom os underligt, at en væsentlig del af skiområdet synes at være ukendt for en del af de 12.500 danskere, som hvert år holder skiferie i Wagrain. Forklaringen skal nok findes i tidsånden. Vi er blevet så forkælede eller så rastløse, at vi konstant kræver valgmuligheder. Jo flere af slagsen, jo bedre. Derfor værger vi os mod at køre ned ad pister, som ender blindt. Hvis ikke turen ned samtidig giver mulighed for at komme videre til andre og nye pister, er vi ikke interesserede. Måske fordi vi efterhånden går mere op i kvantitet frem for kvalitet. Vi har tilsyneladende samme behov som ræven i sin hule – vi vil have flere udgange. En piste som blot ender i en parkeringsplads og en lift, der fører retur til toppen, har tilsyneladende ikke så megen appeal, som den overfyldte piste ved siden af, blot fordi den overfyldte piste har tre forskellige lifter til samme bjergtop. Og det er jo for at sige det direkte: Helt latterligt.

Foto: Randomduck

Lad mig derfor slå et slag for området omkring den røde æggelift:
Næste gang, du er i Wagrain eller Flachau, skal du tage en af de mange lifter til toppen. Stil dig med front mod Flachau og ryggen til Wagrain. Nu vil du lidt nede til venstre se et rødt skilt med navnet "Die Rote 8er". Dér skal du køre ned. Her finder du en temmelig lang og smuk skovpiste. Og ved mellemstationen har du flere spisesteder, blå pister, et rart og velfungerende børneområde med transportbåndslift, igloer, indianertelt med bål i, ski-karrusel og en slags bobslædebane, hvor bobslæderne er erstattet af oppustede baderinge og bildæk-slager.

Har man små børn med på skiferien, går man naturligvis ekstra meget op i sikkerhed, legemuligheder, toiletforhold og børnevenlige lifter. Alt det finder man omkring den røde æggelifts mellemstation. Ikke mindst efter, at man for nylig udvidede børneområdet voldsomt. Det skete i et forsøg på at gøre området mindre hemmeligt.

Tæt på mellemstationen, halvt oppe ad bjerget mellem Wagrain og Flachau ligger Hotel Edelweiss. For 30 år siden dannede huset rammen omkring en bjergbonde og hans kvæg. Der var dog også, som det er tradition i Østrig, et par gæsteværelser til forbipasserende turister. Men år for år blev der gjort mindre plads til kvæget og mere plads til turisterne. Og i dag har familien intet kvæg, men til gengæld 35 værelser med plads til 70-100 gæster.

Det unge værtspar, der i 2003 overtog hotellet fra forældrene, har formået at skabe en god balance mellem afslappet luksus og hygge. Eftersom hotellet ligger afsides på bjergets skulder, falder der naturlig ro over stedet når lifterne lukker. Så er man henvist til svømmebassinet, saunaen eller pejsestuen, hvor der serveres gratis kage. I løbet af ugen lærer man de andre gæster at kende, og der spores ingen løftede øjenbryn, når børnene løber rundt og leger på gangene.

Foto: Randomduck

Hvis man kører i bil dertil, skal man huske snekæder. Da vi var der, sneede det hver dag, og kun firhjulstrækkere og biler med kæder kunne gøre sig forhåbninger om at komme op – og ned. Priserne for ophold med halv-pension varierer alt efter værelsesstørrelse og tidspunkt mellem 500 og 900 kroner pr. voksen pr dag – og sammenligner man med priserne for 2-stjernede hoteller i Flachau og Wagrain får man væsentlig mere for pengene.

Der er kun ét problem. Mange af dem, der tjekkede ud sidste vinter, reserverede samtidig plads til den kommende vinter. Så der bliver hurtigt udsolgt.
Men opgiv ikke. Der er stadig mulighed for at bo i nærheden – hos nogle af de bjergbønder, som stadig har en ligelig og mere økologisk fordeling af kvæg og turister.

Thomas Uhrskov er journalist, tv-producer og foredragsholder med en intens lidenskab for ski. Uhrskov, der tidligere har arbejdet for Berlingske Tidende og TV2, har i dag sin egen skiside, http://www.uhrskov.dk/. Har også produceret en stribe tv-programmer og undervisningsvideoer om skiløb.

Læse mere: Klik her og find ud af, hvad Thomas Uhrskov mener om at skubbe en sæbekassevogn tværs over alperne og andre ekstreme discipliner og klik her, hvis du vil læse om at stå på ski i Jasna, Slovakiet.

Find din skirejse på Momondo her...

MIN HOLDNING TIL EKSTREM SPORT (DEN LIVSFARLIGE SLAGS!)

2008-11-27T10:35:00Z

Photo: Elbartoxxxxx

Af Thomas Uhrskov

Sangen er altid den samme: "Når du udsætter dig selv for extreme udfordringer, finder du din egen råstyrke og bliver meget klogere på dig selv." Altså bestig Mount Everest, svøm 18 kilometer under vandet, eller sejl rundt om De Britiske Øer i en kano af sammenpresset rispapir. Hvis du gør det (og helst som den første i verden), vil du opleve din indre verden eksplodere i rosenblade og sand lykke. Du vil komme i intens kontakt med dit indre jeg...

Men kære venner, det er snyd fra ende til anden. Man bliver sgu ikke lykkeligere af at skubbe en sæbekassevogn tværs over alperne, eller løbe tur-retur til Sankt Petersborg iført lændeklæde, eller hvilken som helst anden af de extrem-rekorder, der endnu ikke er taget.

Photo: Eric Lon

Ofte hører man folk, der dyrker extrem sport fortælle om, hvordan de føler sig umådelige meget i live, når de er allertættest på døden. Men for mig at se er de allerede døde indeni. Hvis det virkeligt er nødvendigt at udfordre livet, for at få øje på det, så er der nemlig noget farligt galt med sjælen. For mig at se handler det i givet fald om mennesker, der ikke er i stand til at få øje på de sande og basale værdier i tilværelsen, nemlig kærligheden til andre mennesker. Det er folk, der kaster sig ud i selvskabte krisesituationer, i håbet om at finde en mening med deres tilværelse skjult i selve kampen for at overleve.

Photo: Scarleth White

De sportslige kamikazasepiloter fortæller også at de i virkeligheden kæmper med bryde deres egne grænser. Det tror jeg ikke en disse på. De er jo vilde med at være den første, der gør et eller andet extremt. De skal hele tiden overgå hinanden. I gamle dage var det flot, hvis man kunne bestige Mount Everest, nu skal man cykle hele vejen fra Nordsverige først, eller som en dansk bjergbestiger kravle derop uden ilt - og om 10 år skal man vel hoppe derop på en kængurustylte før det er selvudviklende (læs: Før der er nogen der lægger mærke til det).

Photo: Kev Purcell

Jeg kan altså ikke lade være med at opfatte dumdriste bjergbestigere, extrem-skiløbere og andre af vor tids mediehelte som narkomaner. Og ligesom narkomanerne er også de her extrem-narkomaner ubamhjertlige i deres søgen efter det næste fix - det næste sus. De tager ingen hensyn. Ikke meget hensyn til sig selv - og slet ikke noget til deres familie. børn og venner.

Når extrem-udøverne taler om dødsforagt, så snyder de med ordene. For det, det i virkeligheden handler om, er foragt overfor de mennesker, der holder af dem. Det er jo ikke specielt trist at dø, det er som regel hurtigt overstået - og når man er død, kan man vel ikke være ked af det. Det der virkelig er slemt, er at være den, der bliver ladt tilbage med savnet af en elsket. Derfor er disse livsfarlige bedrifter for mig at se et bevis på extrem egoisme, uhæmmede fokusering på sig selv og egne behov, samt en sygelig trang efter at blive set, kendt eller omtalt.

Photo: Eric Lon

Og så er det hele faktisk helt unødvendigt. For de rigtig extreme oplevelser ligger nemlig og venter et eller andet sted i kroppen. Vil man prøve noget virkeligt extremt, så skal man tage på frivilligt arbejde i en flygtningelejr. Eller forsøge at hjælpe en andengenerationsindvandrer ind på det danske arbejdsmarked. Eller sige noget sødt til et menneske man virkelig ikke kan udstå... det vil være ekstremt. Og så er der ingen risiko for at brække noget. Det skulle da lige være en fordom eller to.

Læse mere: Klik her og find ud af, hvordan meditation og tai-chi gør dig til en bedre skiløber og klik her hvis du vil læse om Finlands 5 bedste skisportssteder.

Find din skirejse på Momondo her...

STORMY HAPPINESS

2008-11-22T10:03:00Z

Photo: Gregor_y

The snow had been pouring down for a day and a half. St Anton was more or less buried. Gigantic bulldozers shovelled enormous amounts of snow into the river, with no discernible effect. Everything was covered with several metres of powder snow. According to the forecast on the local radio, only the bottommost cabin lift would be open. And the weather really wasn’t fit for skiing. The mountain tops were enveloped in storms, and down here in the valley the snow was still coming down like there was no tomorrow. The visibility approached zero.

Nevertheless, there we were, a small group of skiers, with 5-7 centimetres of snow already covering our caps and helmets, waiting for the lift to open. This was more of an instinctive reaction than any kind of belief in a day of fantastic skiing. Then the door opened and we scrambled into the cabin. On the way up we regarded each other with a maybe-we-should-have-stayed-at-home look on our faces. Nobody said anything, but I think we all regretted our decision. The wind was howling and the cabin shook, rattled and rolled and hit the masts on the way. Yikes!

Photo: Gregor_y

Then we stood in the snow outside the halfway station. Nobody said anything, because it would have been impossible to hear anything anyway. It would be no good to attempt a run down the piste, which was exposed to the raging elements. And we would most likely get lost at that. Then Søren, who previously had worked as a guide in the area and therefore knew his way around, waved at us, turned around and disappeared over a truly terrifying ledge. We slowly approached the abyss and looked directly down onto the top of a dense spruce forest. Through the howling wind we heard Søren screaming, not from pain, but from something that sounded suspiciously like joy.

Photo: Gregor_y

One by one we let ourselves slip over the edge (which wasn’t as dangerous as it had seemed initially), and after a couple of sightless seconds with snow whipping into our faces, we found ourselves standing together in a forest so dense that we seemed to be indoors. The wind was suddenly almost inaudible, and before us was metres upon metres of the finest powder snow ever (at least in Europe). The run through was forest was steep – very steep. The silence of the forest was broken by seven simultaneous exclamations. Each of us set off with screams of joy. We flew downwards, downwards through the trees, and we only paused when leg muscles or throats became overheated and needed a break.

Photo: Solarthermeinator

Once in a while I, or one of the others, did lose control, of course, and hit a tree. But with a blanket of to metres of newly fallen snow beneath (and to a certain degree over) our skis, it didn’t matter. The snow we pushed in front of us worked like a natural airbag – a soft impact and a lot of laughs from the others. We went up again and again. And suddenly the storm was on our side, because every time we emerged from the halfway station, our tracks were covered. Nobody could see where we’d run. We had the secret forest all to ourselves. We whooped and laughed like small children building a fort for the first time. Only our fort was a kilometre long, steep and filled with fabulous snow. I don’t remember eating lunch that day. We just went up and down like seven foolishly sniggering yo-yos. And every time we stood in the lift on our way to yet another run, we tried to come up with new superlatives to describe our happiness.

If this story must have a morale, it must be something like this: The weather doesn’t have to be picture postcard perfect in order for a ski trip to be a success. Even storms, fog or snow may contain the potential for a fantastic experience. There is just one requirement: Do not engage in stormy off-piste runs without the proper equipment and good friends. Especially the latter is vital – both in terms of joy and security.

By Thomas Uhrskov

Go further: Read here about how meditation and tai-chi make you a better skier and click here to find out about the best ski resorts for the Christmas traveller.

LYKKE I SKOVEN

2008-11-21T13:25:00Z

Photo: Gregor_y

Af Thomas Uhrskov

Sneen havde væltet ned i halvandet døgn. St. Anton var nærmest begravet. Kæmpemæssige gummigeder hældte det ene enorme læs sne ned i floden efter det andet. Uden nævneværdig effekt. Alt var begravet i flere meter puddersne. Det var kun den nederste kabinelift, der ifølge morgenvejrmeldingen i lokalradioen ville åbne. Og faktisk var det slet ikke vejr til at stå på ski i. Oppe på toppen stormede det, og her nede i dalen væltede sneen stadig ned. Man kunne dårligt se mere end én meter frem.

Alligevel stod vi dér. En lille gruppe skiløbere, allerede med 5-7 centimeter sne ovenpå vores huer og hjelme og ventede på at liften skulle åbne. Mere af refleks, end af troen på at dette kunne gå hen og blive en fantastisk skidag. Så gik døren op, og vi mosede ind i kabinen. På vej op kikkede vi søgende på hinanden med et vi-skulle-nok-være-blevet-hjemme udtryk i ansigterne. Der var ingen af os, der sagde det højt, men jeg tror, at vi alle fortrød..Vinden hylede, peb og rykkede i kabinen, der hoppede, dansede og bankede ind i masterne på vej op. Øv.

Photo: Gregor_y

Så stod vi i sneen udenfor mellemstationen. Vi sagde ingenting, for det var umuligt at høre noget alligevel. Det ville være omsonst at køre ned af pisten, som lå åben for stormen. Desuden ville vi næppe kunne finde vej. Så var det at Søren, der som tidligere guide i området var stedkendt, vinkede til os, drejede rundt og forsvandt ud over en uhyggelig kant. Vi krabbede os hen til, hvad vi opfattede som afgrunden, og kikkede direkte ned i trækronerne fra en tæt, tæt granskov. Gennem vindens hylen kunne vi høre Søren skrige. Ikke af smerte, men af noget, der lød som glæde.

Photo: Gregor_y

En efter en lod vi os dumpe ud over skrænten (der ikke var så slem, som den så ud til). og efter et par lange sekunder med sne i ansigtet, stod vi pludselig samlet i en skov, så tæt, at det virkede som om, der var tag over. Vinden kunne vi knap nok høre, og for fødderne af os lå der metervis af den letteste puddersne kan finde (i al fald i Europa). Turen ned gennem skoven var stejl. Rigtig stejl. Skovens stilhed blev brudt syv gange samtidig. Alle sammen satte vi i gang akkompagneret af hver vores jubelskrig. Vi fløj afsted, nedad, nedad ind og ud mellem træerne - og vi stoppede kun, når ben- og juble-muskler blev overophedet og krævede pause.

Photo: Solarthermienator

Selvfølgelig skete det, at jeg eller en af de andre mistede kontrollen og bankede ind i et træ. Men med to meter nysne under (og delvis over) skiene, gjorde det intet. Den sne, vi skubbede foran os, virkede som naturens egen airbag. Et blødt puf, og en masse grin fra kammeraterne. Igen og igen tog vi turen op. Og pludselig var stormen på vores side. For hver gang vi kom ud fra mellemstationen var vores spor dækket til af stormen. Ingen kunne se, hvor vi havde kørt. Vi havde den hemmelige skov for os selv. Vi jublede, grinede og havde det som var vi børnehavebørn, der leger hule for første gang. Vores hule var bare én kilometer lang, stejl og fyldt med vidunderlig sne.

Jeg mindes ikke at vi spiste frokost den dag. Vi kørte bare op og ned, som syv lalleglade yo-yo`er. Og hver gang vi stod i kabineliften på vej mod en ny tur, forsøgte vi at finde ny superlativer, der kunne dække vores glæde.

Hvis oplevelsen skal have en konklusion, må den være som følger: Det behøver ikke være postkortvejr, for at skiferien bliver vellykket. Selv storm, tåge og snevejr kan rumme muligheden for fantastiske skioplevelser. Eneste krav: Tag ikke på stormfuldt off-pist skiløb uden godt tøj og gode venner. Især det sidste er vigtig - både for glæden og for sikkerheden.

Thomas Uhrskov er journalist, tv-producer og foredragsholder med en intens lidenskab for ski. Uhrskov, der tidligere har arbejdet for Berlingske Tidende og TV2, har i dag sin egen skiside, http://www.uhrskov.dk/. Har også produceret en stribe tv-programmer og undervisningsvideoer om skiløb.

Læse mere: Klik her og find ud af, hvordan meditation og tai-chi gør dig til en bedre skiløber, og klik her hvis du vil læse om de bedste skisportsteder at tilbringe julen i.

Find din skirejse på Momondo her...

CHRISTIANIA: MUCH MORE THAN PUSHER STREET

2008-11-20T22:15:00Z

In the fall of 1971 a group of young locals climb through the fences overtaking an abandoned military site and proclaimed it the Free Town of Christiania in protest against the acute housing shortage in Copenhagen. Christiania is in that sense a product of the sixties revolutionary youth and squatter movement. The government was somewhat baffled about the whole situation, but in 1973 Christiania was labeled a ‘social experiment’. During the years Christiania has been an arena of contest between supporters and opponents, but somehow it has managed to survive for more than 30 years, in no small part because of a wide support from the public.

Christiania

Photo by Morteno

Written by Ulla Sauerberg, editor of the book The CPH Guide

For two years I worked as a tourist guide showing visitors all the splendors that Copenhagen has to offer. The blockbuster of the tour was never The Little Mermaid or New Harbour, but Christiania: A place (in)famous for being a social experiment of alternative lifestyle but especially for its main attraction, Pusher Street, due to the hundreds of stalls openly selling hash.

Photo by Morteno

Nowadays Pusher Street no longer exists. The hash stands were torn down in January 2004, and Pusher Street has been sarcastically renamed Copper Street because of the many raids and the number of police men present. That’s not to say that you can’t buy cannabis, the market has just become much less open.

Although the character of its main street has completely changed, Christiania is still well worth a visit because it is - and always has been - so much more than Pusher Street.

Photo by Ulla Sauerberg

In Christiania you’ll find everything from the minimal wooden shack to circus wagons built together and even a house built like a UFO. Unsurprisingly you can buy several books on Christiania’s alternative architecture, its “shabby chic” interior design and plenty of information on its long and colorful history.

Photo by Ulla Sauerberg

When going to Christiania, just remember that it isn’t Disneyland. It wasn’t built to satisfy tourists. This is a place where people actually live and work. On my guided tours I’ve experienced visitors complaining that the locals are unfriendly and unaccommodating. But it’s important to understand that sometimes the locals get slightly annoyed with tourists invading their private space or taking their pictures as if they were animals in a zoo.

Photo by Ulla Sauerberg

Please don’t take photographs in Christiania, at least not around the main streets or of the people without at least having the common decency to ask for permission. As one Christianite put it, it’s not so terribly fun coming out of the communal showers only to find 15 tourists taking pictures through the windows …

Is it safe? That’s a question I’ve been asked a lot. Yes, in my humble opinion. At least I’ve never experienced any unpleasantness as long as you respect the given boundaries. If anything, people are just stoned and thereby pretty harmless.

Photo by Morteno

It is important to stress that Christiania has always been highly controversial. To the supporters the community is a symbol of social latitude, creativity, openness and an alternative way of life. To the opponents Christiania mocks the rules of society (and many are perhaps displeased with the fact that it sits on such a prime piece of Copenhagen real estate?).

Photo by Ulla Sauerberg

In the spring 2004 the Danish Parliament passed a bill stating that Christiania should be “normalized”, which among other things means that many of the odd self-built houses on the embankments are to be torn down. The negotiations between Christiania and the state have been going on for more than four years now, and nobody knows exactly what the future will bring and how many houses are to be cleared.

Photo by Morteno

One thing is for sure though: If you want to experience Christiania before it becomes too ‘normalized’, then take a day off to explore the area.

There is an official guided tour every Sat-Sun at 3pm, daily in the summer period, that leave from the main entrance. The tour costs 30 DKK (approx.4 EUR) and is mostly concentrated around down-town Christiania.

www.christiania.org

Extract from the book The CPH Guide edited by Ulla Sauerberg and published by Nyt Nordisk Forlag.

PORTRAIT OF SAINTE FOY

2008-11-19T13:58:00Z

On our way down the gently sloping hillside’s pristine powder snow, we suddenly meet two other skiers. For several days the weather has been overcast, with snow and fresh breezes, but today everything is picture postcard perfect.

“What a lovely day, and such wonderful snow!” I say in my less-than-perfect French. “Yes, but Sainte Foy is always like this,” one of them answers. “And no other people at all!” “True, but don’t tell anybody. We’d like to keep it to ourselves,” he grins and scoots off in a series of impeccable little turns through the deep snow. I never get the chance to reply, and therefore I’m not obliged to keep the secret of Sainte Foy. I’m free to write these lines.

Right in the middle of France’s Olympic ski resort near Albertville, surrounded by Val d’Iséré, Tignes, Les Arcs and La Rosière, a tiny town complete with a small ski area can be found. Both are named Sainte Foy Tarentaise. Anyone who has been to Val d’Iséré or Tignes has driven through the little town, situated a mere 15 kilometres from Val d’Iséré.

Photo: Gliesh

But just driving through is a shame. To be perfectly blunt: it’s stupid not to spend a day or two in the Sainte Foy-area, even though the number of ski lifts is quite limited. Everything else is found in abundance, however. Charm, well-kept pistes, amazing off-piste possibilities (do not leave the pistes without a guide, though), no waiting in line at the lifts, and even more charm.

Allow me to return to the matter of lines at the lifts: when the lift operators aren’t taking in the wonderful view of Mont Blanc and the national park La Vanoise, they are rather bored. There isn’t a whole lot to do, as a matter of fact. On a beautiful off-season day there may be 50-60 skiers in the entire area, an area with ample room for 50 times as many.

As for instance the two pisteurs who enjoy the sunshine at 2620 metres, where the uppermost four-seated chair lift ends: we’ve passed by and said hello a dozen times, and it’s part of the ambience in Sainte Foy that people take the time to chat. “Weren’t you here last year?” one of the lift operators ask. “Yes, but only for a single day. Amazing that you remember that, but that’s probably because of the limited number of skiers here. Do you ever get lines at the lifts?”

His face fills with laughter lines as he answers: “Well, we did have a day with people waiting in lines – that was great! We really enjoyed it.” It should be mentioned that a ‘line’ in Sainte Foy is defined as a situation with more than two or three skiers waiting for the lift at the same time.

Photo: Gliesh

But what is the reason for the absence of skiers? The primary reason is that most ski tourists go for the big, exclusive and above all well-known destinations. That’s where the travel agencies let the tourists off the busses. Moreover, Sainte Foy is too small a place to become widely known. Environmentalists and conservationists have obstructed plans for additional lifts. A blessing in disguise, because that’s precisely why Sainte Foy has been able to retain the charm and simplicity that the larger, commercial ski resorts have lost.

Two restaurants are situated where the first lift ends and the second commences. That is, they’re called restaurants, even though ‘cabins’ would be a more appropriate term. Stone, wooden beams and hard work created ‘Les Brevettes’ and ‘Chez Leon’ several years ago. If one of the places is fully booked, try the other one. The food is splendidly prepared and very good, and if you contrary to expectation aren’t satisfied at the end of your meal, second helpings are available.

By Thomas Urhskov

Go further: Read here about how meditation and tai-chi make you a better skier and click here to read about Marko's life as a ski bum in the Alps.

PORTRÆT AF SAINTE FOY

2008-11-19T13:45:00Z

Af Thomas Uhrskov

På vej ned over den bløde bjergsides uberørte pulversne møder vi pludselig to andre skiløbere. I flere dage har det været overskyet, sneet og blæst, men i dag er det postkort-vejr.

Sikke en dag, og hvor er sneen dog god!, siger jeg til en af dem på mit danske skolefransk. Ja, men sådan er Sainte Foy altid!, svarer den ene. Og så er her slet ingen mennesker! Nej vel, men sig det ikke til nogen. Sådan vil vi gerne beholde det – for os selv, griner han og glider afsted trækkende en perfekt guirlande af små runde sving efter sig i den dybe sne. Jeg når ikke at svare ham, og er derfor ikke forpligtet til holde hemmeligheden om Sainte Foy for mig selv. Derfor disse linier.

Midt i Frankrigs olympiske skiområde ved Albertville, omgivet af Val d`Iséré, Tignes, Les Arcs og La Rosière ligger en lillebitte by med tilhørende lille skiområde. Begge dele kaldes Sainte Foy Tarentaise. Alle, der har været i Val d`Iséré eller Tigne har kørt gennem den lille by, der blot ligger 15 kilometer fra Val d`Iséré.

Men det er synd bare at køre igennem. For at sige det lige ud: Det er dumt ikke at bruge en dag eller to i Sainte Foy området, der kun har en håndfuld lifter – men mere end nok af alt andet. Nemlig charme, velpreparerede pister, enorme off-pist muligheder (kør dog kun uden for pisterne sammen med en guide), total mangel på liftkøer og endnu mere charme.

Foto: Gliesh

Lad os lige gøre det med liftkøerne færdig: Når liftfolkene ikke betragter den storslåede udsigt til Mont Blanc og Nationalparken La Vanoise, keder de sig. De har nemlig ikke ret meget at lave. På en vidunderlig dag i lavsæsonen i januar er der måske 50-60 skiløbere i hele området, der er stort nok til mindst 50 gange så mange.

Som de to pisteurs, der sidder i solen oppe i 2.620 meters højde, hvor den øverste 4-stolelift ender: Vi har været forbi og sige hej et dusin gange. Og med til stemningen i Sainte Foy hører, at man har tid til en snak. Var du her ikke sidste år?, spørger en af liftpasserne. Jo, men kun en enkelt dag. Tænk at du kan huske det, men det er vel fordi der sjældent er ret mange mennesker her! Er her nogensinde kø ved lifterne?

Han får smilerynker i hele ansigtet, da han svarer: Jo da, vi har haft èn dag med kø - det var skønt. Ih hvor vi nød det.
Med til historien hører, at man i Sainte Foy definere ’kø’ som en situation, hvor der på én gang er mere end to-tre skiløbere ved foden af liften.

Foto: Gliesh

Men hvorfor er der ikke flere skiløbere? Den primære årsag er, at de allerfleste skiturister tager til de store, eksklusive og frem for alt kendte destinationer. Det er dér, rejsebureauerne lader gæsterne træde ud af bussen. Dertil kommer at Sainte Foy er for lille til at blive rigtig kendt. Naturfredningsfolk har nemlig forplumret planerne om at bygge ret mange flere lifter. Held i uheld, for det er netop derfor, at Sainte Foy stadig har al den charme og ligetilhed, som de store kommercielle skibyer har mistet.

Dér hvor den første lift ender, og nummer to begynder ligger to restauranter. Ja, sådan kaldes de, men hytter er mere dækkende. Sten, træbjælker og hårdt arbejde har for mange år siden skabt ’Les Brevettes’ og ’Chez Leon’. Er der ikke plads det ene sted er der nok det andet. Og maden, den er håndlavet. God. Og bliver man mod forventning ikke mæt, så får man lidt mere.

Læse mere: Klik her og find ud af, hvordan meditation og tai-chi gør dig til en bedre skiløber, og klik her hvis du vil læse om Markos liv som ski-bums i alperne.

Find din skirejse på Momondo her...

SNOWY MEDITATIONS

2008-11-18T09:12:00Z

Twenty years ago, when my temperament was fiery and my thigh muscles were stronger, I loved freestyle skiing on really humpy pistes. I still do, as a matter of fact; I’ve just become more careful. Back then, in the mid-1980’s, I suffered from the youthful misconception that quantity mattered more than quality. That meant that I scrambled up and down the pistes incessantly. I often ate my lunch on the lifts in order to squeeze another run or two out of the day.

Photo: Fcappe

Even though I worked as a ski instructor and skied every day, I couldn’t get enough. But then I met Bjørn. A weird, awkward man, who thought we had all lived before. He was on first-name terms with the stars (those in sky, that is), he did tai-chi exercises in his room, and claimed that I would benefit from “being more present in the moment”.

I smiled, but regarded his words as pure drivel. Skiing and meditation have never had anything in common, I thought. And then I stopped thinking about it altogether. The next day was a Saturday, a day off for me. As usual I was waiting impatiently for the lift to open so that I could spend the day on my favourite freestyle piste.

The day was perfect. The sun had the sky to itself, the snow was light, the temperature was minus three Celsius and the freestyle piste before me was, as usual on a Saturday, more or less empty. My entire body tickled when I set off. And on this Saturday twenty years ago I had the run of a lifetime.

Photo: Loutron Glouton

At high speeds I danced and tumbled rhythmically down the slope. Perhaps it sounds silly, but I became part of the mountain. The rhythm came from a place within me. I didn’t think, I just let my body work. It felt as if I was outside myself; I simply floated in the air, watching myself ski. There was no one else on the piste, but for once I didn’t care about the lack of audience.

When I stood at the end of the run gasping for air, I was practically ecstatic. My first impulse was of course to dash back up and have another go, but I didn’t. Maybe that was because of Bjørn and his talk of meditation, but without consciously wanting to, I pointed my skis downward, toward the valley and the nearest restaurant. There I sat sipping a café au lait for hours. When I closed my eyes, I relived my run again and again. At exactly because I didn’t rush back up immediately, that particular skiing experience became one of the most memorable of my extensive skiing life.

These days I have long since been convinced that true skiing takes place in your head, your heart or your stomach. Technically it’s no harder to learn to ski than it is to learn to walk, and most of us do that effortlessly. To me, the conclusion of that day is that the more you practise feeling, sensing and experience your skiing, the more joy you’ll derive from it. People who only think of measuring themselves against others or their own previous achievements run the risk of missing the tremendous thrills hidden somewhere beneath your skis.

If you think this all sounds somewhat contrived, try to remember two instances from earlier ski holidays. One in which you’ve just had an argument with your spouse, girlfriend, boyfriend or your children, and one in which you, for whatever reason, have been happy. I’m willing to bet you a ski pole that your technique was vastly superior the day when you were happy. So: If you want to improve your skiing, forget about technique and focus on being happy and present in the moment. It’s as easy as that.

Written by Thomas Uhrskov

Go further: Read here about Marko's life as ski bum in the Alps.

STJERNESTUND I SNEEN

2008-11-18T08:56:00Z

Af Thomas Uhrskov

For 20 år siden. Dengang mit temperament og mine lårmuskler var anderledes letantændeligt, elskede jeg at stå på ski i pukler. Det gør jeg sådan set stadigvæk, jeg er bare blevet lidt mere forsigtig. Dengang i midten af 80´erne led jeg af den ungdommelige og vestlige vrangforestilling, at kvantitet var at foretrække frem for kvalitet. Det betød, at jeg konstant for op og ned at pisterne. Ofte spiste jeg min frokost i liften, for på den måde at presse én eller to ekstra ture ud af skidagen.

Photo: Fcappe

Selv om jeg arbejdede som skilærer, og stod på ski dag efter dag, kunne jeg ikke få nok. Men så var det jeg mødte Bjørn. En underlig kantet mand, der mente at vi alle sammen havde levet før, han var på fornavn med stjernerne (altså dem oppe i himlen), han dyrkede chai-chi på hotelværelset, og han påstod, at jeg med fordel burde lære at "være mere tilstede i situationen". Jeg smilede, men mente at det var noget forvrøvlet sludder. Skiløb og meditation har aldrig haft noget med hinanden af gøre, tænkte jeg. Og så tænkte jeg for øvrigt ikke mere over det.

Næste dag var lørdag, og jeg havde fri. Som altid stod jeg og trippede ved liften, og ventede på at den skulle åbne, så jeg kunne tilbringe dagen på min favorit pukkelpiste. Det var en perfekt dag. Solen var alene på den blå himmel, sneen var let, temperaturen på minus tre gader, og pukkelpisten for mine fødder var, som altid på en lørdag, halvtom. Det kildede over hele kroppen, da jeg satte i gang. Og på denne lørdag morgen for cirka 20 år siden løb jeg mit livs løb. I høj fart, skiftevis bankede og dansede jeg ned over puklerne. Jeg blev (selv om det måske lyder dumt) til en del af bjerget. Rytmen kom indefra. Jeg tænke ikke, men lod min krop gøre arbejdet. Det var som om, jeg var udenfor mig selv. Bare hang i luften og betragtede mig selv stå på ski. Der var ingen andre på pisten - men for en gang skyld, var jeg fuldstændig ligeglad med det manglende publikum.

Photo: Loutron Glouton

Da jeg stod og snappede efter vejret et par hundrede meter længere nede, var jeg nærmest i ekstase. Min første indskydelse var naturligvis at tage op og få en tur til, men jeg gjorde det ikke. Måske var det Bjørn og hans megen snak om meditation, der gjorde udslaget, men uden rigtig at ville det, pegede jeg skispidserne ned i dalen mod den nærmeste restaurant. Dér sad jeg så og spyttede i en cafe au lait i flere timer. Alt i mens jeg med lukkede øjne igen og igen oplevede min tur ned over puklerne. Og det var netop det faktum, at jeg ikke straks drønede op igen, der gjorde den skioplevelse til en af de helt store i mit efterhånden lange skiliv.

I dag er jeg for længst blevet overbevist om, at alt skiløb foregår inde i hovedet, i hjertet eller i maven. Teknisk er det nemlig ikke svære at lære at stå på ski, end det er at lære at gå. Og det kan de fleste af os. For mig er konklusion på den skidag derfor, at jo mere man træner sig i at føle, fornemme og opleve det at stå på ski - jo større glæde vil man få af det. Dem, som kun tænker på at måle sig med andre, eller med sig selv, risikerer at gå glip at de enorme glæder, der ligger gemt et eller andet sted inde under dine ski.

Hvis Du synes, det lyder en smule for søgt, så prøv at huske på to situationer fra tidligere skiferier. Èn hvor du lige har skændes med konen, manden, kæresten eller ungerne, og så én hvor du af andre grunde har været glad og nærmest lykkelig. Jeg vil godt vædde en skistav på, at din teknik var meget bedre, den dag du var i godt humør. Derfor: Vil du blive bedre på ski, så glem alt om teknik, og koncentrer dig i stedet om at være glad og tilstede i situationen.
Sværere er det faktisk ikke.

Se mere: Læs her om Markos liv som ski-bums i alperne.

Find din skirejse på Momondo her...

OM'ZAKI - FATIMA'S LITTLE PATIO

2008-08-01T04:00:00Z

Photo by Sylvain Ageorges

Fatima finds her home in Paris too small, compared to her mansion in Aleppo, Syria. Her patrons, however, adore the little cottage in the 15th arrondissement, because of its tiny patio where summer meals are so delightful. For Fatima is a fine cook.

A mother of seven who settled in France twenty-seven years ago, Fatima has opened a restaurant right outside the back door of her home.

Inas, one of her daughters, is head serving person; Momo, a son, supervises the kitchen staff. This is perfect for Fatima, who is ready to slow down and simply help out with the cooking when it strikes her fancy.

Her husband, who died young, was a chef, at the Iraqi embassy in Paris. “Our parents were born in Acre, a Palestinian town which is now part of Israel, and we grew up in Aleppo,” Inas points out, explaining the background on the 'Syrio-Palestinian cuisine' offered on the menu at Om’Zaki.

Photo by Sylvain Ageorges

Momo would say the recipes closely resemble Lebanese fare, though a spice or two might change. In any case, Momo’s dishes are tasty and colorful, and when you’re lucky enough to dine on the patio – you must be sure to reserve a table, because there are only 25 seats there – under the wisteria and grapes twining up the trellis, the baked kebbé, a delight made of spiced ground lamb with bulgur and pine nuts, served with a minty-cucumber-yogurt sauce, and the mouhalabieh, a dessert flan flavored with orange flower water and pistachios – the experience is practically sublime.

The patio is between the dining room and a red brick studio where one of Momo’s brother’s lives. Fatima’s house is right on the other side, and the restaurant kitchen closes up the other side. Fatima’s right – we wish she had a bigger patio!

Om'Zaki; 76 rue de la Procession; 15. arr.

Open from noon to 3 pm and 7:30-11 pm; closed Saturday at noon and Sunday (summer hours); closed Saturday at noon, Sunday, and Monday night (winter); outdoor dining when the weather permits.

Extract from the new French-English guidebook 'Paris Terrasses – Outdoor Dining in Paris', written by Simon Roger and published by Parigramme.