The Story (in two parts)
2008-01-11 03:03:44
general
I was pumped - I'd spent the last week making the glorious christmas cake (soaking the sultanas in brandy, executing my first batch of home-made marzipan and icing, making and consuming copious amounts of cake mixture and sugar sculptures), i had two bags packed - one for Andorra and the other for Valencia, xmas presents wrapped, room cleaned and was all set to go. The plan was to go to Andorra with Jordi and a friend for 1 day of skiing, return and go to Valencia the next morning where I intended to spend the festive days eating and drinking copious amounts with my various Spanish families, followed by relaxing, attending a concert and more eating and drinking.
We got half way to Andorra when I had a phone call which changed the projection of my smug little life at that point in time... But more on that later.
You understand, I have been skiing about twice in my life. The last time i remember was at Bulla when I was 14 - cruising the ice and brown mush on the green slope with complete lack of grace. In Andorra we went up and up and up and up, and having touched the sky, proceeded to descend via the RED slopes (the hardest that were open that day), Jordi sometimes holding my hand, other times forcing me with the sting of his words. I am not particularly fit, and in general am not a sporty person, so at that point the whole experience felt like torture. I admit it was exhilarating but at the time it was hard to think past the pain! At several points, Jordi took me in between his legs (he's gay - nothing sexual) and we descended together at great speed. I will never forget the time when half way down the mountain he shouted RECTO RECTO RECTO (straight, straight, straight) and we whipped through the air at a million kilometers an hour, me screaming my guts out.
You can see by my face in the aftermath photo that I couldn't do much, let alone even walk for.. hrm, 3 days after the ordeal, but like all things Jordi it was pumped with energy, intense and fun. Especially the bit where I bought two giant bottles of Gordon's and french chocolate as souvenirs on the way out.
We got half way to Andorra when I had a phone call which changed the projection of my smug little life at that point in time... But more on that later.
You understand, I have been skiing about twice in my life. The last time i remember was at Bulla when I was 14 - cruising the ice and brown mush on the green slope with complete lack of grace. In Andorra we went up and up and up and up, and having touched the sky, proceeded to descend via the RED slopes (the hardest that were open that day), Jordi sometimes holding my hand, other times forcing me with the sting of his words. I am not particularly fit, and in general am not a sporty person, so at that point the whole experience felt like torture. I admit it was exhilarating but at the time it was hard to think past the pain! At several points, Jordi took me in between his legs (he's gay - nothing sexual) and we descended together at great speed. I will never forget the time when half way down the mountain he shouted RECTO RECTO RECTO (straight, straight, straight) and we whipped through the air at a million kilometers an hour, me screaming my guts out.
You can see by my face in the aftermath photo that I couldn't do much, let alone even walk for.. hrm, 3 days after the ordeal, but like all things Jordi it was pumped with energy, intense and fun. Especially the bit where I bought two giant bottles of Gordon's and french chocolate as souvenirs on the way out.