There comes a time…
February 24th, 2001
…when I must update my journal, detailing the events of our week in Ramundberget. The photos from my digital camera are up, and I also have some prints to scan. Maybe one day.
'Twas a fine Saturday morning, the tenth day of February, 2001. After packing all of the necessary equipment (including two guitars and a small stereo, forcing economised clothes carriage) into the what-we-previously-thought-was-roomy Chrysler Voyager, a quick breakfast was eaten and the journey kicked off — right on schedule, mind you — at eight o'clock. The five of, plus an extra squashed in somewhere (Per, Markus' friend), were on our way (a long way) to Ramundberget.
After a service-station lunch-and-fuel sojourn, our first stop was in Hede, just an hour's drive from the final destination of our expedition. So after eight hours of sitting in the car, playing cards and listening to music, we brought our gear into the little hotel to play cards and listen to music.
Following breakfast and the remaining hour of driving, we purchased our lift cards and hit the slopes at around eleven o'clock on the Sunday morning. And boy, did I hit that slope. By lunch-time, I was quite overcome with agony. My feet hurt, my ankles hurt, my calves hurt, my knees hurt, my elbows hurt, my head hurt and so did my poor behind; so I decided to do what I could to help bring our luggage up to the apartment, fifty metres or so up a centrally-located ski slope. I had little trouble getting to sleep that night, nor during the rest of the week.
The following morning, Courtney joined me for a snowboarding lesson from someone quite experienced, not to mention well-paid. She seemed to benefit from the tuition a little more than yours truly, but that didn't stop her from hanging up the snowboard for good an hour or so later. Piker.
By the end of the day, I could just about make it down the little practice slope without falling over — well on my way to becoming a snowboarder, they told me.
Waking up the next morning proved to be a difficult task, particularly considering I had come home, in the middle of a snowstorm, at one a.m. from a little visit to Courtney's room in the hotel. We won't ask what time I returned from a similar visitation the following morning. Err, night.
None-the-less, I managed to make it up the lifts (most of the time) and back down again, eventually. Courtney skied while I tagged along on the snowboard, until Anders and Fredrik (her host father) joined us with their snowboards. Then Courtney decided to show off with her great speed on skis, until she decided she couldn't stop and had a wee tumble. We all thought it was kind of funny, until it occurred to us that the sound emanating from her hole in the snow wasn't laughter. Some people never learn, do they?
So, by the time we had to leave, I could make it down the slopes without injuring myself too much (unlike someone else) and everyone claimed to be impressed with the speed at which I learnt to snowboard.
On the Saturday of our departure, a nasty-looking snowstorm had presented itself and delayed us by an hour or two, as well as forcing us to take a longer route home. The trip home was just about as uneventful as the one there, except that this time we got to watch Gustav being carsick. No stopping though, save for our pizza dinner along the way.
This long and painful, though thoroughly enjoyable, journey ended at approximately two a.m. on Sunday, the 18th.