And when the morning begins, it really begins. I arrive at the ski school on time, in full brilliant Tiroler Schischule blazing scarlet uniform with my nametag on and my German utterly incoherent. I have to rent a snowboard and buy goggle and get my liftpass and be introduced to a dozen uninterested colleagues and then I am off and going. After having been berated and yelled at by various ski school employees, I am handed to a snowboard instructor who I am to shadow for the day. I struggle to keep my calm and not break down as he rambles on to me in German. The lesson proceeds at breakneck speed and, utterly lost, I struggle to simply keep up (it has been a long time since I snowboarded and I hardly seem like a teacher). The whole thing is chaotic and stressful and lasts two hours. There are a lot of differences from Lake Tahoe ski resorts too. Some are positive (like the electronic lift cards that are automatically scanned by machines as you pass by). But some are very negative (like the fact that almost all the lifts are T-bar lifts, basically ropes that you have to hold on to for dear life as they literally drag you up the slope). I am totally out of my depth, and even more so when Patrick (for that is the name, I determine, of the teacher I am shadowing) asks me to help his students (intermediate snowboarders) up the treacherous lift. Only towards the end of the long two hours does Patrick ask me, in German, what language I speak. As he asks, I notice a twinge in his accent and then, when I tell him English, he responds, "Well why didn't you say so?" in a brilliant, reassuring, almost comical Scottish accent. As we speed down the slopes to the end of the lesson, I am left to wonder how on earth a Scot has ended up in Ehrwald teaching snowboarding and speaking perfect German. But then again, how did I get here? His story could hardly be much stranger.

During lunch, I quietly gulp down soup in the ski lodge restaurant as Patrick and few other teachers speak rapidly to each other in German. By the end of lunch one of them is lecuring me in broken English about the global economy, and I am glad when I am able to leave, as the second round of lessons begins. I am again shadowing Patrick, and this time he has an advanced student, so we are able to just hit the slopes and have a good time. And suddenly, as I speed along and snow flies up and the sun shines down, I begin to be ok. Not happy, quite, everything is still too new for that, but relaxed at least, in the snow and the snowboard, and feeling it beginning to come back.

After the lesson the ski teachers all have a drink at the ski lodge bar. I take off back to my apartment but then decide that I have to seize this moment and make some friends, so I return and quietly drink a beer while they talk in German and some English. Slowly I get my bearings and they try to involve me in the conversation without speaking too much English.

That evening, I get to know my roommates a bit. They are flat mates actually, one who lives in the room across from me and shares a kitchen, and the other who lives downstairs but is friends with her. He (his name is Berry) cooks dinner and they speak in Dutch (they are both from Holland). I study German for a while and then give up and go to sleep. I am, I feel, in the wrong place.