A few more highlights from the last week in Ehrwald (it is also my Last week...wow).

Thursday was, as it always is, music night at the local bar. I have described this already a couple times (everyone in town is there, great band plays american music, good atmosphere) but this time was really fantastic because Patrick (the scot) and I and a few others all decided we were going to dance. Really dance to the great loud live music, and not be shy or inhibited or anything. And as simple as that sounds, for someone who doesn't really know how to dance, it is a pretty cool thing. Only with my great friends back home have I been able to rock out like that, so it is a really great thing.

Saturday morning I went skiing with Nadieh, and we had a good time exploring the familiar slopes for, more or less, the last time. The sun shone, we skied fast (I can keep up with her now!!) and we took pictures and had a great time. She is awesome. A real friend. I am so happy to have met her, and even happier because she lets me win when we race down the hill.

Saturday evening I went to the Tirol Hockey Final, which matched Ehrwald against Kuzhuhl. Though the pre-game partying was not really my style, and the post game partying I didn't even go to, the game itself was incredible (it is really a cool sport) and Ehrwald one, big trophy and wild excitement and endless cheering we even found ourselves storming into the locker room. Talk about a once in a lifetime experience. These people really love their ice hockey.

So, here I am, as my time in Ehrwald draws to a close. I wont reflect to much just now, as I am still here another day and besides, right Now, it is time for much-needed sleep. I will write another entry once I am back in England, where I go for a couple days before blasting down to Argentina, the next stanza in the epic.
Ich muss schlafen. Gute Nacht.

Going back to work after that incredible "holiday" was a bit brutal, as it was hard to imagine what exactly I was working for now. But I did so of course and it was, as always, hard but rewarding.

The upside was that I now was given a lot more responsibility. Almost promoted, in a way. Instead of just assisting the classes, catching kids, picking them up, wiping snot (oh yes, I wipe snot, ever day), I was teaching whole classes by myself. Albeit, a crippled sort of teaching in a half-comprehensible language. Very few of these kids even speak German, most of them speak only Netherlands, so I am totally out of my depth and rely on a combination of sign language (50%), english (10%), German (10%), and my three words of Netherlands (surprisingly, yes, those three words account for 30%). But I am a decent teacher, and the kids like me, and the experience of succeeding in teaching them to ski is unparalleled. Zooming down the hill (the real hill now, not just the kiddie area) and looking back to see them all immitating me and making a pizza and turning correctly is exhilarating. I have come a long was from where I was when I was first called in to assist a panicked Franzi. Mind you I don't have 17 kids to contend with. But today I went alone, with 8 kids, who had never skied before yesterday, onto the hill, and had them turning flawlessly. They also, (for the most part) have a good time, supplemented with the occaisional snowball fight where I let them all hit me and make a big show of wiping out, gets them every time. Followed by (the clincher) tickle-time. Yes, I am, I think, good with kids.

I had two girls a few days ago who liked me so much that when they saw me later, (their family is staying in Austria Haus) they came running up and gave me a huge hug (to their parents surprise) and continued to do so every time they saw me for the next few days. Adorable doesn't even begin to describe it.

I work a lot with Jose, who is very fun, and despite the additional complication and confusion of another language, I love a chance to speak Spanish (he speaks no English and neither of us are too hot on the German so, there you go). I am teaching him how to ski. In Spanish. Recall that I just learned how to ski. The levels of irony are confusing.

The three days (far too short a time I know, but SO much infinitely better than nothing) that Tom Stubbs is here seems like a dream, a blurred dream of perfection.

Friday, when work finished, I bolted to the center of town where he had just arrived from the airport. The reunion was as warm as one could imagine and I spent the first few hours babbling, as I am unfortunately known to do with people whom I have for a long time been away from (god casey is going to get an earful when we meet up again). He settled into a cozy bed and breakfast just down the street from house austria, got his ski gear, and we were off and rolling.

The Skiing: Was spectacular. Easily some of (if not THE) best skiing I have ever had. The snow had poured plentifully down in the days before his arrival and the sun came generously out on Friday. So Friday afternoon, wasting not a moment, we headed up the hill above Ehrwald. This is my normal territory, because it is so easily accessible. The Sonnenhang is the smallest lift, then the vast Wetterstein, and the treacherous Gamskar. A small enough setup, but plenty to see. And my skiing was, thankfully, good enough to keep up and even impress my dad, who is a phenomenal skier. I have had, as I said, plenty of practice, and besides, this is now my home turf.
The next day we went to the top of the Zugspitze, the massive mountain over the town. We rode up in an ultramodern, super-fast gondola, that shot rapidly over jagged peaks up to the highest point in Germany. The views were, needless to say, incredible, and totally indescribable. We enjoyed the 360 degree panorama of jagged, snow-covered alps for the entire day, as we skied the various slopes accessible from the top of the mountain. The snow quality at that altitude was excellent, the sun shone and the ski was surreally blue, and views as I said breathtaking, and the terrain ideal for two semi-pro-olympics-in-the-future awesome skiers. The day was sublime, and we couldn't decide which was better, the incredible skiing, or the snatched moments of talking, catching up on months of absence both in my life and in his.
Sunday I worked in the morning, and so Dad got to watch the kinder and the fleigerleider routine etc. Then we were off the the Ehrwalder Alm, another great ski area. But now the weather had closed in so instead of blissful sunshine we had dark thick stormclouds. But the Alm is a huge area and we explored most of it. The skiing was still top notch and we skied until the very end of the day, until, in fact, the lifts were closing. We were the last people allowed onto the tiny two-man chair that sailed up into the thick clouds, to a distant peak where we literally could not see more than five feet ahead. It was eerie and treacherous, but we slowly made our way down. Despite the fact that conditions could not have been more different from the preceding day, they were equally satisfying.
Monday I had to work in the morning and afternoon, so we snatched an hours skiing before work, and hour during lunch, and an hour after work. Still not a bad day's skiing, on the Ehrwald hill. In the morning we even got the pleasure of fresh, untouched powder that had fallen in the blizzard that captured us the night before.

The Food: Suddenly I was transported from the world of budgeting-student-pasta-pasta-pasta fare to the fine dining of Ehrwald. We ate lunches in the little Chalet's perched on the slopes, which consisted of things like Wurst (sausage), Goulash (soup), and saurkraut. All of it was divine, far surpassing American ski-food, and quintissentially Austrian. We even had Germknodel with one lunch which, if I have not yet described it, is a tirolian delicacy with a massive ball of dough, with jam in the middle, in a pool of hot vanilla sauce. Decadent and delicious.
For dinner the first night we went to the Hotel Sonnenspitze, the place my Grandparent would always go for their fancy evening's out when my dad and his siblings were left behind. We both had massive plates of Wiener Shnitzel, intent on tasting the world-renowned Austrian specialty. It did not dissapoint (yes Alice and David, it was real veal) and we were left hugely satisfied (or huge and satisfied).
The next night we went to Holzerstuben, a quiet atmospheric little place where I got pork chops (amazing!!) and dad got, again, Wiener Shnitzel, having decided to sample a variety and pass gourmet judgement.
The next night we had a hilariously pushy waitress who insisted we not linger over our menus for longer than it took her to bolt back and forth to the kitchen. Dad got (surprise) Wiener Shnitzel, and I got risotto (it was an italian restaurant).
The last night we were in the Tirolerhof, reliving old memories with Gerd and Jorg (more on that in a moment) and the food included world-class wines (specifically laid out to impress the famed Californian Winemaker), delicious cold meats for appetizers, soup, and a divine lamb chop, followed by a decadent dessert. The Tirolerhof is truly one of the most beautiful hotels in the world, and every experience there is singular and delightful.
We also went to get drinks at a couple other places to soak up atmosphere, including the Sonnenhang Hotel, which used to be the only place in town and so had plenty of history and memories for dad, and a chalet on top of the mountain that was a shelter for a crashed WWII bomber pilot.

The memories: Were, for dad, very intense. He came here often as a kid with his family (to ski), a couple times as a teenager (to work), and once with us (to be tourists). Each streetcorner was layered with memories, and we spent a bit of time tracking down old places like the house the Elder Stubbses used to stay at or the shop my dad worked in for a summer and various other nooks and crannies. Amazingly almost nothing had changed, which I guess is the case in such a small town. Even the characters were more or less the same, less a few who had passed on. Denys and Margaret (my grandparents) were legends here and are still widely beloved and talked about by the Leitners (Gerd and Jorg). The told their stories about working on White House farm (sounds familiar, huh?) and my dad told his about working in Ehrwald. It was a constant trip down memory lane, with which I tagged along, amazedly witnessing. There were also smaller things like his memories of always ordering  "ein par wurstel" as a treat snack, and so we did the same here.

He was also witness to a comical evening with all the ski teachers when, after a long week's work, we were treated to shnapps and snacks by the management. It was a very cheerful atmosphere, a lot of groaning and relazing after a hard week, and Patrick eventually brought out a guitar and got some good sing-alongs going. It was ideal, and the perfect way to see the camaraderie (in which I am only a partial participant due to lack of language) of the ski school.

And then, as suddenly as he had arrived, he was gone, early one morning, and as if he had never been there, I went back to work, a gaping hole in my existence but a head full of blissfully warm memories that would carry me through for days to come.

So down the snow crashed softly. Suddenly barren hills of green and brown were once again in their proper winter coats of white power, and each tree that clung to the mountainside was laced with delicate white. The whole vista was given a uniformity, a simplicity of color. And for three days, the whole vista was gone, blocked out by the cheerfully tumbling blizzard.

And simultaneously the high season arrived. I went from working a few hours in the morning and skiing in the afternoon to teaching and taking care of kids all day. Two hour lesson with the Shneepferdchen (up to about 15 per group now, as opposed to 6-8 before) in the morning. Then two hours feeding lunch to 50 kids and taking care of them for playtime, then two more hours of lessons. Together it makes for an exceedingly long day. The work starts to feel harder and less fun, and at the same time I wonder whether I will ever want to have kids after witnessing and dealing with all these screaming, crying, complaining, demanding, little demons. I think I will, but this certainly isn't helping with morale.

One day is particularly crazy. A message arrives from the hill that one of the new teachers, Franzi (a really wonderful, upbeat German girl) is overwhelmed because she is teaching 17 kids at once and it's her first time. I am sent to assist her, even though I myself am hardly a pro-skier and my german is still fairly pathetic (I should note here, about the German, that the fire has all but disappeared from my learning fervor upon arrival. Partly from laziness perhaps, partly because I now have enough to survive and can't bear to learn more, and partly because I genuinely feel there is a finite amount you can learn with no teacher and no regular practice. I don't count attempting to answer angry parent's query's as "practice", that is more like torture). But up I go anyway, to help Franzi. And there she is, with 17 little monsters tearing out of control down the hill. With so many, it is almost impossible to get any control, much less teach anything. And there is one especially, an enormously rotund boy named Patrick, who speeds directly down the hill, knocking over his fellow Pony Skiers, and leaving a path of destruction behind him. He refuses help from anyone, will not take advice or learn, and hits and fights with the other kids. He is, quite simply, a nightmare. To make things worse, his mom is a screaming howling demanding witch that even he seems to resent. But despite the trauma and the tears, we slowly and surely get things sorted. I take a group of the less talented (ie talentless) skiers down the hill, and give them some turning exersizes, and it all works out alright.

But all of the panic and anxiety fades as an exciting day approaches. As Friday draws nearer, my emotions all fade away into white noise to be replace by one overwhelming note of utter exuberance. My dad, the legendary Tom Stubbs, who himself worked in Ehrwald at age 18 all those eons ago, is "dropping in" to visit me. Never has a visit (a surprise that I was told about only a few days earlier) been so eagerly anticipated. Although I am not exactly lonely anymore, the idea of a truly familiar and beloved face is almost too much to bear. So I struggle through the week of busy craziness, and come Friday, he arrives.