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.