Characters. Schneepferdchen (that is, the kids that I teach, mostly German but often Dutch and occaisionally something else. Age 3-8).

Gummy Bear: There is one kid who is as tiny, adorable, and rubbery as a gummy bear. She is tiny and has a funny round little face with tiny glasses perched on her nose and is perpetually wrapped up in layers of pink ski gear. She is far too young to learn to ski (as some of the kids here are), and is too small to even lift a ski, let alone walk or make the snow-plough. So she just sails down the slope with a wicked grin and you have to catch her. But once you do, there is the incredible recurring surprise of just how boneless she is. She literally seems to not have a bone in her body, to be made of rubber, or gummy, and when you set her down on the conveyor belt to the top of the hill she just folds and lies on the ground. Like a boneless chicken. Or a gummy bear.

The Boy from Scot's Land: There is one little boy who clearly does not understand a word of the Deutsch that we are all speaking to him so I ask him in German, what his name is, hoping to gain a clue as to his origins (at an international resort like this he could be from Anywhere). He responds after a long pause "I don't understand what you people are saying." Oh, I say, relieved. "You speak English!" "No, I do Not." He responds. Well, I ask, where are you from. "I am from Scot's Land. I speak Scots." Hiding a bout of laughter, I respond by speaking to him for the rest of the day in English tinged with a Scottish accent. His parents are quintessentially Scottish and he develops such a fondness for me that he refuses to switch to another ski group for the whole week, even when his level has progressed past the rest of the kids in my group. Typically Scottish stubborness.

Monsieur: There is a little French boy named Martin who is very fat, smells strongly of onions and strong cheese (how french, right?), and is utterly incapable of stopping, or even trying to, once he starts skiing. He just steams down the hill at 100mph cackling and shouting things in French. Since no one at the ski school speaks any French, we can only demonstrate and point and hope he figures out how to ski.

The Little Warrior: There is one boy who, once we start a snowball fight one day, cannot let the fight end. The result is that he chases me around with snowballs for the rest of the day, long past the end of the class and even when I return from an afternoon of snowboarding. Every time he starts throwing snow, I collapse on the ground and roll around, pretending to be mortally wounded, to his endless enjoyment. This strategy of starting a snowball fight and then being the community target and rolling around and being tragic proves to be a great strategy for cheering up tired kids.

Working with the kids is hard, and I look forward to kicking back on a beach somewhere in Argentina at the coldest, wettest, most miserable moments. But I genuinely enjoy the work too, and now that high season has started it is non-stop craziness and it is not even worth complaining. It is fun and I am good with the kids and, were it my native language, it would an be utter, simple, joy.