"Surf" == "Snowboarding" in France (well, in the winter anyway).

25 February 1996

I know about snowboarding.  I'd never tried it, I was so addicted
to downhill skiing in California.  I always said I would try it
some day when I went to the mountains with some beginners, but
that never happened.  I always ended up on skis flailing my way
down steep bump runs and loving it.

But I know a little bit about snowboarding.  Everyone says it is
much easier to learn and more natural than skiing.  Everyone says
that you take a lot of falls and really get banged up the first day.
This last assertion I didn't really believe.  OK, you fall, I believe
that.  But I've fallen plenty of times skiing at high speeds and it's
not really a big deal.  OK, so you fall a bit more snowboarding - but
it is snow you're falling on, afterall, and can't be that bad.  And
lastly, I believe I'm sufficiently padded to handle a healthy number
of biffs in the snow.

Sunday I headed up to one of the local ski areas with some people from
work and Christophe, a friend from the gym.  There was some talk of
me trying snowboarding, and he had brought his snowboard along.  I got
to the mountain, got scared, and wanted to fall back on the more known
territory of downhill skiing.  In the rental shop, Christophe said in
French "try snowboarding, it will be amusing."  (For whom?)  Christophe
is French, so my snowboard instructions were in French.  I don't think
I can blame the number of falls on my lack of comprehension.

There are a lot of teleskis at the ski stations in France.  There are
also teleseiges.  The Latin roots are indicative: you sit in a tele-seige
and you ski (on the snow) on a tele-ski (like a poma).  I had no choice
but a teleski when I first attached myself to my snowboard.  I took a few 
steps to get to the teleski, grabbed the pole, planted it between my legs
for attempt #1, 1 metre, and biff! I was down.  Attempt #2, 1.5 metres, and
biff!  I was down again.  We inquired about the nearest teleseige.  Nope, none
nearby.  One must take a teleski to get to the teleseige.  Of course, this is
France.  So we moved to the baby lift, and no one was more surprised than I
when I made it to the "top" (a scarce few metres above the bottom).

The rest of the day was spent in and out of the snow (mostly in, of course),
with Christophe gently but futilely explaining the principles.  And a 
brilliant day it was (though not sunny, I in particular was hot all day).
Christophe takes the prize for patience.

And as for those falls and that padding, if I wasn't sufficiently padded
before, I sure am now.  Only the right cheek though -- completely inflated
and brillantly decorated in red, black, and blue.  So it is with a
brightly colored and prominent but asymmetric backside that I begin to
celebrate one year in France...

PostScript.  I'm being hit with the communication gap problem from all ends of
the world.  My mom read the above story and worried for a week that I was
walking around with a horribly bruised face.  I really thought my use of the
word cheek spanned the generations, but now I know better.  She had been so
delighted to hear that I wasn't climbing and was instead focusing on French
language and culture, and then so deflated to learn that I was taking up
another "body-banging" sport.  Fortunately, she discussed the story with Dad a
few days later, and he was able to supply the correct definition of cheek.