Salty ducks, I think they call it?
This was a competition I won from the Ski Club of Great Britain for 7 nights in Sauze D’Oulx, Italy with ski passes, ski lesson and meals. It is hard to say as it’s pronounced differently by nearly everyone and just sounds like salty ducks (sorry no intension to upset anyone). Skiing for the first time, was going to be a a new experience for us both, but first we need some skiing clothes, so off we went and bought all the gear and we were ready to go. We went in early December, possibly at the worst time because there was no snow, and they had to use the snow cannons on all the mountains to put down what can only be described as solid ice. We flew to Turin airport which was about an hour away by bus, and dropped us off right outside the Hotel La Torre. On arriving they didn’t seem to be expecting us, we get this a lot and still not prepared for it, so they were trying to sort it out when the manager, who they called “ Il direttore” came over. He was not best pleased and in loud Italian, told them to sort it out while we went for something to eat.
As a gesture of good will, he gave us a lovely bottle of wine, sat us at the table next to him and called over “Steven” the waiter. Steven came over and said the buffet was nearly finished and not to bother going over to it as it was going cold, he’ll get the chef to personally make us something we wanted, its great being friends with the direttore we thought. Ten minutes later and to the amazement of all the other guests in the dining room, Steven presented us with a marvellous freshly cooked meal. After the large meal we were given our key and two prized, seven day ski passes, then shown our room which was on the tenth floor of a circular tower, which would have had great views over the mountains if we were facing the right way.
After a good but cold night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast, we decided to walk into town and have a look around to see where we could hire some skis and big clumsy boots, and find the local mayor, who according to some website was a scouser! We walked into town, which was only about 100 metres away and not seemed to be not very big and also not very open, it was still gearing up to the start of the season by the looks of it or everyone was staying home for Christmas. So after an hour without successfully finding the elusive mayor, and with us seeing everything at a snail’s pace we decided to have a drink and a sandwich while we waited for the ski hire place to open. It was now 2:30 so we went through the rigmarole of putting on our warm attire of coat, hat, gloves and scarves to go all of 10 metres, it took longer to put my coat on than it did to cross the road.
Pushing away on the door, the sign still said closed, so we decided to wait around, can’t be much longer we thought, yes it could, an hour at least. Then a small, old, curly haired Italian man came scurrying down the hill, out of breath, and apologising as if it was going out of fashion. He ushered us in and with a big smile asked how many weeks we wanted the boots for, whoa steady on we said, a day first to see if we like it. A bemused look came on his face and he started saying we’ll love it, it's great, hands waving all the time like a Tic-Tac man at the races, till we stopped him and told him one day will be enough to be going on with. He measured our feet, mumbling all the time, chose us some skis and boots which he put in very weak plastic carrier bags, which we now had to take back the hotel.
We went back the hotel and stored the boots and skis behind reception and then had a chat about what there is to do the area with the two receptionists . We decided to venture back outside to find a local supermarket to buy the usual, wine, crisps and toiletries, but now it was dark, cold and sleet coming down. The supermarket was only about 350 metres away, in the opposite direction of the ski shop and it was very small, but had every key thing we needed. On the till was Stephania who we would later meet in Mark’s (the scouser) bar who showed us where everything was. Armed with supplies it was back to the hotel for a rest then down for our evening meal.
Once again we were met by Steven who showed us to our table, whilst everyone else had to find their own and took our order even though there was a buffet on; this was great ,no going shoulder to shoulder at the buffet with the mere mortals. Once again the meal was great, but to full for one of the beautiful cakes, although Trish made room for one. After that it was too cold and dark for a stroll, so we headed back to our room for a nightcap and feast of Italian game shows on TV.
Next day was skiing lessons, dread suddenly appeared alongside the hearty breakfast and our appetites disappeared. We picked up our skis and boots, then jumped in the waiting courtesy bus and drove a kilometre, then were pointed in the direction of chair lift by the driver. Once we got by the chair lift we didn’t know if our instructor was going to come down and meet us or if we had to go and meet him at the top? An hour passed and still no sign so we decided to brave it and take the chair lift, we readied ourselves and jumped on, but it went awry, we couldn’t close the safety bar because the skis were stopping it, the boots were nearly falling out of the now ripped carrier bags and we were getting higher and higher. After much tugging of the skis, we managed to close the bar and hold on to the boots with dear life, till we got to the top in what seemed like an eternity . At the top it was just as comical, nearly getting back on because we couldn't get out of the way, we only just managed to duck out the way and jump to the side before we were swept back on, not a pleasurable experience at all.
At the top we saw a ski instructor, who liked like the smaller chuckle brother Barry, only with grey hair, so we approached him and he'd been waiting for us. After sorting out the misunderstanding, we strapped the near 2 metre planks to our feet and were immediately grabbed by the instructor who preceded to pull us down the icy mountain till he made us stand still, harder than it looks. Trish was first to be shown how to stop using something called the snowplough and go side wards and inevitably fall, where she was pulled up like an anchor and stationed. Next it was me same procedure and same result, this went on till we got to the bottom, don’t suppose it would have been too bad if it had been snowing and there was something soft to fall on, instead of rock hard ice. At the bottom is a conveyor belt that takes you back up, you step on like a penguin and stay motionless till you get to the top and step of, I was about to step on when I went off the edge and couldn’t get back up till Barry Chuckle came back and dragged me up. I got to the top where Trish was just starting here second attempt to go back down, once again the results were the same, till she called a halt on matters and refused to do anymore. I gave it one more go till the bottom and after numerous falls called it a day myself. We both agreed this was horrible, why would anyone pay to do this, we should have just said no, we never learn.
Now we had to get down the mountain with all the unwanted gear, we went into the ski hire shop on the top of the mountain, that was owned by the other shop and asked could we leave the gear there, to which they replied there would be a charge because they had to get it back down the mountain. We managed to get back down in a similar way to the way we got up, then jumped on the bus and headed back into town. First thing we did was return the skis and boots, to the owners’ astonishment who couldn’t believe we didn’t like it, at least we were smug when we said we told him we only needed them for the day. On returning to the hotel, the receptionist also couldn’t believe we didn’t like it, so we gave the Alberto Tomba wannbe in his sharp Italian suit our ski passes for the rest of the week; he was delighted, he told us he was going to ski every morning and evening after work.
After our exertions, we decide we would have an early tea or dinner if you are reading this down south, and once again Steven didn’t disappoint he made sure all our meals were freshly cooked and gave us a good table to sit at. Once we finished our meal we decided to have a drink in bar to take in the après ski atmosphere and all was well for an hour. Once the piano player had finished and by the way thank god for that, the fun and games began, the locals started brawling and apparently the one that started it was the son of a mafia member: this meant nothing to Trish and I, we’ve been along Breck Road at night. We intervened to help stop it and after a while it all calmed down with just a few idle threats or were they? The next morning we opened the curtains and it was snowing, everywhere was a winter wonderland and now the mountains had plenty of snow on them, as we were told by the receptionist who had been skiing with our passes that morning.
Finally he told us the time of the trains to Turin and where to get the bus to the station, which only took 10 minutes Oulx and then 1 hour 30 minutes to Turin by train. We made ourselves comfortable on the train and enjoyed the journey until a typical jobsworth train inspector came over and started waving his hands around. The lovely old lady in the seat opposite translated for us and told us we hadn’t validated our ticket before we got on, and pleaded to the tyrant to let us off, but he was having none of it. It turned into a game of verbal tennis until the inspector backed down and fined us only 5 euros, much still to the annoyance of the old lady. The train eventually pulled into Porta Nuova and we made our way to the tourist information office to personally thank Mirko Usseglio who had arranged everything in Italy for our stay. When we got to the desk he wasn’t there, he was up a mountain somewhere far away, but they eventually tracked him down and we managed to thank him by phone. We could have done this in the hotel if we’d known, at least we could spend the day looking around Turin. Turin city centre seems quite compact so it was easy to visit lots of things without having to use public transport. We visited numerous museums, strolled along the covered arcades and had a nice lunch sitting outside in the glorious winter sun. Now it was time to get back on the train, with tickets validated and sit back while the train does its many stops along the way.
Walking in to the hotel exhausted, IL direttore spots us and calls us over to sample the new range of wine he had just taken delivery of, well it would have been rude to refuse. After a few drinks and a chat we decide to have our tea and who’s standing there to greet people, Steven, doesn’t this man ever go home? Once again he’s faultless and makes sure we have another hearty meal until we are stuffed.
We decide to go into town and find the bar owned by Mark, who is supposed to be the mayor’s brother. After looking around we eventually find it and go in, and are greeted like long lost friends by Mark. We have a good long chat over quite a few drinks in the deserted bar until some Romanians come in looking for a night cap. There command of English is nearly as bad as ours so we get on famously, and have a laugh with them. One Romanian tries to impress us with his English by going through the days of the week, “Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, April, May, Jun, Sunday” near enough, I don’t think I could have done any better by the time I left. We also asked Mark about his brother and he told us he wasn’t the Mayor, he just worked in the local council and like Chinese whispers he became Mayor.
The next few days we just relaxed and stayed local, visiting Oulx and Sauze as the weather got colder and colder, a million miles away from the lovely heat of the Asian sun. Nevertheless it was a lovely relaxing break just before the mayhem of Christmas and great to be waited on at meal times, and we made sure we gave Steven a good tip. The night before we left we asked Mark where the bus to the airport stopped because it was a bit ambiguous on the flyer and he said “right outside your hotel”. Just be sure we asked at the hotel and they said it never stopped anywhere near the hotel only by the railway station. Now this has through a spanner in the works because the bus was leaving at 6am and we didn’t know what to do. In the morning Alberto Tomba said we would be best going to the railway station to pick up the bus because “everything stops there” and gave us a lift down to the station. Six o’clock comes and goes and no sign of the bus, an hour passes still no sign, it is now getting close to the time we have to leave to make sure we’ll catch the plane. So we bite the bullet and decide to get a taxi which relieves us of €150 and manages to get us there on time, after stopping at the ATM to get some cash. When we got home we checked on the bus website and it does stop outside the hotel, we could have saved ourselves a couple of hours of sitting in the cold and kept our euros for our next trip.
As a gesture of good will, he gave us a lovely bottle of wine, sat us at the table next to him and called over “Steven” the waiter. Steven came over and said the buffet was nearly finished and not to bother going over to it as it was going cold, he’ll get the chef to personally make us something we wanted, its great being friends with the direttore we thought. Ten minutes later and to the amazement of all the other guests in the dining room, Steven presented us with a marvellous freshly cooked meal. After the large meal we were given our key and two prized, seven day ski passes, then shown our room which was on the tenth floor of a circular tower, which would have had great views over the mountains if we were facing the right way.
After a good but cold night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast, we decided to walk into town and have a look around to see where we could hire some skis and big clumsy boots, and find the local mayor, who according to some website was a scouser! We walked into town, which was only about 100 metres away and not seemed to be not very big and also not very open, it was still gearing up to the start of the season by the looks of it or everyone was staying home for Christmas. So after an hour without successfully finding the elusive mayor, and with us seeing everything at a snail’s pace we decided to have a drink and a sandwich while we waited for the ski hire place to open. It was now 2:30 so we went through the rigmarole of putting on our warm attire of coat, hat, gloves and scarves to go all of 10 metres, it took longer to put my coat on than it did to cross the road.
Pushing away on the door, the sign still said closed, so we decided to wait around, can’t be much longer we thought, yes it could, an hour at least. Then a small, old, curly haired Italian man came scurrying down the hill, out of breath, and apologising as if it was going out of fashion. He ushered us in and with a big smile asked how many weeks we wanted the boots for, whoa steady on we said, a day first to see if we like it. A bemused look came on his face and he started saying we’ll love it, it's great, hands waving all the time like a Tic-Tac man at the races, till we stopped him and told him one day will be enough to be going on with. He measured our feet, mumbling all the time, chose us some skis and boots which he put in very weak plastic carrier bags, which we now had to take back the hotel.
We went back the hotel and stored the boots and skis behind reception and then had a chat about what there is to do the area with the two receptionists . We decided to venture back outside to find a local supermarket to buy the usual, wine, crisps and toiletries, but now it was dark, cold and sleet coming down. The supermarket was only about 350 metres away, in the opposite direction of the ski shop and it was very small, but had every key thing we needed. On the till was Stephania who we would later meet in Mark’s (the scouser) bar who showed us where everything was. Armed with supplies it was back to the hotel for a rest then down for our evening meal.
Once again we were met by Steven who showed us to our table, whilst everyone else had to find their own and took our order even though there was a buffet on; this was great ,no going shoulder to shoulder at the buffet with the mere mortals. Once again the meal was great, but to full for one of the beautiful cakes, although Trish made room for one. After that it was too cold and dark for a stroll, so we headed back to our room for a nightcap and feast of Italian game shows on TV.
Next day was skiing lessons, dread suddenly appeared alongside the hearty breakfast and our appetites disappeared. We picked up our skis and boots, then jumped in the waiting courtesy bus and drove a kilometre, then were pointed in the direction of chair lift by the driver. Once we got by the chair lift we didn’t know if our instructor was going to come down and meet us or if we had to go and meet him at the top? An hour passed and still no sign so we decided to brave it and take the chair lift, we readied ourselves and jumped on, but it went awry, we couldn’t close the safety bar because the skis were stopping it, the boots were nearly falling out of the now ripped carrier bags and we were getting higher and higher. After much tugging of the skis, we managed to close the bar and hold on to the boots with dear life, till we got to the top in what seemed like an eternity . At the top it was just as comical, nearly getting back on because we couldn't get out of the way, we only just managed to duck out the way and jump to the side before we were swept back on, not a pleasurable experience at all.
At the top we saw a ski instructor, who liked like the smaller chuckle brother Barry, only with grey hair, so we approached him and he'd been waiting for us. After sorting out the misunderstanding, we strapped the near 2 metre planks to our feet and were immediately grabbed by the instructor who preceded to pull us down the icy mountain till he made us stand still, harder than it looks. Trish was first to be shown how to stop using something called the snowplough and go side wards and inevitably fall, where she was pulled up like an anchor and stationed. Next it was me same procedure and same result, this went on till we got to the bottom, don’t suppose it would have been too bad if it had been snowing and there was something soft to fall on, instead of rock hard ice. At the bottom is a conveyor belt that takes you back up, you step on like a penguin and stay motionless till you get to the top and step of, I was about to step on when I went off the edge and couldn’t get back up till Barry Chuckle came back and dragged me up. I got to the top where Trish was just starting here second attempt to go back down, once again the results were the same, till she called a halt on matters and refused to do anymore. I gave it one more go till the bottom and after numerous falls called it a day myself. We both agreed this was horrible, why would anyone pay to do this, we should have just said no, we never learn.
Now we had to get down the mountain with all the unwanted gear, we went into the ski hire shop on the top of the mountain, that was owned by the other shop and asked could we leave the gear there, to which they replied there would be a charge because they had to get it back down the mountain. We managed to get back down in a similar way to the way we got up, then jumped on the bus and headed back into town. First thing we did was return the skis and boots, to the owners’ astonishment who couldn’t believe we didn’t like it, at least we were smug when we said we told him we only needed them for the day. On returning to the hotel, the receptionist also couldn’t believe we didn’t like it, so we gave the Alberto Tomba wannbe in his sharp Italian suit our ski passes for the rest of the week; he was delighted, he told us he was going to ski every morning and evening after work.
After our exertions, we decide we would have an early tea or dinner if you are reading this down south, and once again Steven didn’t disappoint he made sure all our meals were freshly cooked and gave us a good table to sit at. Once we finished our meal we decided to have a drink in bar to take in the après ski atmosphere and all was well for an hour. Once the piano player had finished and by the way thank god for that, the fun and games began, the locals started brawling and apparently the one that started it was the son of a mafia member: this meant nothing to Trish and I, we’ve been along Breck Road at night. We intervened to help stop it and after a while it all calmed down with just a few idle threats or were they? The next morning we opened the curtains and it was snowing, everywhere was a winter wonderland and now the mountains had plenty of snow on them, as we were told by the receptionist who had been skiing with our passes that morning.
Finally he told us the time of the trains to Turin and where to get the bus to the station, which only took 10 minutes Oulx and then 1 hour 30 minutes to Turin by train. We made ourselves comfortable on the train and enjoyed the journey until a typical jobsworth train inspector came over and started waving his hands around. The lovely old lady in the seat opposite translated for us and told us we hadn’t validated our ticket before we got on, and pleaded to the tyrant to let us off, but he was having none of it. It turned into a game of verbal tennis until the inspector backed down and fined us only 5 euros, much still to the annoyance of the old lady. The train eventually pulled into Porta Nuova and we made our way to the tourist information office to personally thank Mirko Usseglio who had arranged everything in Italy for our stay. When we got to the desk he wasn’t there, he was up a mountain somewhere far away, but they eventually tracked him down and we managed to thank him by phone. We could have done this in the hotel if we’d known, at least we could spend the day looking around Turin. Turin city centre seems quite compact so it was easy to visit lots of things without having to use public transport. We visited numerous museums, strolled along the covered arcades and had a nice lunch sitting outside in the glorious winter sun. Now it was time to get back on the train, with tickets validated and sit back while the train does its many stops along the way.
Walking in to the hotel exhausted, IL direttore spots us and calls us over to sample the new range of wine he had just taken delivery of, well it would have been rude to refuse. After a few drinks and a chat we decide to have our tea and who’s standing there to greet people, Steven, doesn’t this man ever go home? Once again he’s faultless and makes sure we have another hearty meal until we are stuffed.
We decide to go into town and find the bar owned by Mark, who is supposed to be the mayor’s brother. After looking around we eventually find it and go in, and are greeted like long lost friends by Mark. We have a good long chat over quite a few drinks in the deserted bar until some Romanians come in looking for a night cap. There command of English is nearly as bad as ours so we get on famously, and have a laugh with them. One Romanian tries to impress us with his English by going through the days of the week, “Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, April, May, Jun, Sunday” near enough, I don’t think I could have done any better by the time I left. We also asked Mark about his brother and he told us he wasn’t the Mayor, he just worked in the local council and like Chinese whispers he became Mayor.
The next few days we just relaxed and stayed local, visiting Oulx and Sauze as the weather got colder and colder, a million miles away from the lovely heat of the Asian sun. Nevertheless it was a lovely relaxing break just before the mayhem of Christmas and great to be waited on at meal times, and we made sure we gave Steven a good tip. The night before we left we asked Mark where the bus to the airport stopped because it was a bit ambiguous on the flyer and he said “right outside your hotel”. Just be sure we asked at the hotel and they said it never stopped anywhere near the hotel only by the railway station. Now this has through a spanner in the works because the bus was leaving at 6am and we didn’t know what to do. In the morning Alberto Tomba said we would be best going to the railway station to pick up the bus because “everything stops there” and gave us a lift down to the station. Six o’clock comes and goes and no sign of the bus, an hour passes still no sign, it is now getting close to the time we have to leave to make sure we’ll catch the plane. So we bite the bullet and decide to get a taxi which relieves us of €150 and manages to get us there on time, after stopping at the ATM to get some cash. When we got home we checked on the bus website and it does stop outside the hotel, we could have saved ourselves a couple of hours of sitting in the cold and kept our euros for our next trip.
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