Well, kids, I can add another notch on the snob card: I learned downhill skiing in the Swiss Alps. This weekend, Barras, Kirsten, and Kirsten's uncle Robin took me out to Crans-Montana in Valais and introduced me the joys of an Alpine holiday. Not only that, but I now officially have a deep and abiding love for all Swiss people, as I'm pretty sure
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1. I didn't fall out of a damned lift, but I did drop the button tow-rope that takes you up short stretches of mountainside. Essentially, there's this 10-inch wide button that you put between your legs and you hold onto the tow to pull you up. If, like me, you space out while staring at the natural beauty surrounding you, and loosen your grip on the rope, you fall off and then have to climb onto the piste and ski back down to where you can get it again.
2. I did the smart thing and bought my lift passes and my rail tickets all at the same time. Then I did the stupid thing and lost my receipt for the lift passes and had to buy them again at the mountain. Bye bye, 130chf. That hurt.
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