Elmar

Went on pilgrimage to Elmar S.'s barn/family compound. (Yes, S same last name as Gerold; .he and G are second cousins.) Hard to really explain his role in Thomas' life: they met when Thomas was a teenager and Elmar not much older, so it has been a hell of a long time-30 years-and yet, only a few weeks per year. Thomas thought himself the world's greatest skier when he came here, but Elmar, quite simply,  taught him to ski. The Wehlens adore Elmar, because he has kept their sons safe, as do I even though I do not know him. I have given him these goofy looks of awe for years, and I believe he must think I am slightly off.

When they met, Elmar and his brothers had done a few too many back flips off a barn and his back was tweaked. So rather than train for ski racing, he landed the coveted but terrible role of taking the 1A class out six days a week. The difference between 1a and 1b is basically the hiking and the impatient attitude shown toward any slow pokes. Michael Wehlen did a 1b and thought that was too aggressive and he skis nicely as they say around here. My downstairs neighbor in SF has a son, grew up in Tahoe, came and did a 1B and said it was the most miserable experience of his life...And 1a people are even more uptight and competitive. So Elmar has to hike these people up through the snow at altitude carrying skis to remote spots and ski down. But the upside is they get to go out first so the best snow is for them. Every year in Lech people die in avalanches-to my knowledge no one ever did with Elmar's group and he did it for an unheard of 15 years.

I have seen this group only a few times in all these years-they leave early and go far away- but once I saw them on a regular run (piste) where they never go, they were in transit and it was early morning and I swear I almost missed them, they were that fast. it is not like you think: short wedel-ly turns; Short turns are slower, and no fun g forces-instead it is very very few enormous curving turns from top to bottom which means more time flying straight down. And it was this perfect line of 8 people one behind the other, like a ballet. It was spellbinding. We don't have this in the states: really good skiers hire guides, there isn't a ski class for them..so you never see this group at this speed.
Another time I saw them rushing through town, Thomas and Elmar with a rope. A rope? To lower them down somewhere. But I have never been nervous about Thomas skiing with him. He is soooo serious, and this is all he knows: every single bump on every single part of these mountains. He has these really dark eyes that bore into you, and when he shakes your hand, it kind of hurts.
But it seems the thing he really loves is farming...he is a dairy farmer...subsidized by the government that wants farmers around, especially in the alps, so they basically pay him to do it. In the winter he has to do it in addition to the skiing..so he is the fittest person around...farming at 4 30 am, then hiking for 6 hours, then more taking care of the cows.
Anyway, we went over to say hey.
His wife and 2 daughters were away..pity, the girls are bookends to Frederick: ages 7 and 9 so it was Elmar and the girls (the chewing on the cud kind) in the barn. His house is a beautiful not so little Austrian number smack in the middle of paradise. It is in Zug, the town over from Lech...on a river, surrounded by these mountains-they are really close like enormous green body guards to his little family. In the winter it is completely silent except for the river which I have many times confused with a freeway (so sad) and best of all, when there is a full moon on the snow, it looks like heaven-all white and light enough to read by. incredible.
Next door lives another brother (there are three brothers and a sister in exact same order as Brigham clan)..sister married Austrian ski racer and lives another town over, other brothers have been alternatively mayor, head of ski school, head of kids ski school, avalanche dynamite-er and more. But none of them wanted to do this farming. He told Thomas he really couldn't imagine doing anything else. Even though it is so hard, he can't go out to dinner..he has to milk the cows, and can't travel. Not that he wants to...never did. He says the world visits him. (true). So here he stays, manual labor, tiny little clan of people he loves, respect of his entire town; manageable stress, lots of topfenstrudel.
It is such a stark comparison to this crew of people who visited here who were richer, have way more free time, and are 10 times more miserable. I really don't know if it is the altitude, or acceptance or
what-but he should bottle it.

He toured us around, giggled at Frederick, asked him if he could ski yet, told us his daughters were into someone called Hanna Montana, said he makes them hang around the barn so they would know what he did, but does not make them work..just wants them to know it.

We are not the only ones who love him: he has a rather fancy range rover for touring his fields that some German titan of industry gave him, and of course Thomas and I will be sending so much Hanna Montana crap his daughters will be able to open a store.

I am probably attached to him because he lives the kind of life my father would have loved: farm, family all around, large pieces of meat for dinner. All you need really.

Food glorious Food

Forget every nice thing I said about the mountains..it snowed, really snowed here. Frederick was beside himself with joy. Snowball fights with the Swiss kid (adorable) who owns a holiday apartment in the building.
Today is warm and tomorrow should be warmer still.
tomorrow night we go to dinner chez Schneider. Frau Schneider herself will be there (she lives, in summer in Salzburg and Tuscany, only visiting here occasionally). So far, Katia has made us leg of veal (outstanding) cream of celery soup, beetroot soup, (amazing) creamy mushrooms and Knödel, pasta carbonara, pasta with ginger, herb salad, lamb something, Aubergine mousse, and she threatened to make rabbit.(we admitted there was absolutely no way) Every night there is a cheese course, and a tort with fruit from the tree of a fabulous friend in France(FFF). And somehow she is never, ever distracted or stressed and the kitchen is always clean. Also she once came home 2 minutes after we got there after having been on a hike with Ida and she was wearing a funky purplish leather skirt with the seams showing, a turtleneck sweater and hiking boots...put on an apron, talked to me while she was swinging around the leg of some animal, got us drinks, and made us laugh.
They do not let you, I really mean this, lift a finger...not allowed to clear a plate, pour wine, nothing but unfold your own napkin. Thomas protests and she tells him to behave himself and be a good guest.
I however have taken to it like a duck to water (I am after all Kathy Harper's niece) and now allow them to feed me whenever they want. The problem is there is absolutely no way to reciprocate: there is nothing to buy in town, and if your last name is not Schneider you will not get the right cuts of meat, or cheese or anything.
I plan to bring some gum and some nail polish remover tomorrow as hostess gift.
Thomas will perform an interpretive dance.
Laugh not. We are out of ideas on what to do for these people. You cannot mention anything without them fixing it.
Tomorrow lentils and chicken and god knows. Here is an interesting statistic. Thomas has this horrible watch that tells you how high you have climbed, heart rate, and calories burned. It is not unusual for me to burn 1000-1500 calories on a walk. And, yet my pants are all tight. Got to be water retention.

Bad news on pictures...brought wrong cable from home...will keep trying but no pictures for moment to download. Arrrrrgh,

Summer 2009

OK people...no more individual emails..they are way less efficient than Le blog, which I might point out No One seemed to miss. But here it is!!!

Greetings from the mountain top. We are in good ol faithful Lech. This year we are in an apartment higher up on the mountain so the view is quite spectacular. I will try to get some pictures of this thing. It is like a movie, watching the weather change....this summer has been low on the sunshine, so there is a lot to watch: fog, rain, wind, lightening, all this with a wood burning fireplace. not bad.
Frederick is having a time I tell ya...gets to tag along with Luis Schneider, the scion of the family that owns the Hotel Alhmof, where we stay in winter. But way more on them later.
Frederick goes to the little town kids club for tourists where they are let loose on the town for scavenger hunts, rock climbing, swimming, and various moutain-y activities.
Thomas and I hike up and down and up and down. We have developed a routine similar to the trajectory of an opera: it starts slow, and the characters look good and fresh. But from here it deteriorates quickly, to the steepest, most miserable point on the walk where one begins to loathe the person who brought her there and decide to take action. (poison comes to mind) i find a tiny infraction...fume about it..and rush up the mountain to Thomas to "share" my feelings. Last time I felt he had mentioned his (gold medal winning) ex girlfriend in a comparative way that I did not appreciate ...like he was hinting I sucked at this. It was all perfectly obvious.
Poor man. (I am anything if not predictable). He takes his cue, murmurs words of apology and hands me lemonade. And then I look up and look at my watch and see the view, and see it really hasn't been that long and I just about burst into an aria. It is so god damn beautiful. But as happy and relieved as I am, I am more chastened-really, pouting like this in front of the mountains. They are the main character in this drama....stoic, noble, endlessly patient. They listen to all our crap...all the silliness and flightiness of humans. They stay (mostly) still and listen. I know they are supposed to be dangerous; But I don't see it that way..it's the wind and the cold that kill us. If you think about it, the mountains have to endure the cold as well. They just do it better than we do.

So I get my act together and Thomas and I walk happily together to the top. Strangely, it is at the end that I often have the most energy. Sometimes we even run down the parts that are not too steep....and it is absolutely the best- the yellow of the egg as the Austrians say. It defies description... like flying but better. My legs are so tired, but they can't be contained...because they are giddy to fall spastically, joyfully downhill, down toward this beloved little town. We have been known to woop like little kids past cows and mountain goats and serious farmers..down down toward the church steeple.

And the mountain watches. And maybe cracks just a little smile.

Pictures soon!