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Val-d'Isère: behind the scenes

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Veröffentlicht am 0:53 02.04.2008 von LottieLondon



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Being a ski rep isn't exactly hard graft. My sister gets a measly £86 a week but doesn't have to worry about rent or bills. Most nights she scrounges free food off the chalet maids, who by contrast have to cook three-course meals every evening, including home-made cakes. Even booze is subsidised - telling the bar staff you're a "seasonnaire" gets you a discount in most places (and they don’t ask for any ID to prove it).

Ok, so the accommodation is hardly the Ritz; where we’re staying has no oven, grill, toaster, grill, or even bin! The reps are expected to cook on a couple of hot plates that fuse the place whenever you plug the kettle in. And the shower's covered in ancient green mould. But who cares about a bit of homely mess when you’ve got the Alps on your doorstep?

One person who certainly isn’t about to fly home to Surrey is Jake, who lives in my sister’s apartment along with a couple, Stu and Sarah. Ruddy-faced and built like an east German gymnast, Jake simpers around in his boxers like a feckless Big Brother contestant, appearing whenever he knows my sister is around. Luckily he’s no match for her real-life boyfriend Colin, a northern handyman four years her senior, who’s become our new best mate.

Strutting lazily into her bedroom this evening, Jake sat down on her bed. “So tomoz yah, plan is to head off-piste, I really wanna start an avalanche off,” he yawned. “ It’d be mad tricks to be skiing off the wake of a like, massive ball of snow.”

Rolling his eyes, Colin says: “Mate, did you not see the safety video they showed us when we first got here? There were these skiers who got swept into a giant avalanche and died after skiing right next to the piste. Didn’t look that fun.”

“Well basically I’ve been skiing off-piste since I was 12, yah? The risks don’t really bother me to be honest,” Jake snivelled.

There are plenty of Jakes working in Val D’Isere; they’re easily spotted by their day-glo hoodies, bouffant hairdos and cocksure swaggers. A lot of them hang out at a place called Bananas, which is a shame as it’s otherwise a really cool restaurant/bar that serves gorgeously gooey chocolate brownies.

But tonight, after a fantastic day’s skiing in the sun, we're due to head to the weekly pub quiz organised by the ski company my sister works for. Quite why it takes four people to read out the questions is beyond me...

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