To the mountains again

The mountains have always exerted a faintly magnetic presure on me. From childhood picnics on small hillocks in Hampshire to the proper big things with snow on - I like to get the to peak.

The attraction is multi-layered. I love the fresh air and getting out of town - I can almost feel my lungs renewing themselves. I love how the weather is tangibly different - looking down into the valley on the cloud. I love that I become more aware of the physicality of sunshine - looking for the south-facing slopes and the sunshine - and moving round the mountain as the day progresses. I love that the higher I go, the more insignificant humans are - we're like little ants sliding around on the snow.

The skiing bit is good fun too - the adrenalin of going fast downhill. Stick some headphones on and I'm in my own personal bubble. And what makes the personal bubble even better is know the guys you're skiing with are pretty much in their personal bubble too and not bothered by my seemingly antisocial behaviour - but come beer o'clock it's good to reconnect with humanity.

So, here I am again. Third trip this year... a personal best. Two weeks at Christmas with the Sidster, Phil & Yoko; three days with workmates; now another week with the Sidster and another group of folks of whom we only really know one member - but half the fun is looking forward to making new friends.

We've just arrived at Lyon, after a ghastly early start (and the obligatory Hilditch-hangover) - and am sitting in the sunshine, with an hour to kill, waiting for sato-bus to whisk us away to Bourg St Maurice, and the final pick up into Montchavin. Have laptop, will travel. It's glorious. I feel one last crazy wine, beer, and *cheese* (oh I'm looking forward to the special cheese) fest for the year coming on.

Cue Fun. Woo Hoo.

We have to live like this, rather than holidaying like this.