When a European describes a ski resort as small, you should take their comment with a grain of salt. A "small" Alpine ski resort is rather like a "small" American ice cream sundae.
My colleagues told me Semmering was small. They said it would be okay for a short day trip since it's so close to Vienna, but it's not very exciting. I decided to check it out last weekend anyway. My hopes were high, but when I arrived it was to dirty green fields and a muddy parking lot. Not a snowflake in sight. Plenty of rain, though. Not quite what I'd had in mind, but oh well, I thought, I've skied in rain before.
I got my lift ticket and skis and hopped into the gondola. To my relief, snow appeared both on the ground and in the air before we'd reached the first drop-off point. At the top, I hopped off somewhat puzzled about what had happened in the last ten minutes of my life, because everything, as far as I could see, was covered in a heavy blanket of white.
Here's the thing. In my opinion, a ski resort can be characterised as small if it has several distinguishing features:
a) there is only one place to eat,
b) you take the chairlift up to the top and ski down to the bottom; you do not take the chairlift up and then take a second chairlift up higher and then ski partway down so that you can take a third chairlift up to the actual top,
c) the weather at the top is the same as the weather at the bottom.
My colleagues told me Semmering was small. They said it would be okay for a short day trip since it's so close to Vienna, but it's not very exciting. I decided to check it out last weekend anyway. My hopes were high, but when I arrived it was to dirty green fields and a muddy parking lot. Not a snowflake in sight. Plenty of rain, though. Not quite what I'd had in mind, but oh well, I thought, I've skied in rain before.
I got my lift ticket and skis and hopped into the gondola. To my relief, snow appeared both on the ground and in the air before we'd reached the first drop-off point. At the top, I hopped off somewhat puzzled about what had happened in the last ten minutes of my life, because everything, as far as I could see, was covered in a heavy blanket of white.
Here's the thing. In my opinion, a ski resort can be characterised as small if it has several distinguishing features:
a) there is only one place to eat,
b) you take the chairlift up to the top and ski down to the bottom; you do not take the chairlift up and then take a second chairlift up higher and then ski partway down so that you can take a third chairlift up to the actual top,
c) the weather at the top is the same as the weather at the bottom.
None of these were true of Semmering. The top of the highest run was about level with the treeline. There were some scattered pines, quite short and leaning towards the mountain's peak. Everything was coated in a thick layer of ice. Including me. The view would have been brilliant, I'm sure, if the conditions hadn't been quite so blizzard-like.
My favourite loop involved taking the lifts up to the tippy-top, then skiing a series of runs down to one of the midpoints, then taking the lifts back up again. Once I reached the midway point, all the snow that had fallen on me as I was coming down would melt, making for wet mitts and a wet face. Then I'd get back up to the top and everything that had melted would freeze. This I continued until early afternoon, when the wind on top of the mountain had gotten so strong that I had to admit defeat and stick to the lower runs.
It was great. And had I only carried on a bit longer, I'm sure I'd have been successful in disposing of my mother's nose.
It was great. And had I only carried on a bit longer, I'm sure I'd have been successful in disposing of my mother's nose.