First night in Courchevel and it’s a sleepless one, must be the mountain air and absolutely nothing to do with the bottle of wine sunk earlier at Tremplin. But while everyone sleeps soundly, there is something quite magical about looking out onto the town with all its flickering Christmas lights, not a ski or boot to be seen and the pistes empty of colour and sound apart from the odd hardcore clubber returning home. The only thing to break the silence is the piste basher….
I am desperate to have a ride on one of these kids and as the week goes on I will start to obsess about them. I love to watch them late at night (preferably not 4am like now) that spookiness something, like little eyes creeping along the mountain top, winding their way through the slopes and especially if you catch one coming down towards you
I’m wondering what it’s like to sit in the cabin all alone in the dark, just going up and down the mountain. Am going to make it a mission this week to see if I can work my way into one of these ghostly machines, at least to explain to the driver why there is a mad woman in her bath robe and UGG boots with a camera standing on the slope in the middle of the night!