Since returning from the Winter vacation, things have been relatively busy at AFS. In additional to my daily duties, I have organized a chess tournament, prepared another edition of the student newspaper, helped at a tree-planting, started volunteering with a group of Down syndrome teenagers, and resumed my coaching duties. All of the extra-curricular activities are enjoyable (some more than others) and as Mama Edlin always says, "It's better to be busy than bored." There was one other recent event worth mentioning:
A few weekends ago, I attended the annual AFS Ski Trip. More than fifty students sleep-walked onto the charter bus at the crack of dawn; I foolishly hoped their lethargy would ensure a smooth, quiet ride to the slopes, however the fatigue wore off within the first twenty minutes and bedlam ensued. For some reason, most AFS students were born with freakishly powerful vocal chords and choose to exercise them whenever they have the chance; the bus was no exception.
The roads were clear until we neared the foot of the mountain near the ski resort. The snow and traffic were heavy as vehicles rushed to the top of the mountain to indulge in the first weekend of good snow. The driver stopped to put snow chains on the tires, then we began our ascent. Psychotic Greek drivers sped around us as we climbed, but we kept a steady pace until we hit the bottleneck: five kilometers from the ski resort, a tour bus skidded on the ice and was blocking the entire road. We waited a few hours for a massive tractor to come and tow the bus out and arrived at the resort, Tria Pente Pigadia (Three Five Wells), three hours behind schedule.
The tardy arrival left us with three hours of skiing before returning to campus, so we hurried from the bus, arranged the ski rentals and lift tickets, and "hit the slopes." By "hit the slopes," I literally mean "hit the slopes." The students (and some staff members) were dropping like flies, as if an irresistible underground magnet was sweeping them off their feet and onto the ground. The vast majority of students were novice skiers; watching them wipe out was well-worth the four hours of plugging my ears on the bus - in a kind, nurturing, non-sadistic kind of way. I started on the kiddie-slope because many of the students asked me to teach them how to ski. My ski-teaching pedagogy is simple; I watch the fledgling fall, then I laugh and help them up. Very effective.
The lift on the kiddie-slope was a challenge for the newcomers. It was a large, plastic hook (picture an elongated boomerang) attached to a fast-moving, waist-high cord. The skier had to move into position, grab the hook, and hold on for dear life as the cord jerked him or her up the hill. It proved a daunting task for many, and the hill was littered with humans who lost their grip, tripped on their skis, or simply fell. At one point, Shimosh (trying a snowboard for the first time) was directly in front of me on the lift. About 5 meters up, he started breathing heavily, teetered, then toppled over. Instead of scurrying out of the way, he lay motionless in the middle of the liftpath. I was forced to try to navigate around him while gripping the lurching oversized boomerang - not possible. At the last minute, I was forced to let go, veer left and, tumble to the snow alongside my favorite Freshman. We both got a big laugh out of it, as I pulled him out of harm's way before the next liftee cruised past.
My skiing abilities are decent; I feel comfortable and enjoy the mid-level "blue" slopes, a bit out-of-my-league on expert "blacks". I hadn't skied since Okemo, Vermont in 2005, and the rust was thick. At first, I felt totally unnatural but caught my stride before ascending the big-boy chairlift to the top of the mountain with my co-worker Emily. Emily speculated that our levels would be about even, but that wasn't the case. I would ski down about 30 meters then turn to see Emily tumble, roll, skid, slide, and "body sled" down the slopes. This pattern continued for the duration of hour-long trip down the mountain. When we finally reached the bottom, Emily was caked in frost and ready to call it a day. I caught another lift up the mountain with a group of six students.
One of the AFSers, Suzy, displayed a similar ability-level to Emily. However, upon realizing she was outmatched by the slope, Suzy chose a different technique to reach the bottom. She laid on her back with her skis flat on the ground - using her back to limit speed. She then used her arms to steer. The result was a snail's pace descent and copious amounts of snow inside of her clothes. At one point, she was encrusted with snow and looked hypothermic. I asked her how she was doing. She optimistically replied in a thick Greek accent," Fifty-fifty."
What a day.
No comments:
Post a Comment