WRITING PROMPT RESPONSE

A Skiing Trip Through Winter Wonderland

One of my favorite travel memories in Germany

It has always been my favorite time. Winter. I am born in December. I saw snow the first time when I was a few weeks old. Learned to ski just as I was making my first steps. I love snow.

When I wrote the writing prompt on #travelmemories I was going through folders of photographs on my laptop. I was just looking for a title image. But then I ended up going through endless memories.

Thinking what would actually be my favorite travel memory in my home country? The country I was born in. Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve traveled a lot. Did countless day trips, short weekend excursions, and week-long holiday trips with my family.

But I also went on city trips with my friends when I was older. We were three girls and decided birthday presents suck. So we decided to gift each other instead, city trips. Which would mean memories. Time spent together. And we were creative. We didn’t just hand over the next city we would visit.

The birthday girl was given some sort of a quiz. Where she had to find out to which city we would go. Then we set a date. And went. For just a day. Or two. It was epic. I made so many amazing memories on those adventures. I mean, alone those were 3 trips a year. Three girls, three birthdays, and therefore three city trips.

But I also traveled with my parents a lot. In June we would go to Italy. Beach holiday. But on all the other vacations throughout the year (yes, we did go on many, thanks mom and dad, you fed my travel excitement from a young age on) we went to the mountains.

In winter twice for a week skiing. In summer and in between for hiking. Hiking got boring eventually. As a teen. You know when everything becomes uncool. Everything you do together with your parents is embarrassing. And hiking is nothing to brag about with your friends.

But I got back to my senses. Today I love hiking again. And the mountains. And I’m grateful for all the memories I made as a child in the mountains.

But going through my folders of photos I stopped on a different trip. It was winter.

I’m a winter’s girl.

Father-daughter relationship

I’m not the kind of daddy’s girl you think of. I think he wished to have a son when I was born. Not sure. I learned to climb trees. I built shelves with him and rebuild our childhood furniture. I know how to fix things in the house and how to change a tire.

I learned how to ski down the backcountry. Race with the boys. And kick them in the chin when playing soccer. I was often the goalie. I played handball for most of my teenage and early adult years. I can throw a ball. Far and hard. And a snowball too. Remember that when starting a fight with me.

I didn’t play with dolls. I hated and still hate the color pink. And didn’t know how to put makeup on. Until today.

And I am very thankful for that.

Skiing with my dad

And so the day comes. It’s a beautiful Saturday morning when we hit the road. I was probably catching another hour or two of sleep while he was driving. In winter, we would often go to the alps for a day. Just him and me.

We would arrive in the skiing area before the lifts would open. Be upset if someone else was already in the queue in front of us. We would do as many runs as we could. Until the lifts would close. And then drive back home again. Exhausted and tired I would sleep again. He was driving.

My mom can ski but didn’t grow up skiing. She learned once she was an adult. She never developed the passion for it the way we did. My dad skied the Carpathian mountains from left to right. As a child already. With those wooden planks and a single buckle on them. Like the ones from the movies. Or maybe you’ll find them today in the museums.

My sister did learn to ski as well. But she never caught up with me. Or my passion and excitement for skiing. She would do a run or two. Then rest. Look around. Well better off with my mom. They had the same pace.

And they were well fed up with skiing with the two week-long skiing holidays we anyway did each year.

Not so much my dad and me. We would grasp every opportunity to go skiing. Every Saturday and Sunday when I did not have a handball match and the money allowed it we would go down. To the alps.

The black forest

We always went to a selective number of smaller skiing areas in the alps. Usually about a two-hour drive from home. I knew all the slopes. Lifts. Short cuts. And backcountry options.

But this time we drove to the black forest. A mountain range in the southwest of Germany. Not as high as the mountains we would usually ride. I wasn’t that excited. I expected the slopes to be boring and flat.

But we were going to visit my sister who was in a clinic close by. And instead of just going there and back we decided to go for a day skiing and visit her after the lifts closed.

Convinced me.

The perfect day

I don’t remember much of the day. It has been a long time ago. Probably ten years. But I do remember it was one of my most amazing days spent in the snow. It must have had snowed the days before. And then it got very cold.

The snow on the pine trees was hanging thick. The snow was powdery soft. I didn’t need the slopes. We went down every other option given wherever we could find deep powder snow.

Once we just rode down a mountain on the side and ended up on a road in the valley. We had to walk back up the tarred road to get to a skiing lift. But I wasn’t even complaining about that. And walking in skiing boots sucks. It really sucks. For anyone who’s never worn skiing boots — skiing shoes are not meant for walking. They are meant for skiing. And keeping your ankles stiff and safe.

The winter wonderland

The snow we were experiencing I never saw again. The landscape that I expect from skiing areas in Japan or Canada. Or far up in Alaska. But there we were. In Germany. In the good old black forest. And we were in a winter wonderland.

The sun was shining all day. Blue skies. And pine trees all around which barely looked like trees anymore. I’m sure we both had a sunburn on our faces when we got back home. And I’m sure my mom called us out for it.

But we didn’t care. We had a blast. In the snow.

And I’m sure we slept well that night.

This was a writing prompt response to the #travelmemories prompt. Feel free to join and submit your own version of your favorite travel memory in the country you are born in.

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