Day 59

A full day off, two undemanding, if a little odd, guests in the chalet, and the promise of a full days glorious sunshine all sitting in perfect harmony with the fact that there are almost less days to go than we have already done mean today is a good day. It shows that we're adapting to life here when we consider 9am to be a lie-in but it does and means we're up and eating toast and quaffing coffee in preparation for our epic and daunting 2 hour ski lesson.

There are tantrums and nerves from Natasha mostly surrounding the prospect of riding the chair lift (the last time we rode it together we ended up on our bums or skiing on our knees - my fault obviously.

The pull of the lesson was to explore Morillon. The few runs we could do in Samoens had got old and far too many children getting in our way which would surely only get worse as the busy February period kicked in. A little pressure from Su added it our need to get up there, shut her up once and for all. But I was keen to kick on and become more proficient at this skiing lark and I know deep down Natasha was too.

Chucking our ski stuff in the back of the Polo we headed off, but before we could we had to extract the ever eager LuLu from her perch on the backseat of the car. For a cat so fat and lazy she is a sneak and suddenly appears in front of you. Or leaps through the tiny window above our bed and onto us for a night fright if we're lucky. As comical as the idea of taking her with us up the gondola she is turfed out and were off.

We she'll out €80 for the 2 hour lesson begrudgingly, even though it is half price for us seasonairs and park up at Morillon with time to spare. Midday so officially afternoon and enough time to sink a La Chouffe beer in the name of Dutch courage.

It turns out our instructor is Franck who we had at our previous lesson. At good thing surely? Yes, except that we are nervous he will not be impressed with our progress in the past month.

No fear, the ever cool and hairy nostriled Frenchman greets us warmly and eases us past the first hurdle of the chairlift with great ease. The particular chair lift takes us some 800 feet to the summit of Morillon. Spectacular views in the almost piercing sunlight make the trip worthwhile.

At the summit lies the run we have heard so much about, a green run that stretches some 5km, (mostly) gently through snow covered terrain, trees dusted, sunlight glinting through the gaps...sadly we were far too busy concentrating on our parallel turns which I am pleased to say we have somewhat mastered. Nearly. Favorite moments of the journey down marvel (the name of the run) are when we all stop and Franck makes us observe a ten second silence to observe the absolute silence on the mountain, the snow absorbing all sounds. It really is serene. A nice moment. Other memorable points were my spectacular fall; ski's too close together on my parallel turn, touched and propelled me clean out of the ski's. Actually it felt quite exhilarating. Not that I plan to do it all the time.

Franck took us briefly off piste through some trees which resulted in Natasha's fall, ski pole buried deep in the snow. She took it well.

We ran Marvel twice and the second time felt good, this was what it was all about surely! Two hours down we assured Franck that after a food and drink break we'd be back on it for one more run. But a beer, hot dog and sit down plus extensive post-lunch cues at the lift saw off that notion. We descended exhausted but proud and exhilarated. A night in, some home made tabbouleh, even a brief workout was managed before we collapsed. Day 60 would see a new group of guests and lead on to busy half-terms week, but for now we hold onto a good day, the likes of which we hope to have more of as the season eases off.

Day 53

Ten tumultuous days since my last post. With so much and so little happening at once, time is everything and nothing in equal measure in this job.

When your busy preparing cakes and mains in the morning, furiously cleaning rooms watching the clock to get out of the chalet and enjoy a portion of the afternoon time seems so important and seems to go at double speed. Yet those precious few hours off seem to melt away like the snow under the warm striking sun on the clearest day. Not been enough of those clear days this last week, too much of the English grey skies.

Time has been the theme with our weekend guests who arrived for a 50th birthday celebration, such a milestone in life as it is. 

Prior to their arrival we had enjoyed a night almost as guests in the chalet with no one booked in and the owners away in Italy skiing with friends.

Champagne, jacuzzi, sauna, 2 course meal a la moi, sky tv...we could almost imagine the luxury of it after a hard days skiing. Pretty nice to feel what it's all about.

We were broken gently into new arrivals as first through the door were cool, sophisticated and appreciative French couple from Paris Anne and Thierry. Cooking for them was a joy, they loved our Spanish Chicken with Chorizo and Lemon Posset, finished dinner early and were easy to talk to. If serving people like this was all that was required we would be happy every day.

The peace was broken by eight 50 something's, who for the whole weekend behaved like a bunch of 18 year olds. The noise! The volume at the dinner table, the lewd and rude conversations took us quite aback. The two French couples, including Thierry and Anne having understandably and wisely decided not to dine with them after the first night. Saturday was the big 50th shindig and with a special menu planned, Debbie the masseuse/hearty home cook came to help us prep and although we learnt some new recipes, the result was that we spent 14 hours working, 6 of those with extremely loud voices ringing in our ears. 

This was our first real experience of a rich elite, a class with seemingly little class to speak of and it made me prouder than ever to have been brought up the way I have, and more respectful still of my parents. 

Fortunately after 4 of the more garish of the group departed and only 4 remained they mellowed and began to act like the more sophisticated guests we had envisaged. It's hard to engage with CEO's of huge corporations and their wives but they were consistently impressed with our food and we managed to engage with them a little.

The different world they come from and their successes has made it a ponderous time and as we approach the half way point of our first season, we have been looking towards our own future. It looks bright.

Short term, we are getting another ski lesson (we are progressing slowly and finding it hard to motivate ourselves to push on to the next level) Then our next job, we have secured a job via a twenty telephone conversation in part thanks to our experience here and perhaps in greater part to my brother Sam who currently works for our future employer. And yet further ahead we are looking to expand our spiritual and physical horizons and head east for a short time and experience working together in a different way, in a Himalayan Forest Project. Life has a lot to squeeze in before we turn 50...

Day 43

Today began with a banging headache and lips as dry as Juvet's. To explain, Juvet is our affectionate nickname for Andy due to his bizarre inability to pronounce the "D" in duvet. It's the small joys that keep us in good spirits.
An impromptu early evening trip down to Covey's, Samoens token Irish Bar was the cause of all the dryness. Su had told us that live music was on the bill and they were meeting friends there so we grabbed a lift and despite  several disappointing visits to this, the supposed pinnacle of Samoens nightlife for seasonairs, we felt optimistic that we would meet some like minded youths or even some seasonairs we had previously struck up conversation with at the zigzag opening party. We might also see some decent live music, something that I was sorely missing. 
Instead we were treated to a "live" DJ, spinning some smooth House/Disco blends. We won't get into the debate around whether DJ's mixing records together counts as live music but sufficed to say it was not all we had hoped for. It was busy though, which was a rare treat.
Sadly there were few familiar faces, Tony our lift from airport, his wife and masseuse Debbie whose one and only massage with Natasha was essentially some gentle prodding of the back and severe probing about our jobs. Their son Charlie who works behind there bar and their chef whose name I forget but to whom I will always be gratefully for saying "don't let working for Su and Andy put you off doing this again". Good to know it's not such hard work for everyone. After a brief hello to the above familiars and a €20 round at the bar including a Gin Tonic with barely any Gin in it and having to request two squeezes of lime this disgruntled ex-barman and gin starved girlfriend found a spec and felt like outsiders at a party we had not been invited to. Still we hung around to get repaid on the round I'd got in. Cheers Andy.
Feeling let down by Covey's once again we headed off in search of a bite to eat. Over a month of eating the scraps and leftovers of our lavish menus and drinking beers and wine on the job during highly stressful tines we were feeling unhealthy so now things had calmed down we were on a health kick. Unfortunately that limits your options in this Savoyard region of France where the classic cuisine revolves around cheese, meat and more cheese. Oh and no vegetables wherever possible. It was also Monday, when most restaurants close. After a few failed attempts we returned to our current favorite establishment, a fairy lit little hovel with a genuine rustic feel. A creperie run by one woman, one pan, some batter,and an old Van Morrison CD which skips a lot. 
The menu is extensive, the wine not to dear and they sell a coffee liquor in an earthen wear pot with many spouts called the sharing coffee. Right up our street. I had a Roquefort and pine nut crepe whilst Natasha had a kind of curry crepe. Out there. Not exactly healthy I know but as I said, options are limited!
Hunger satisfied our lust for a big night out was tamed, our tips from our last guests (a four day wedding party complete with 5 children) were running low so we opted for a taxi home and an early night and an argument about money, me storming off up the hill walking home before coming back down. Not because the hill was too steep but because I felt bad. Funny what fatigue and a few glasses of wine will do to you.
Tiff and €15 taxi for a 5 minute journey over we crashed out. But not before I drunkenly made a list of every ingredient we need for our menu. Must have been playing on my mind!

And so here we are, where we began - with juvet's lips at 8am. Dry.
We were up early to get some solid skiing in before deep clean of the kitchen and our first attempt at a yoga class in French. Full schedule, particularly with this headache and dry lips.
Tea, ski stuff in car. And away we go in the little VW Polo that comes with the job. I am growing quite fond of it although it's already been dinted and it's exhaust fallen off but that's all part of the charm.
As we descended the winding road down into Samoens the sun was rising over the mountains. Hidden by a particularly prominent peak it's warm rays spilled through the cracks over the valley below. Being here has it moments and sometimes the grandeur of our surroundings is quite something.
Stopped off at Carrefour and did a shop of healthy stuff for us then decided to drive up the mountain rather that the rattley old gondola. The Polo didn't thank me but some beautiful views on a crystal clear day on the winding road up, the snow brilliant blinding white, sparkling all over from the sun. The icing on the cake.
When we eventually arrived at the aptly named Samoens 1600 (feet) , slung on our ski boots, and clambered onto the slopes. Every time we ski the snow seems different and today's was not good. 
The sound of it creaking under our boots was unnerving and it was 
almost sticky and brittle under the skis. There seemed to be hundreds of children having lessons and avoiding people when your only a beginner as we are is work enough. A quite bizarre image of half a dozen small children strewn along the path of the hand lift having fallen off, some unable to get up, skis in the air made me chuckle.
We lasted an hour on the three run's we were now getting to know by heart and headed back. The delights of cleaning the kitchen awaited.
We lasted an hour at that too. Dull work so thankfully our yoga lesson intervened.
The Dojo run by Carmen Allende is situated just a few minutes drive from the chalet so too good an opportunity to miss. She said via email it was a French class but she would help a little.
Nervously entering the dojo there are only 3 other participants. Oh dear, nowhere to hide from my impenetrable stiff body here. The only other male looked the part serenely perched on his cushion all in white. Seemed he'd been working on his Buddha belly too. The room was beautifully simple, open plan, two big windows at the rear with views of the mountain, a simple Buddhist shrine in one 
corner. I'd like a living space like it some day. After introductions we did some simple limbering up, stretching and shaking limbs - not too bad. Then some breathing exercises. Fine. Then some breath of fire where you take a full breath in and on the out breath hum as tunefully as possible (that was my reading of it anyway). And then some chanting, I started to struggle and feel awkward at this, suppressing schoolboy giggles and exchanging glances with Natasha. Where was this leading!? Thankfully it led to Ashtanga yoga, very traditional and simple, slow and about pleasure. Some of the twists and stretches I struggled to find pleasure in but overall came away feeling rejuvenated. 
As was my French GCSE knowledge of left and right and various body 
parts. It felt good. Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. We left feeling serene , ending the day in far better fashion than it began and safe in the knowledge we would have the chalet to ourselves for at least 24 hours! Bliss.

Day 41

Day 41 might seem like an unusual or even random day to begin writing about mine and Natasha's four months as seasonairs. The truth is that despite several attempts to begin, today, Sunday the 26th January is the first time I've really had time to sit down for several hours without worrying about who or what I'm cooking for later.
So cheers to that as I sit and sip the house red wine I've become accustomed to so much over the last 41 days (a soft Cabernet Sauvignon that on the hush is bought for €3.49 from the local supermarket Carrefour - a place that we've also been far too familiar with). Cheers to the Dickinson's who sadly cancelled their stay here due to theirs son being taken ill. I hope he's ok and it's not life threatening so I can thank him down the line when he makes it out here. But then I also hope I'm not here to greet him.
Not to be down on the whole experience, but it's been a pretty grueling 41 days. Thinking what we've achieved this far and just how much experience has been gained is pretty phenomenal. 
To briefly summarize (I will be filling in events passed as we go along), we stepped off the plane with nervous aspirations, hopes and fears, lust to fill a new chapter away from the ease and familiarality of Liverpool life with luscious outdoor surroundings, cooking swanky meals for high class clientele. We'd been out and cooked a stellar Moroccan four course feast to bag us the job and met the somewhat bizarre and frantic Disco fanatic Andy - one half of our bosses and basically house-mates Su & Andy Lyell. We were as ready as we'd ever be to do something new and completely out of our comfort zones. Me with my fast-paced but ultimately easy-going bar manager job and Natasha selling high end commercial art and finishing off a masters in art aesthetics. We were ready, a new challenge, a step forward into the unknown, together...
... Their friend and fellow chalet owner Tony picked us up from the airport. One of the many Brits who've made their life in Samoens, an up and coming ski resort an hour from the Swiss border in France. As we sped through the valley it's fair to say we were heading into the unknown. Despite our strong motives and brazen determination we had upped sticks with little knowledge of life in a ski resort, and indeed the life of chalet hosts, the glossy Hollywood flick Chalet Girl being our strongest point of reference. But we knew we'd be together, somewhere beautiful, living rent free so how hard could it be.
41 days later and the journey has been hard, we've felt like turning back several times but to what? To where do we call home? And so almost a third of the way through we have time to reflect and ponder at the bizarre and troubled people we work for, the variety of guests who have passed through our culinary fingers. We have been complimented by many and reassured of the job we are doing here. It feels as though we've ben through an almighty test and are just coming through it, mostly unscathed though our bodies and minds may be weary from king size duvets and menu plans. To use a skiing analogy, 41 days ago we stepped onto the gondola and began our creaky, swaying ascent up the mountain. We knew and hoped what would be at the top would be worth the effort and it could just be that we will see the light, sheer bright sun glimmering on the snow as our gondola heaves over the top of the mountain for the first time and it all becomes clear. We can see for miles. The future shines bright, full of possibilities. And with it more unknown - for this isn't the top, but just the beginning.