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.