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.