Skiing

The days between Christmas and New Years are known as meddeldagarna, the middle days, in Sweden. There isn't a lot going on other than sales. So, we went skiing. Our part of Sweden isn't mountainous. To ski Swedish mountains, you need to go north of the Arctic Circle, which is about 12 hours by train from Stockholm. I would love to ski up there one day, to be able to say I skiied north of the Arctic Circle, but the ski place we found closer to home suited us just fine.

Isaberg, on paper, is about the size of the resort we like in Ontario: Mount St Louis Moonstone. Good variety of runs, good variety of lifts, only about 1 1/2 hours drive from home. It was a beautiful drive - all the pine trees coated in snow. That's about where the similarities ended.

Difference #1: at home, you have a ski pass that you hang on your coat somewhere so the attendants manning the lifts can see it. Here, we had plastic cards with barcodes that we kept in our pockets. At each lift, there is an electronic turnstile that reads the barcode and lets you through.

Difference #2: at home, there's ski patrol. They're clearly uniformed as are the instructors. Here, we saw a couple of injured people on snowmobiles, but no other sign of ski patrol. Lots however of instructors. No signage either and not every lift was manned. At home, each lift has a map of the site and a listing of the hills that particular run gives access to, including their level of difficulty. Isaberg had one map, at the ticket booth.

Difference #3: at home, there are 3 levels of run - green, blue, and black. Here there are 4 - green, blue, red, and black. In my opinion, Isaberg's red is black, and I think it would be a really neat thing to ski so skillfully and confidently that you could do Isaberg's black run and enjoy it.

Difference #4: at home, most lifts are chairlifts. Here is more the way I remember from when I was a kid - tbars and pommalifts for Joe Average skiier and chairlifts for the advanced hills. We, of course, didn't know this. First clue should have been when taking a chairlift up for the first run of the day, the chairlift floats over a very steep cliff. I'm a chicken skiier at the best of times. Shouldn't be but am. You know that point of no return, when you've reached the crest of the hill you're about to descend, and you look down it, and it's easily a 75 degree drop? Welcome to the first hour of my day. For Peter and the kids, no problem. For me, an endurance test. Which I passed.

Summary: I spent a delightful hour inside after lunch with a book. The sun had come out, and a few sparkly snowflakes were drifting down. Peter and the kids enjoyed their red runs. Elizabeth and I did a last run of the day before my legs gave out, and we drove home inside a snow globe, and by that I mean that the snow was sparkling as it fell. It was -10 but not windy, and nobody got uncomfortably cold. I'm glad we had the chance to ski. I don't think we'll get to the Alps in any country this year, but at least our skiis saw European snow once this season.