Delicious food and a gift for Yoshi IV

I awake early at the classy San Lucca Palace and, after attending to my beard, make my way down to the restaurant for breakfast. 

This is a truly amazing breakfast. Smoked salmon, salami, ham, beef carpaccio, two melon varieties, yoghurts, foccacia, tomatos, balsamic and olive oil. Oh, and four AMAZING cheeses. Wow. Hotels don't nornally meet expectations. 

Lunch was amazing too. A seafood/clam-esk pasta followed by seared tuna. Restaurant name to be confirmed. Watch this space. We had a wine recommendation (or three) (admittedly I did not sample these)

Coffees mix well with booze here. 

Dinner was back within the city walls and was perfect on every level. The company present was on form, and the host and hostess - they wore many the hats of owners, chefs, service - made the evening truly special. The service was second to none and the food and wine was perfect. 

Note the home made bread. And home made sauces. And home made pasta. And home made gnocci. And I wouldn't be surprised it was home made cuttlery. 

I'll confirm the restaurant names tomorrow. 

To top off the day I walk along the old city walls to visit a Piaggio scooter shop and managed to get a quote for two (of the six) panels I want to replace on Yoshi IV (my Vespa GTS 250 ie), and actually purchase a much needed handle-bar terminatori; this was a 30 minute conversation where retail-staff and customer did not share a common language. It was amusing, and was incredibly effecient. It was an amasingly fruitful chat. I learned about where my scooter serial number resides on the chassis, and am explained and shown the document all scooters in Italy must carry. In return I expound English translations for various scooter components and random words. I get quotes for parts and learn the Italian names for parts I never knew the names of, like terminatori, and:

I also learn my scooter is 'Classico Rossi'. 

Despite the language barrier I feel I communicated better with Serchio Motori (Lucca, Italy) than I do with Motorad on Vivian St (Wellington, New Zealand) back home (sorry guys, I want to like you but you guys took four weeks to charge me $600 for a repair, and as soon as I exited the shop it was obvious you had not worked on her - I want to like you, but screw you too). 

Cassino - a once great town

There's nothing here. 

When we arrived at the train station and hopped in a cab the driver asked "what are you doing here," - without pausing - "visiting the monestary?". That should be a satisfactory indication of the total quantity of attractions in this town; one. There is a catholic monestary. Fantastic in its history, destruction, reconstruction and museum. Grand. 

I'm actually here because my great-uncle half-inched the chalice as he was departing at the end of world war two. Cheeky sod. 

The long walk (1-2 hr based on pace, one way) between Cassino and Monestary is breathtaking. It is an ancient Roman road in terrible condition. Still, one is walking anoungst ancient history, on the same road - potentially some of the same stones - as many people have for the last one to two centuries. Crazy. 

Side note, apparently this hill is riddled with vipers. :/

I was fortunate enough to, whilst relieving myself along this ancient pathway, spy the cross of St Benedict, the patron saint of Europe, a mere 15 meters away. For what it's worth he has the coolest job title I've ever heard. (Way cooler than my job title at least). 

Having formed a strong friendship with Roberto, our taxi driver, we enjoy a tikki tour of the surrounding towns. Along streams, through windy villages, and finally climbing through windy cobbled house-crowded streets to reach the mountain side of olive groves. These spread everywhere. Up there the view was magnificient and the air was sweet; the smell reminded me of sweet, juicy oranges. 

Back home now. Incredible meal en route. Dined at only restaurant in entire town which is decent. More than decent. Incredible. The owner, upon my third request for a glass of wine, politely plonked the entire bottle down and said "now it is yours". 

Atina Cabernet (local-ish), 2006. 

Snow Much

There is more snow. Snowing snowy snow. All tracks are constantly being covered. 

A storm kicked in last night. High winds through the village, shifting and depositing yet more snow. Heading out for dinner last night we crossed the frozen barren pistes alone, blinded by the freezing blasts. 

Today the top of the Olympic was hurricane force. And open. So when in Rome... 

Heading down towards La Daille the pistes/valleys begin to shield the onslaught. By half way down it is calm enough to relax and enjoy the barely skied on terrain. Peaks of trees poke through, giving an indication of just how much snow is up here. 

Everything has delightful amounts of powder. Every difficult to see turn is hilarious, especially as I can hardly handle powder at the best of times. 

Further down while navigating through the trees it's perfectly calm. Impossible to believe that the winds are raging above. The shelter of the trees is actually comforting. Still, with so much snow it's hard to get a single sharp turn in and numerous tumbles in marsmellow soft powder did ensue. 

As an aside, buff's can be difficult with beards. If turns out that beards and buff's can melt and freeze together!

It's not long before the winds at the top become unbearable, and make it undesirible to tackle to reach the quiet peaceful trees ahead. Freezing, blinding, loud, disorienting. Le sigh. 

End of a great half day at Val D'Isere. Now on to board games and mulled wine!

Val D'isere, all the magic of Disney, Marvel and Winter Wonderland, cubed

Our alarm goes at 2:50am to venture to Gatwick. We've been awake all night though, and we merely meakly utter vows to never catch morning flights ever again; a mantra that we echo for the next nine hours as we begin our journey to Val D'Isere. 

At four am the check in area is a buzz with sleepy travellers bumbling aimlessly in circles. Shortly after we arrive at Grenoble, greeted by an army of highly organised tour employees. Asha and I have signed up for one of those package deals; ski, sleep and eat for a week. We're using Ski World, a UK operator, who have a fairly solid gig going here, and I have to say that they have been incredible in making this lazy trip magical. And easy. 

We arrive in to Val d'Isere on a bus, passing a classic bond-looking scene: meters of snow everywhere, a dam nestled in the alps and ragged peaks towering on all sides. Patches of evergreens and desiduous trees commingle across the valleys and hills. And then finally the town. A wooden/rock styled chalet town where every building is proudly donning a white cap two to three feet deep. The snow-crusted roads have up to six feet piled up on each side, and all the while there is more and more falling every minute. For hours. And hours.

Well fed, well wined, we pass out early, before the other chalet guests even arrive. 

Another foot of snow falls overnight. 

The next morning we awake to delicious food, and meet our new house-mates for the upcoming week. All interesting and humourous individuals; this will be an easy week for us all.

More snow falls. 

The ski fields are vast. It has literally taken  days to explore each side. We might be being blessed with magnificant quantities of fluffy stuff, but the trade off is near-zero visibility at times. 

When the skies are clear then the views across the towns and valleys are incredible. Each morning we seem to have an opening of breathtaking visibility. Each afternoon we loose this as the clouds settle in. Clouds which bring yet more snow. 

We are here with a group of over a dozen others, and are scattered across four different chalets. We have had some interesting runs together. The perfect visibility runs have included a long descent through trees and over bridges in to the picturesque La Daille 1785. The less-visibility runs include getting relatively lost up beyond the glacier, visibility so limited we were unable to see the next piste marker, and then occasionally getting stranded in plateaus. All good fun though. 

There's an amazibg atmosphere here. Cocorico is an outside club that's cranking between 5-8. Pm that is. While there yesterday we were fortunate to witness two fireworks displays. The first atop (or part way up) The Face; a black run. Over 50 skiiers descended carrying fire torches, while sparodic fireworks lit the mountain in bright momentary flashes of colour. We enjoyed this while drinking vin chau (sp?) and listening to 90s dance tracks. 

This place has magic in the air. It's an incredible place to visit, to see the town, imerse yourself in French culture, and have a great time. The skiing is pretty darn incredible too.