A COUPLE of months ago I was in the Rocky Mountains, and looked down to see a tall man in ski-instructor’s uniform, wearing a red Father Christmas hat, followed by a line of tiny children doing perfect turns in the snow.
It took me a couple of seconds to realise that I was looking at my husband, Paul, a 58-year-old Englishman and recently retired City of London lawyer.
Neither Paul nor I ever had a “gap” year. Unlike most of our friends’ grown-up children, we went straight from school to university and then into our careers. I had a few years “off” to bring up our children but Paul worked full pelt for more than 35 years in the high-pressure corporate world. But with his retirement last summer, and with all our teenage children in boarding school, we decided it was our turn for a “gap”.
Our plan for the winter was to head for the mountains and the skiing. We applied on the internet to Vail Resorts Inc. which owns not only Vail, but also the ski resorts of Breckenridge, Keystone and Beaver Creek, in Colorado.
There were posts available for instructing three to six-year-olds to ski and Paul, never a particularly hands-on father, chose to apply.
Advertisement
I decided on a job indoors. I turned down “food and beverage” in favour of “ticket seller”. It was a close-run thing in the telephone interview when I was told that appearance was very important and was asked whether I had any body piercings or tattoos. I wasn’t sure whether I’d be turned down for being too boring if I admitted that I hadn’t. But denial must have been the right answer because I was offered the job.
We applied for our American visas, found accommodation, tracked down garages in Denver to buy a car, bought 17 flights (to ship our children to and fro for their school holidays) — all online. We rearranged our lives at home. We even organised with the Post Office to have our mail redirected to our new address — Snowflake Drive in Breckenridge. And away we flew.
Working behind the scenes of the US skiing industry has been fascinating. They do “service” very well. My colleagues selling lift tickets and ski-school lessons are from all over the States. Many are young, they’re enterprising (most have at least two jobs) and professional. It’s their job to be friendly and helpful. They love the environment they’re in and have a passion for skiing or snowboarding. And they treat me as part of the team.
Despite his advanced age among the ski-instructing recruits, Paul is also considered a “buddy”. He’s taken to instructing small children to ski like a duck to water. Cultural differences have led to the odd faux pas. At the beginning of each lesson Paul suggests the children visit the bathroom. On one occasion he kept asking one child whether he wanted to go to the “men’s room”, but the response was a “no” and a firmly shaken head. In the end he had to frog march the reluctant four-year-old towards the men’s room, when he discovered it was not a little boy but a girl. The trouble was she was called Brooke, and Paul thought that was a boy’s name.
I’ve experienced the same problem. I’ve had a proud mother from the Deep South buy ski-school tickets for her children called Secret and Rumour. I managed a whole conversation about her children’s skiing ability without revealing that I had no idea whether they were male or female.
Advertisement
In Colorado I’ve learnt something about living in the “High Country”. I’ve learnt to drive on snow and ice. I’ve discovered that you never leave home without a hat, preferably with ear-flaps, and footwear with any kind of high heel is a complete no-no. Paul thinks I’m turning into a Colorado hippy. But Breckenridge is over 2,900m (9,500ft) and the altitude is to be respected. We arrived in a season of record snow falls and low temperatures. It got down to minus 20F in early December. You dress and act accordingly.
Life is fascinating here and the Americans never cease to amaze and amuse me. Breckenridge is a quaint town with a vivid history of fur trappers, gold mining and the railroad. Just over the Hoosier Pass is a high altitude plateau where I can just imagine the cowboys tying up their horses outside the old saloon. The Wild West past feels only a touch away.
As for Paul, he’s been studying and training hard, alongside his daily ski instructing schedule. He has passed the Professional Ski Instructors of America’s Level One Certification. Now he’s going for his Level Two. If he passes that, more chances will open up. You can’t keep an old dog down, and he’s already talking about next winter.