Skiing For The Unbalanced and Unruly: Part 4

This is the final instalment of my skiing (or not so much skiing) adventure in Bulgaria this Christmas. The following days since my last blog post were less dramatic, disastrous and eventful. However, elements of the last few days have been pretty bizarre.

Worth noting is the Garra Rufa Fish.  The spa in the hotel offered a 'treatment' where you stick your feet in Garra Rufa infested water. As soon as your feet touch the surface, the fish swarm and start to nibble at the dead skin. They supposedly exfoliate your skin and, rumour has it, the treatment also has similar effects to acupuncture. Apparently, this has been banned in some US states for health and safety reasons. Despite this, we decided to try it out. I hated the feeling at first. It was far too ticklish and I squirmed at the idea of these fish all over my feet. Eventually I got used to the feeling and I could watch the fish without wriggling. However, about five minutes before the end, a fish drew blood on my Mum's leg. I realised, I may have paid money to be devoured by baby piranhas. This may not have meant death but probably an amputated limb. Thankfully, the treatment finished before they could swallow me whole.

The rest of the holiday had a 'let's make fun of Alice' theme. It seemed everyone in the hotel knew about the night after the bar crawl and thought it was so hilarious that they had to make a joke at every opportunity. The moment I put a glass to my lips I expected someone to come round the corner and shout 'I hope that's not vodka!'.
"This is my daughter, Alice" my Mum would say to every hotel guest, to which a giggle would follow. My dignity seemed to sink lower everyday.
Even on the flight leaving Bulgaria, I passed a hotel guest Mum had befriended on the plane.
"Not feeling too hungover, Alice?"
Actually, no I am not. That was several days ago, pipe down.

Spending Christmas in Bulgaria was surreal. It didn't feel like Christmas. Yet, at the same time it did feel very festive. It was certainly a white Christmas. There were Christmas jumpers so festive they could be seen from a mile away. Decorations were everywhere and I couldn't walk anywhere without seeing a Santa Hat.

Our Christmas Dinner was in the evening. We were served five courses. The first course was a kind of Greek salad, the second was a chicken and mushroom thing, the third was roast pork, a sweet potato sauce type thing, more potatoes, bacon and onion. It was lovely but it wasn't quite Turkey. Afterwards we were given platters of cheese and salami then ice cream with a chocolate muffin. Instead of Christmas crackers we were given little rolled up pieces of paper displaying what could only be described as a strange kind of fortune.
One read: "Opportunities emerge, don't get too urge"
Another read "Don't expect too much of Christmas Day. You can't crowd into it any arrears of unselfishness and kindliness that may have accrued during".  Yes, it was spelled 'Arrears'
The bad translation from Bulgarian to English did not fill the space in my heart that lacked Christmas Crackers, nor did the Bulgarian dancing that was loudly forced upon the room by course three. Forced joy is not my forté.

Nevertheless, the reps exercised their persuasiveness once again and I was out with them that evening; until midnight this time but, far less intoxicated. A deep chat in a Mexican bar, to the sound of a Mexican guitar trio covering Eric Clapton, ended the final night of my holiday.

To my amazement, the longer I spent in Bulgaria, the less chaotic it became. Despite my bad first experience at attempting to ski, I would want to try again. Perhaps next time I'll have more confidence in myself.

Наздраве!

Skiing For The Unbalanced and Unruly: Part 3

The morning after my alcohol nightmare I woke up still drunk with swollen eyelids. With virtually no dignity, I rolled out of bed at half past ten and missed another day of skiing. Nevertheless, I dragged myself outside and into the cold air to face the day.

We got in a cable car and ascended up the mountain through winter wonderland forestation and above snowy rocks. The half an hour ride was incredibly picturesque and the landscape seemed to go on forever. At the top I bumped into the beginners ski group I was with yesterday. I put my sunglasses on and held my head down in shame as my mother relayed the events of the previous evening. On the way back to the cable car we bumped into two of the reps who were at the bar crawl and again, mum relayed the events of the night. 

"I'm very cross with you two" She japed and proceeded to blame them for my excessive alcohol consumption. How embarrassing. But, they hugged me and we parted ways. 

A chilled out afternoon was in store since I could not handle skiing. Chaos naturally ensued. We went down to the spa and sat in the steam room for a while.  Curious, I turned on the tap on the wall. I turned it only a fraction more and cold water came rapidly streaming out. I couldn't turn it off. Mum tried too but then the tap head came off and water violently sprayed outwards and upwards. We ran out giggling while an employee tried to fix our mess. He gave us the tap head on our way out - a symbol of the madness of the holiday so far.

The evening consisted of a candle-lit walk through a dark and icy forest. Holding flaming torches, we slipped and slid the whole way to a little restaurant on the side of a road. But, before we got to the restaurant we had to walk through a mini estate that looked like a scene from a James Bond movie, set in a third world country. We were met by a barking, growling dog. Eager to get away from a rabid dog we moved on but several more growling dogs approached. It was dark, deserted and creepy and I genuinely thought I'd meet my death on this cold December evening in a Bulgarian forest.  However, as we reached the end of the estate, the dogs let us be and we approached the restaurant. It was surrounded by cats.

The meal was lovely but, my tiredness got the better of me. As mum spread around the story of my drunken mishaps, I sat in silence and waited for the meal to end. I began to realise why I wasn't a fan of package holidays. I was obliged to make polite conversation with strangers when all I wanted to do was relax. To my horror, the Bulgarian owners' daughter began to elect 'volunteers' to try belly dancing. Luckily I wasn't picked but for the next half an hour, I watched tipsy British people clad in colourful jangly costumes shake their bums on top of chairs and tables. I was glad to get the mini bus back to the hotel.

I am eager to see what madness these next few days will bring. 

Skiing For The Unbalanced and Unruly: Part 2

Second full day started early again. At breakfast I was not only on the look out for the creepy scouser from last night but for Ellie's boyfriend who just so happens to be at the same hotel. It all feels so surreal.

Having been fitted for boots and skis, I discovered that I could not walk easily in ski boots and thus walked with a slightly odd kind of swagger. That is the only way I can describe it.
My first two hour lesson was not as comical as one would have thought. I didn't fall over once and I could successfully do a snow plough and side step up the hill. Side stepping up the hill with heavy skis and boots on was the most tiring bit.
The next two hours were to become my breaking point. I was put in a group with an old man called Harry and a thirteen year old boy called Mac. My first conversation with Mac went as follows.

'How old are you?'
'Thirteen, how old are you?'
'Oh I thought you were much older, 15 or something. I'm 19.'
'Are you actually? I thought you were around my age'

I laughed but inside I was crying.

Several times Mac was told that he could join the bigger beginners group but time and again he asked to stay with us. He proceeded to throw snow and me. Next thing I knew, his nine year old brother skiied past and shouted 'Is that your girlfriend?'. I giggled but my soul wept.

The first small disaster was when I lost my ski instructor's goggles. I put them down for five minutes but when he went to get them they had disappeared leaving only the outline in the snow.

The second disaster happened not long afterwards. I continually failed to do left and right turns. On occasion I managed and I thought I was just getting the hang of it. Then we plodded in ski boots all the way up the hill and were told to hold our poles out to make a semi circle in the snow when we turned. I immediately lost control and started hurtling down the nursery slope full speed. I tried to make a snow plough to stop like we were told. It didn't work. I dropped one pole, nearly collided with several people and only ground to a halt when I realised my only choice was to land flat on my bum. It was spectacular and when I got up my whole body was trembling. I wanted to cry.

Then came the grand finale to my day. After feeling a bit down I persuaded myself to go on the bar crawl. I took Matt along with me and I went a little too hard. With a free shot at each bar and cheeks burning from the heat of each place, we gradually got through too much vodka and stumbled onward. There were several games. If you drank with your right hand you had to down your drink, if someone put a coin in your drink you had to down it. At the final bar two volunteers had to kiss as many people in the bar as possible to get a another free shot.
At this point I didn't think I was drunk enough so I picked up my things and left. Call me boring, but, it was a good thing I left because as soon as I got back to our room I vomited. What's worse was my mum went to get Matt and his brother to help me out. I was incredibly ill and incredibly embarrassed.

Skiing For The Unbalanced and Unruly: Part 1

I have decided I'd record my skiing adventure via multiple blog-posts. This will hopefully provide some fairly comical content for my readership considering that I am a generally unbalanced human being. I have never been skiing before in my life.
I've been transported to the Borovets in snowy Bulgaria with my mother and my brother only to discover we are all sharing one room in our hotel. There is, of course, immense fun to be had. We are staying in a resort which boasts many strip clubs, bars, and of course ski slopes (can you tell I don't ski yet?). It is a package holiday haven. Not a local in sight. In fact, the holiday reps are the closest to locals you'll find.

When we first got to our room, Mum struggled with the door key. Holding the key at least five feet from the electronic lock, she complained that it wasn't working. I came to the rescue, with the prowess of a tech-savvy youth ready to prove to the middle aged and upward, that we're fully capable. We walked into a dark room and yet again, we simply slid the key into a little slot by the door and pronounced 'let there be light'. And there was. I hoped this was not going to be the Christmas miracle of the trip.

Our first full day in the ski resort was, well, entertaining. A little tired from travelling, and rather nervous, I opted out of skiing for the first day and utilised the fully stocked spa and an 'action packed' holiday by taking a dip in the pool and grabbing a cheap massage. I can't remember the last time I went on a holiday where I wasn't intensely exploring a city or tourist hotspot. Nor where holidaying meant actually relaxing, or in this case, doing anything to stop my nerves about the snow from causing a full body break down.

The afternoon welcome meeting was an awkward affair. Four of us gathered round a table with complimentary alcoholic drinks and three of us tried very hard not to slap the man beside me.
'Where can Alice meet some people her own age?' my mother asked.
'Hey, Eassy Tiger, Eaaassyyy Tiger!' Said the scouser man.

I took a sip of my complimentary red wine.
'Is that nice?'
'Yes' I quipped; a blunt answer would do nicely.
'Can I have a sip?'
I paused for effect. 'Naa' I muttered, hiding my very British disgust at such a request.

Later in the evening, we wandered over to a bar called Black Tiger where I met a group of heavy drinkers from Cardiff and a family. I joined the drinkers from Cardiff for a round of Ring of Fire and got coerced into Karaoke by a rep. We sang Man, I Feel Like A Woman by Shania Twain. I accidentally promised to take part in a bar crawl the next night.

Already this is not quite the adventure I expected.

I Went Ice Skating and It Was Terrifying

Picture the scene. The aromas of mulled wine fill the December evening air as families, friends and lovers gather by Winchester Cathedral to pore over local arts and crafts on sale for Christmas, to feast on seasonal food, to bask under the glow of the twinkling lights and decorations, to glide elegantly on an ice rink.
Elegant? Oh please, I could not say the same for myself and it was raining.
Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the Christmas spirit of the night and appreciated the atmosphere. I just don't think I added to the ambience, because as soon as I stepped onto the ice, I was terrified and internally screaming.

"Yes I'll go Ice Skating" I said.
"I haven't been ice skating in years and the first time I tried it, I broke my wrist"... I also yelped before I tumbled towards my fate.

After my first step onto wet ice, I gripped the side until my hands turned blue. I giggled manically and considered that I may be on the verge of a near-death experience. I pictured my fingers being sliced off by a more skilled skater than I, unaware that I had just sent myself sprawling across the slippery surface due to sheer lack of skill or perhaps just clumsiness.

Still, my behind never touched the freezing surface, though my heart never ceased to beat as though I was on the set of Jaws. *DA-DUM DA-DUM*

Each time I felt myself begin to lose balance, my gut tightened and my arms were flailing as though I was doing a drunken version of the Macarena. I was lifted to safety by the hands of an Angel in a high-vis jacket. The Jaws theme began again in my head as I gaped at other skaters, amazed they couldn't hear it too - all the while manically giggling.

I'd like to say I eventually found my feet, but I used the pouring rain as an excuse to make a swift exit, or rather a clumsy and tentative exit. Due to the cold, I'd have made a better Rudolph than a Snow Queen. How do some people make it look so effortless? I secretly hoped that no-one really knew what they were doing. Some people are just better at making it look like they know than others.

If my plummeting confidence had, instead, sky-rocketed, perhaps my skating technique would not be so comical as it would be impressive. Is this a metaphor for life or a simple anecdote displaying my attitude to extreme sport? Take from this what you will.