“Skifoaaaaaarn” and “Osterhasi”

Time goes by so fast. It feels like yesterday that my cousin and her boyfriend left London and now it is already Easter Sunday and I was skiing for a week in Italy.

My mother wished to go skiing in “Valle Maira”, a valley 100 km south-west from Turin. My father had been there for a week the last two years with a group of course participators and enthused about the beautiful scenery and the divine food at the hotel we stayed at. The hotel called Le Marmotte is located near Acceglio, a bigger village in the heart of the valley. It is furnished with antic furniture and old home appliances and the staff and the owners are lovely. We enjoyed our stay and the five courses menu every evening. But even more we enjoyed the mountains and the variety of snow we had. As my father offered this week as a ski touring course we were there with friends of my parents. Ski touring means walking up the mountain by ski and after reaching the peak or the top of the route skiing down again. Relatively you walk up ages for half an hour of skiing, but you can reach parts of a mountain where you meet no other soul. Obviously it is hard work walking up the mountain, but it is worth it. Every time I think I’ll never reach the top and when I’m there it is the best feeling in the world having an amazing view over the Alps and knowing that I managed to climb 1200 meters altitude difference.


Unfortunately these six days of skiing went past very fast and we went back home again. Like for christmas my brother and me we couldn’t resist having a traditional Easter celebration. Therefore we had to hide little basket filled with hay in the garden after our big breakfast with our unsacred bread and easter ham. Normally we go to church in the easter night and let consecrate a basket filled with bread, ham, coloured eggs, salt and a sponge lamb. But we decided to have a sleep in after we got to bed very late last night. When we had hidden our nests my father went outside as normally and called the easter bunny in whisteling twice and we had to stay inside the house. Later we went outside and got our filled baskets.

I’m enjoying being home again, mainly because I can meet with friends. Furthermore I can see all the families with handicapped children I know from my mother’s work and I go on holiday with, as they organised a week with daycare. And I’m happy to visit the classes from my last year work in Munich before I fly back to London. But unfortunately I still feel a bit bad, because I left the Australian alone. Mainly now as nobody in the house stayed in London and he has to spend the Easter weekend on his own. Even if he’s constantly pretending to be fine I feel sad.


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