We arrived in France on Monday, but it wasn’t until noon on Tuesday that we arrived at our ski resort. Here’s what happened: The bus was more than two hours late, during which we hung out in the tiny French airport. The traffic was HORRIFIC! It would’ve taken three times longer than normal to reach here.
We stopped! Our driver had reached his time limit and couldn’t drive any more. We ended up staying in an old ice rink that’s doubling as a red cross refugee centre.
We set out again around 10 a.m. and missed a day of skiing. For the rest of the day, we explored the small skiing village we’re staying in. Two days ago we spent our first-day skiing, though we weren’t very good, and had to warm up first. Noam fell three times, but dad said he’s better at his age than I was at his age. Yesterday it was very foggy. At the very start of the day, we went on a train that dad said was called a funicular. It took us very near the top of the mountain. We went down through the fog and could barely see three metres in front of us. When we got to the bottom, we agreed that we didn’t want to ski for the rest of the day. We ended up going to a pool.
Today we’re planning to go to the far side of the resort.