Phew… cartwheels finally! Ribbing it in, ain’t I?

Yeah, so what the duce huh? After last time’s futile attempt to do something worth writing about, I was kinda sorta hoping to get some juicy stuff to write about this week. And boy, I lived up to my own expectations, and how.

First I had a late night yesterday at the Casba with some friends, and then today was the day when the clocks goes from 1.59 am to 3.00 am i.e. we lost an hour (so I effectively slept for about 3 hours), and then I missed the first of five trains which I must take to get my fat ass to Feldberg. Carried the camera, but not the memory card. Darn. Enough of whining.

Missing the train gave me an interesting diversion. It was classic Googie, train starts to pull away as you make a hurried last minute filmy entry onto to the platform. Anyhoo, since I was hungry (hey! it was 6.39 am) and since the next train was just waiting to leave, I took it to and got off at a random station to grab breakfast. Breakfast in hand… err… partly in mouth too, the ruminating commenced - about what kind of an idiot wakes up so early and other sundry uninteresting things which occupy any given reasonable person’s mind.

The delirious early morning ruminations were interrupted by the sight of a slight bespectacled man hobbling towards me. “Zuuureesh. René”, he drawled in a French accent. He was obviously drunk. The only way I knew to Zurich, was via Konstanz, so I helped him along, “Sie mussen nach Konstanz fahren, und vom da Sie kann weiter nach Zurich fahren..”. “Merci monsieur”, he thanked me and started hopping towards the ticket vending machine. Yes. Hopping. Right-ho, like a rabbit. It was a scene straight out of Alice in wonderland. And no, I was not high on pot, or magic cake.

A few minutes later, he was back on the platform, bathroom-singing at the top of his voice, “Zureeessssh, Rene..”, and dancing around the few available pillars. Think bollywood movies of the 80s, the ugly songs, and dancing around trees. Now you get the picture. The poor guy got into trouble with the cops, who wanted him to shut the F*** up, which he promptly did and thus ended the morning show. Oh boy, I must say, travelling Deutsche Bahn can be very entertaining.

Without further entertainment, I was at Hebelhof/Feldberg, to be told by the ski-school that there were no classes for the day, and since I was so “good” the last time, I could try doing my own thing. Yeah. What are the chances of that? Dang.

The thing is, it was very foggy, visibility was around 50 meters. The snow – white, the air – white. Bewitching. No wonder there was hardly a soul around. At the ski lift, another skier offered to share the ride, and I accepted. It takes about 10 odd minutes to reach the top (990 meters, and elevation gain of 124 meters) so we got talking. He was there on vacation with his family. They had rented a Ski hut, which he showed when we passed it. Then I told him I was from India, and that 3 hours of train journey to find a place to ski was better than travelling a whole day changing two planes to do the same, which is why I was doing this again and again. And, hold your breath, his sister in law is an Engineer working in Pune. What are the chances of that? Then I told he I went to school in Pune, and we were both like – what a small world. We guys kept talking until we reached the top.

The whole day was pretty uneventful. Almost. I could still do all the things I had previously learnt. I was sniggering when I saw beginners struggling to stop. Ain’t life grand? Then on my last run for the day – after about 12 runs, I also learnt something new. Skiing hurts.

First, it was quite wet, and then my ski got stuck in the snow while was speeding down the slope. Don’t ask me how. It just happened. The stuck ski became the pivot and I was tossed up in the air. I did a couple of cartwheels – one of them I distinctly remember was completely airborne, the two on the slope. And sometime while my limbs were flying around, one of the ski poles (thankfully not the pointed end) kissed my chest. There was only one other person on the slope (within visible range), a kid – perhaps 7 or 8 years old. He had fallen too, and he had just finished picking himself up when Circus Sushil started its act. And I could hear, “Oh oh!” echo across as I was doing ma thang for the day. It was painfully hilarious.

I didn’t feel much pain until I had returned the ski equipment, and was on the bus to Titisee. And now the ribs on my right side hurt. It hurts to laugh, to cough, to get up if I am sitting, to sit if I am standing, to bend, or to even lift up my arms. Not like I will die type hurts, but an irritating kind of hurt which you can tolerate, but wish you didn’t have. Arrgh.

In anycase, if I ever get to ski again - it won't be without a helmet. I now know why one needs it.

At Titisee I met a whole bunch of Indians. And a few were from Bangalore, so I got to speak in Kanada. “Yen magga”, and everything. And they work for the same firm as the man’s sister-in-law. And they knew someone, who I knew who worked at that firm. Small world indeed.

Ouch. @#$%^&@@!! Can’t a man yawn in peace?

31-03-2010 Update: The doc says I have fractured 3 of my ribs. I am not supposed to do any sports for 6 weeks. The darn ribs still hurt. I cannot sleep well, etc etc. So, so this experiment must not be tried at home and everything else....

Phew… cartwheels finally! Ribbing it in, ain’t I?