We awoke and ate breakfast; orange juice, ham, cheese, toast, and cereal. I went upstairs and suited up, layer after layer after layer. The anticipation built after every article of clothing I slipped on, until I was fully dressed and almost sweating sitting inside our tiny little room. We went back downstairs towards the front desk to grab another map of the enormous mountain and ask which slopes the man thought to be best. We narrowed it down to 2 different regions of the mountain, Axamer Lizum and Kuhtai, which were among the best priced, best runs, and highest elevation. After asking numerous questions, the hostel clerk informed us that there was a free ski-bus that departs from the hostel in 5 to 10 minutes, and would shuttle us around to all the different bases of the mountain, from which we would be able to ascend and purchase the appropriate equipment and, at last, ski. So we headed outside, where we saw numerous other people waiting in the bitter cold, suited up from head to toe in hundreds of dollars [or should I say Euros] of top of the line gear. We sat on a bench as I felt a little jealous in my long-johns and khakis, without any boots or skis to show off; however, I still had my snowboarding jacket and gloves and Camelbak [courtesy of my sister Kelly], so I didn't feel like a complete Rookie. The bus pulled up and we jumped on board, sitting in one of the first few rows. As it became fully saturated with what felt like hundreds of people in winter attire, we realized we were definitely the only ones who spoke English [except for when the driver turned on the radio and everyone persisted to sing Outkasts' "Sorry Ms. Jackson, Oooh. I am fo reeeal"]. It wasn't until we passed the 3rd of 4th "designated" free stops that I began to wonder..."Hmm...maybe my awkward feeling of being out of place isn't simply due to being in a foreign country...perhaps we really were on the wrong bus..." Berta and I shared a few concerned looks at first, but then realized that clearly whatever bus we are on it is going somewhere up a mountain to a lot of fresh snow that is ski-worthy; so what was to worry about? Coincidentally the bus wound up pulling into Axamer Lizum, one of our 2 choices! We stepped down from the bus, shrugging off the worry of how exactly we would be getting back after skiing, and proceeded to purchase our lift tickets and rentals. The time had finally come [once Berta got done taking forever to rent ski-pants because she was a wuss] to ascend the massive ski lifts to the top of the Austrian Alps, where I could prove to all the locals that you didn't necessarily need to look the part to play the part [who said thin casual pants couldn't be worn to ski the Alps??]. The snow was perfect. Fresh powder from top to bottom, both on and off the trails. I couldn't even believe that I had called what I had done in the past, at Indiana's "Perfect North Ski Slopes", skiing. The runs took what seemed like an eternity to descend, instead of the 10 or 15 seconds I was used to. Not only was the skiing phenomenal, but the views. Oh the views. I thought I had asthma, my breath was taken away so many times. The first time my jaw honestly dropped is when I rode the ski lift alone to the summit of the mountain [Berta did not feel she was experienced enough to ski those particular runs]. On the way up there was the stillest, most calm quiet I had, and probably ever will, experienced. I floated over 100 ft ravines, covered in feet of snow with jagged rock points poking out here and there. It was the most peaceful moment I had witnessed; and then I rose over the crest of the hill to the top of the lift and mountain....No words can explain the sensation that came over me. My mouth dropped open and I simply stared in awe for what felt like hours. I was even with the clouds, looking at panoramic views that I had only seen on postcards. After a while I felt as if I had made Berta wait long enough down at the bottom by herself, so I headed down the steep edges of the mountain with my mind still blown. The rest of the day went on like that, and I had the time of my life until, finally, I was forced to come back to reality and head back to the hostel. Although we had to check out of our room earlier that day, we quietly slipped into the hostel to use the kitchen in order to eat dinner. After prolonging that activity as long as we could, we made way to the train station where we would sit from 9pm to 4am [in order to avoid paying another nights fee staying at the hostel] to catch our train to Interlaken, Switzerland. So there we sat, in a tiny heated waiting room for 7 hours surrounded by bums and a runaway 'punk rocking' kid [most likely fleeing home with an 'I'll show them' mentality] waiting for our ride. The clock finally struck 4am and we boarded, only to find that all the sleeper cars were full, as well as the seats, so we had no option but to stand for quite some time, until people left the train and we snagged the last sleeper car there was for the last 2 hours of our travels to Interlaken, where we ready for some extreme sporting...
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