Getting close to the end of March, the skiing conditions are not at their best, even above 2000 meters above sea-level. Snow is scarce, and the little that is left is artificially made during the night. Fortunately, there are other options. As soon as you have made it down the mountain through the so-called "Happy Valley", you are in "après ski" heaven. With each place catering to their very specific audience. As I am neither a fan of Austrian "ompa-ompa" (Sennhütte), nor watching "The Swedish Bikini Team" have body tequila shots off each other's boobs (Crazy Kangaruh), we have found our "home turf" at The Mooserwirt.
Take-off is at exactly 1530, to the sound of "The Final Countdown" (Europe). And - BOOM - you are on a different planet altogether. Suddenly it makes perfect sense to be downing a shot of the local specialty "Fliegende Hirsch". Followed by another. And another. And - before you know it - you are dancing on the table to some obscure Austrian song which mostly goes "lalalalalalala". Or something about polar bears ("Wir haben die Eisbären so gern"), or the truly annoying song about Anton (so schön/so toll/aus Tirol). While still enjoying this terrible concoction consisting of a mini-bottle of Jägermeister submerged in a glass of Red Bull. A typical proof of the mathematical rule that two minuses multiply into a plus, I guess. Because, separately, I hate both of them.
Another weird thing about this place is that it is perfectly ok to wear the pathetic souvenir t-shirt that you once thought was so hilariously funny, but NEVER wear. Like these, randomly selected from our very own household collection:
"Pimp" - Sydney 2000
"It does not suck itself" (with arrow pointing downwards) - Crete 2007
"Pornstar Professional" - London 1999
"Take me drunk I'm home" - Kos 1998
"Ten reasons why a beer is better than a woman" - Kos 1998
Oh well. I found some very wise words on the first page of the hotel wine list:
Bordeaux makes you think of silly things,
Burgundy makes you talk about them,
and Champagne makes you do them.
(Jean-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin)
Hm. It really says it all, doesn't it? Now I know why it made perfectly sense to buy that stupid hat resembling a cow's head. AND wearing it walking all the way down the Dorfstraße back to the hotel.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
No comments:
Post a Comment