It’s a week after my return, and I’m sitting at home, still kitted out in the free ‘stash’ and wallowing in post-Varsity blues. I’ve had the slideshow of photos on loop, swooning over the fit rep on whom we all developed a mild crush and re-living the heavy bashing my body (and dignity) received out on the slopes of Tignes. Despite discovering that skiing wasn’t my calling, the Après-ski and cheesy clubs that were more ‘Wahoo’ than ‘Camera’ provided unadulterated enjoyment, as well as memories that will outlast my bruises and fraying wristband.
Arriving late on Saturday night after a nauseating coach journey, I decided to drop out of bar-hopping in favour of a good night’s sleep before the first lesson, fearing the deathly recipe of a hangover and my general lack of balance. Peering down from the top of the mountain the next morning, however, and seeing skiers who had whizzed past me nanoseconds before become little specks, I could only think of how useful some Dutch courage might have been. Skiing was an alien world for me. ‘Mogul skiing’, for example, refers to skiing over the alpine speed-bumps intended to add difficulty and excitement, rather than (as I had naively assumed) a piste reserved for those on the Forbes rich list.
The Après-ski most afternoons was spent lounging in a deckchair with a cup of mulled wine to warm our frostbitten fingers; that is, until the calm was disrupted by the release of freebies from the Varsity reps, unleashing the ubiquitous Oxbridge competitiveness amongst students fighting tooth and nail for a free t-shirt. In fact, Après-ski became a hotbed for Oxbridge rivalry, which reached its climax during the Thursday Varsity rugby match that Oxford won 33-15 (despite playing most of the second half with 14 men), giving the usual Après-ski rowdiness of drunken dancing on tables an Oxbridge makeover.
The nightlife, like the skiing, improved steadily as the week went on, particularly after we’d all accepted that the alcohol prices were as steep as the slopes. The sports hall-turned-club of the Opening Night party was transformed into a gigantic Oxbridge bop, complete with a loose theme of Safari fancy dress. Animal-like pushing and shoving in the queues for the single bar created an icy atmosphere and, with since overpriced spirits did not result in good moods, by 1am Katy B was performing to a half-empty venue. We hadn’t yet left behind the ‘tute-in-the-morning’ mentality.
By the second night, we had found the only two clubs in the resort; ‘Melting’ and ‘Blue Girl’ – deceptively different by name but equally dingy inside. But after loosening our purse strings for the €7 beer, it proved easier to embrace the Europop and interesting remixes. By the third night, ‘Melting’ became our go-to club, where we’d stay till it emptied out and the DJ started yawning, giving us a sure cue to leave. There was a significantly lower turnout on the slopes by mid-week, when only the fanatic skiers were willing to sacrifice sleep for a ‘good run’. However, I had made a pact with myself to get out of bed every day and see my lessons through. Although the skiing functioned primarily as an Oxbridge mixer, with the five minute chairlift rides as speed dates for making new pals, by the end of the week I could manage a blue piste without a single fall.
Naturally, the trip was a tempered Oxbridge adaptation of the ‘Snow, Sex and Suspicious Parents’ – Tignes episode. But it delivered in laughs and, with a great show from Rudimental on the final night, the chilled-out (if chilly) atmosphere gave us the chance to socialise without being burdened by a looming essay deadline – almost like a second Fresher’s week.
