Skiing in Norway

If you were to tell me that I would be rocketing down a mountainside in Norway on skis last year, I would have said you were crazy. First off, I never would’ve been caught dead or alive on skis. If I were caught while wearing them, I would probably be dead. I’ve only skied once before and that was on a wide, gradual slope full of children and first time skiers like myself in Utah. It may sound odd that I come from Alaska and the only place I have actually skied was out of state, but Sitka’s mountains are meant for those who are experienced in the art of avoiding avalanches during the winter. My neighboring town of Juneau does have skiing slopes, but my parents never thought skiing a necessary part of our lives, so we never went. To summarize, I had no interest in the sport before coming here. A few more reasons why I would never have believed you are, #1 I am terrified of heights. Just the thought of sitting in a rocking ski lift with five other people as it pulls you above the clouds is enough to make me want to hurl. #2, My coordination is average at best. I can barely dodge trees while walking, much less while going 20mph with sticks strapped to my feet! And #3, The fact that I would be skiing in Norway is crazy enough as it is. Before I knew I was going on exchange, I never thought too much about traveling. Sure I wanted too, but I had no concrete plans. Now that I’ve laid out all the reasons why the statement that “I would go skiing in Norway” was crazy, I can tell you how I proved myself wrong in every single way. To start off, the fact that I’m in Sweden makes the whole “going to Norway” thing much more believable. When I was initially invited to go to Norway with my host family for a week, I was excited, but mostly nervous. The drive there was twelve hours one way, including pit stops. My favorite part of the car ride was staring at the landscape as it drastically changed. When we started off from Svedala, it was clear and dry. We hadn’t had any snow yet so everything was still the color of dead leaves left over from autumn. It was fascinating watching the fields go from deep brown to covered in snow. By the time we got to the Norwegian border, snow was covering both sides of the road with the spruce trees bowing under its weight. I was so focused on looking out the window that I actually was able to glimpse two different moose on the drive up. One of the things on my bucket list to do while in Sweden was to see a wild Swedish moose. I’ve seen plenty of Alaskan moose but it’s always a special experience, no matter where you are. Now I’m just hoping I will be able to see one in the daylight. When we arrived at the Ski Resort, Trysil, we rented skis for me and drove up the mountain to find our cabin. Because there were eight of us, we got the large bottom corner of one of the hundred of identical cabins. Next was dinner and sleep. We wanted to be fully rested for the next six days of skiing ahead of us. The next morning I donned my armor and bravely stepped out into the cold Norwegian air. The first challenge of the day was getting from our cabin to the ski lift. There was a small trail from the cabins leading to one of the ski slopes so you could easily get to the lifts every day. The one thing I remembered from my day of skiing six years ago was the pizza, where you position your skis in the shape of a slice of pizza to go as slow as possible. I was able to use this to get down the hill in one piece. The second challenge was getting onto the ski lift. Shuffling forward with the crowd of people surrounding us was slightly intimidating but I managed to hold my ground and the next thing I knew, I was at the front of the line and then sitting on the lift. The surrounding mountainscape was too beautiful for me to even think about the height of the lift that I was sitting on. My breath was taken away, both because of the endless stretch of white and because of the frigid air, pulling my breath out and transforming it into wispy clouds of steam right in front of my nose. As I looked at the others sitting on the lift, I noticed on a few, their eyelashes were tipped with white and those with beards had ice crystals clinging to them. It reminded me of the shows my brother used to watch about Nordic vikings and I felt like I was in one of those shows. As we neared the top, I noticed that my own hair had grown its very own icy shield around the ends of my braids. The ride ended about halfway up the mountain and I had made it through another trial with another vanquished fear. Next, I had to make it down the mountain in one piece. Luckily, I had my host dad, Per, who taught all four of his children to ski successfully, and he is a teacher for a living so I was in good hands. Immediately after getting onto the slope that we would take back to the lift, I fell. Per helped me find my skis and get back up, but that hardly seemed like the start to a successful day. It turns out that I was wrong because I only fell once during the entire day! It took about half an hour to make it down the easiest slope of blue with multiple stops along the way so I could fix what I was doing wrong, and then fix it again. It was a little disheartening to see the numerous children fly past, obviously having the time of their lives, while I could barely get enough momentum to turn smoothly, but I knew in a few days I would at least be able to keep up with the slower ones. I was glad to finally make it to the bottom and rest a little before going up again. By lunch time, Per and I had been down the same slope about three times and I was ready for a break and some food. Everyone met back up at the cabin and while our clothes thawed and dried, we enjoyed a lunch of sandwiches. After eating, we headed back onto the slopes but this time I was with my host sister Linnea and her friends. We took it slow again because one of her friends was trying out snowboarding for the first time. We only went on the easiest blue slopes the first day but by the end of the day I was excited to try something more challenging the next day. I was also excited to sleep seeing as I was completely and utterly exhausted. The rest of the week, I went down harder and harder slopes and even managed to complete one black slope! I fell at least a dozen times and the entire time going down I was positive that my last words would be something along the lines of, “Help! I’ve made a horribly terrible decision and I don’t know how to stop!” After that I would tumble down the slope and die in a fiery explosion. Thankfully, my imagination was very wrong (and unrealistic) and I made it through the black slope only wanting to cry a little bit. After six days of skiing, I realized that I can do anything! In my mind I was 100% overreacting and in reality had nothing to fear. I overcame all the things that I was so sure would kill me and surprisingly enough, I am actually excited to go skiing again with my next host family. Maybe next time I can learn how to do flips!