Grace and I set out on a Gringa Adventure along with one of our friends, Rocio. I had never in my life been skiing. In fact, the most snow that I have ever seen is the meager amounts that fall in Texas on special occasions. At 6 am on a Sunday, the alarm sounded as we rushed around Grace's apartment gathering our things for a day in the Andes. After being suited up at a ski rental, my hopes were high, snuggled in a gigantic jacket and fitted camiseta. However, as we began to ascend higher and higher into the snow capped mountains, my confidence level began to plummet. I started to consider my extreme state of clumsiness and my complete lack of balance, a lethal combination on icy slopes. After arriving to La Parva, cramming our things into an overpriced locker, and orienting ourselves towards the beginner trails, I snapped my skis into place and prepared myself for skiing lessons that Rocio so nicely offered. To describe the following chaos would take too much time and dedication for both me and you my lovely readers. I was a hot mess, spending the next three-four hours falling, crying, and yelling down the Andes mountains. You may think that being thrown from the ski lift twice in a row was embarrassing enough, but I would have to say the breaking point was falling about three times in 15 minutes only to look up and realize that I had made it down about one fourth of the slope. With tears and snot covering the majority of my face, I took off both of my skis and stomped off for the lodge, trying to avoid catching the eye of any cute skiers. I decided to eat my lunch and retire from my skiing career.
Overall, it was an amazing experience that I wouldn't have traded even knowing the treacherous results. I wasn't just falling down, rolling around on, and trudging through any old mountain range. These were the Andes.
|Rocio and Grace|
|Aw, exhausted at the end of the day.|