So I spent last weekend in Cold Springs near Yosemite(not Tahoe as stated in Friday's post. Note to self: enroll in Geography 101) with a large group of amazingly warm and funny Hungarians. Most everyone in the group has known each other for many many years, but I didn't feel like an outsider at all. In fact, by the last day they had given me a nickname; Rizsa. They chose it because it means rice and I had made a savory mushroom risotto for everyone Saturday night. Plus it also sounds like Reesa when spoken.
Friday night I took it easy. Ate some ham hocks and beans and stayed up gabbing until about midnight. Saturday I hit the slopes. My first run down the bunny slope took over a half an hour and I rode all the way down on my segg. You can guess what that's Hungarian for. It basically feels like you're falling down a flight of stairs! I wish I had brought along some vicodin as I joked about before I left. The next few runs went quicker. I didn't gain any more control, but I slid faster every time. After dinner Saturday we all got together in the living room and the group performed traditional Hungarian folk songs. Most Americans have really missed out on important and simple bonding activities. It was fun and sweet to share their nostalgia. Not long after the booze really started to flow, and the living room transformed into a dance floor. Laser pointers, blacklights, sofa dances, voguing; it was quite the cabin rave.
Sunday several people went up to the resort to board again. I stayed behind because, well, I couldn't walk. Hell, I had trouble holding up my toothbrush. I'm certainly looking forward to making another go at boarding though. Maybe I could line my clothes with those little air-filled pouches that are used as packing material. POP! P-P-POP! POP! Look at Rizsa go!
There are pix from the weekend here and here.