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Travel Blogs from Grossarl
... in my robe. Mrs Klammers, the owner, ushered me back out of the dining room with mention of dress code. I thanked her sincerely.
Tonight was to be light-graffiti night. I had finger torches and had not yet used them. We gave Mrs Klammers one set, she seemed amused.
Down at fest alm armed with finger torches, we had a lovely evening bantering. New great friends and acquaintances from the week coming up to say it’s been a pleasure, see you next ...
... than infectious, it makes you feel great. What a hero. I found this all very tiring. Hugh reminded me that I have lucozade tablets, they were necessary, I was crashing. Perked up I let out a sigh “get on with it, what do you think you are on a holiday or something?” Hannis prompted.
Windy afternoon back with Julian, this meant no return visit to the fun park as planned and just freestyle practice at lower altitudes, great ...
... protect my noggin. Maybe kneepads too.
I had earmarked today as the day I will return to Bad Gastein for old-time’s sake, to dance on the tables at the Swedish bar and watch the guy singing and playing guitar while downing shots and if I’m really lucky: vomit into the guitar. The route over the mountain started with the T-bar (no sexual partner this time) across some blues (freestyle jumping), getting a bit lost at spaghetti junction followed ...
... painfully (albeit not fast). Now: playground! Jumps, tricks, falling painfully and congratulating yourself for doing so in a new and unique way. The single most rewarding day on the board ever (so far).
In other news, while doing the jumps, I was struggling to find the confidence jumping off ramps. I know the cure for this: Hot chocolate and rum. As it happens, I wasn’t ready for such a drink. I blame the chocolate. After lunch I ...
... a snowball on the back of your hand - to do this you won a beer, I won a beer, but I had it revoked since I had stood Julian up the night before: I’d expected I could convince my buddies to head to Bad Gastein for old times sake but we got distracted with Bad Hofgastein’s offerings.
The après ski was at umbrella. The chap who offered to look after my wig was still wearing it, good lad, I asked him to continue to ...