Sojin Josephson

Skiing in the Alps might be a bucket list cliché, but it was still on mine. There were two ski trips planned through Cattolica that we were considering, but a friend (Patrick) met an Italian (Francesco/Pancho) who has a cabin in the Aosta Valley—home to the second largest mountain in Europe. What made Kim, Melissa, Michela, Stas and I the people he wanted to invite, I have no clue. We’re usually the ones late/lost/laughing at inappropriate times. But we were in and so grateful for the invitation.

The goal was to leave at 6 a.m. Saturday, so naturally my roommates and I stayed up until 2 a.m. watching The Lizzie McGuire Movie (flashback to 2003) and belting out “What Dreams are Made Of.” The transportation arrangement was that three of us would ride with Pancho’s parents and the other three would ride with Pancho. It was mapped out geographically and Pancho’s parents picked up Kim, Melissa and I the next morning. Pancho’s dad is in a band, aside from his investment-banking job, so we listened to his CD’s for the majority of the two-hour ride to the mountain. He can sing “All About That Bass” better than any of us can. I was impressed.

We arrived in Valle d’Aosta, rented our ski equipment and headed to Pancho’s place. The area was a small, snowy village and made me feel like I was living inside of a snow globe. When we arrived at the apartment, Pancho’s mom made us really good espresso and helped us gather snow pants, gloves, goggles and everything else we needed. We then headed to Monterosa Ski to begin our day. While we were all putting on our ski stuff, Pancho’s dad got the ski passes and had them ready for us.

We skied all day long with our fair share of falls, laughs and food. It was very foggy so sometimes we couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of us, but it didn’t matter because we were in the Alps and they were beautiful. We rode up countless chairlifts, trams and gondolas (what they call “eggs”) and we never went down the same slope twice. I even went down a few blacks, which were out of my league, but there was only one way down. I’m still alive and in one piece so I’d say it was successful. There’s something about “the tuck” that is terrifying and freeing all at the same time. My only criticism: whomever thought it was a good idea to have “squat” toilets at ski lodges on mountaintops was not thinking. Let’s just say that was quite the undertaking.

Although exhausted from the day, we managed to get to the small market and get food. We made a family style dinner of tortellini, bread and European Fanta. Then we played games and talked in the living room (the first living room I’ve been in since arriving here) late into the evening.

Our original plan was to pinch some pennies and ski one day and explore the next. But the skiing was so incredible that we decided to split up on Sunday. Melissa and I still wanted to explore the local area and find the castle, so we didn’t ski a second day. We walked about seven or eight miles on all sorts of roads, along a cross-country ski path (we got yelled at for that one) and found hamburgers, crepes and more coffee. After lunch, we walked about a mile in the wrong direction, but finally found Castello Savoia, which was our main goal. It looked like a real-life Arendelle.

Pancho’s parents took his car back to Milan after the first night, so seven of us squeezed into their car for the ride home. The road trip was enjoyable with our loud singing to Shania and the Backstreet Boys and Pancho’s rapping to Macklemore was on point. The family was so incredibly helpful that this was actually one of the easiest ski trips I’ve ever taken. I really don’t think we could have done it any better. I have found that being able to do things with Italian families or friends is always the way to go. They make a point to show us how they do things and it makes the cultural and learning experience much, much more. Big thanks to the Valeri family!