The town was quite posh, with lots of upscale boutiques and overpriced but fun little bars and restaurants. We probably know the town better than almost anyone, because we spent so much time walking around the streets. Why were we doing this, instead of skiing, you ask? Well, it's a funny story that unfortunately I've told pretty often so you probably know it. Of course, it all begins with Somchai, who insisted we come to Kitzbuhel because he was such a great skiier from his many trips to Utah, and he knew he would be sooo much better than me. You probably know where this is going...
I'm by no means a great skiier but I used to ski off an on when I was (much) younger, so I figured I could try to keep up with Somchai. Well, of course he couldn't move an inch with skis on. He fell about ten times in a row just trying to move toward the ski lift. But he decided that he'd be much better downhill, so we struggled onto the lift, and I could see his increasingly worried look as we kept climbing the mountain. Finally, after he tumbled off the lift at the top of the mountain, he realizes, he really sucks at skiing. Well, long story short, it takes us the entire day, almost 8 hours to get down the mountain. I would ski down a bit then wait and wait, as Somchai, skis over his shoulder, walked carefully down the slope. It was pure agony (at least for me). But the punch line to the day was when we got back to the hotel, he put all his ski ensemble on, and had me take a photo of him like he was an Olympic skiier!
