The bus that got away

Another train trip south past Pfäffikon - oh how the Hausfrau loves this hazy stretch of Lake Zürich - this time on to Ziegelbrücke and then by bus to Amden.















Question: How many buses can one Hausfrau miss?

Answer: None at all... unless accompanied by DS.

DS: I just can't think why my legs won't work.

We excitedly watched the snow appear as the bus wound its way up the mountain roads. When we reached our stop we hauled our gear up the hill to the hotel and then had a quick turnaround and managed to - just! - catch the hourly bus (we'd already missed two buses and one train by this stage) further up the mountain in time for our ski lessons.

The children cheerfully waved me off as they joined their respective classes, and I skied off into the wild white yonder with my Dear Local Ski Instructor, who also happened to be the Local Postie.

I can really only loosely call her my DLSI, as she was quite sure I was 'very sporty' and didn't need her guidance (Ha! to Pedro at the ski hire place, at this point).

Therefore I am happy to report I had a highly entertaining afternoon being shown around the village which is peppered across the mountain-side, and greeting what seemed like just about every other instructor and Dear Local on the slopes.

She has been skiing since she was two, as have her boys, who are now both ski instructors themselves. She said when they were little she used to put them down for a nap after lunch and tell them not to move until she got back from teaching ski classes.

DLSI: I go and they fall to sleep, and then I come home and they stand up again.

She showed me her grandmother's house as well as her childhood home, and we had a rather relaxed afternoon shooting the part-English/part-German breeze as we cruised up the T-bar and chair lift.

It doesn't get much better than flying down a snow-covered mountain on a sunny afternoon: Mission accomplished by 2.30pm on Day 1. How impressive is that?!

So on the first night, after missing the hourly bus twice (despite my best efforts to motivate a mostly horizontal, snow-scoffing DS with encouragement, bribery and eventually screeching) and hauling skis and other paraphernalia back up the hill to the hotel, we descended upon the local pizzeria and watched the sunset fade behind the mountains as we sucked back icy-cold lemonades.

Me: I'm parched. I could drink a lake.
DD: It's probably from yelling so much.
DS: Yeah. Don't worry, mummy. It's probably from yelling so much.

At that point I began to let go of any hopes I'd had of DS meeting any external timetable.

And therefore, on Day 2, when DS - in absolute, total and utter exhaustion after his ski class - had the Mother of all Tantrums, the Hausfrau resignedly followed DD to a nearby rather large mound of snow and waited for the storm of flailing arms and ski-booted legs (and the bus) to pass.

Not so bad, all things considered, when you have not much else to do that day other than contemplate where you might acquire your next hot chocolate, and to admire the sensational view from atop a snow-capped Swiss mountain.

Eventually DS arrived back on earth, and we made it back to the hotel in time for dinner - with a sunrise, a hot bread-and-jam breakfast, and one last day of amazing snow to look forward to.

Vive la Hausfrau!