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March 11, 2005

Back from Deep Bulgaria

I'm a bit of a fan of travelling. I'd travel to a different country each week, if I could. But last week it was Bulgaria's turn to host the Squashed Frog family.

We travelled with Mr Frogs brother, and his girlfriend; Scott and Clare.

The four of us, with another 6 random non-skiiers, were recruited into the Neilson 'Learn to Turn' package whereby they strapped two bits of plank to our feet, handed us some very bendable sticks and dragged us to the top of a very steep mountain.

Ski or Die.

I carefully considered my options, as when one is faced with a horrifying Red Run during a blizzard and a peaceful graveyard in the sun, it isn't a simple choice. However, as graveyards seldom have cold beer served 24hrs a day and the nightlife is pretty much dead, I decided to risk life and limb down the Red Run of Doooom.

It's quite astounding what an Aussie girl will do for beer.

It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. After a week of lessons with our guide, Lilly, we were prepared for just about everything. However, with avalanch warnings, and blizzard closures, the decent was fairly harrowing.

And cold. Bloody cold. My nose had stopped running because my snot was frozen and I'd stopped swearing because it's damn near impossible to say 'fuck' when your lips are blue.

But I made it down. I made it down quite quickly, and decided that I wanted to do it again. And again. And again, again! Again!!

It was only the 4-man lift that defeated me in the end. The Dodgy Fucking 4-Man lift of Doom.

This lift will not let you escape. It will gleefully throw you across the snow to the icy bit, which is icy because it's solid with frozen blood from previous lift victims. And I was thrown onto the ice where I lay, sprawled and motionless, for long enough that Mr Frog had serious thoughts about how he would explain my death to my mother.

"She, um, died on a chairlift, Mama Frog. But she skiied down the Red Run like a fucking DEMON!"

But I wasn't dead, obviously. I was just using my time to contemplate how to plot revenge against an evil, but inanimate object. Crowbars, explosives and axes are some of the methods I considered. These things are notoriously difficult to find in a tourist resort.

After that, I wasn't quite as enthusiastic about that particular Red Run, and chose to spend my remaining time in Borovets flying up and down all over the Gondola. And eating steaks, and drinking beer, and doing the "Learn to Turn" Slalom in a faster time than Mr Frog.

Yep. I beat him. Beat him good. Like I said I would.

(Ok, so while I was faster, he wasn't allowed to use his sticks. But I was faster!)

Photos and proof of demonic Red Runs are at My Bulgarian Photo Album

Posted by Jacqui at March 11, 2005 01:35 PM

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