When you can't wait to hit the slopes...

After a gruelling nine hour car trip from Paris to the Swiss Alps with heavy traffic from the word "go" we finally arrived at our destination to find the ski shop closed - meaning that we need to have our ski bindings checked the next morning before we set off for the mountain - as well as the local supermarket which basically translated into "no dinner".

A quick pit stop to unload the car and I am back on the road heading towards the next biggest Coop to buy dinner and the next day's breakfast. If you are a Swiss Expat a trip to the local Coop can evoke all kinds of vibes. For my family it symbolises all the food that we crave when living abroad. It's a guaranteed cure for homesickness.

Much to everyone's disappointment the next day it was pouring with rain. Little did that stop Expat girl's enthusiasm as she rallied the troupes to go skiing.

An hour later, there we were, on top of the mountain practically on our own with zero visibility but an unbeatable motivation, wanting to relish in that feeling when you hit the slopes for the first time in a season.

Nothing was going to stop us. We skied beneath the rain until we were soaked and our jackets were weighed down and we could wring them out. We skied until we were freezing and the water dripped inside of our googles. We skied until we had found our rhythm on the slopes and curved graciously down the hill. We skied until we had had enough...

A few years ago I would never ever had ventured out to ski in the rain. I am starting to wonder if - after living in France for seven years - the Parisian meteorological landscape is starting to get the better of us?!?