Week 4

Albion Skiing Trip
December 27th – January 5th

Very vaguely I seem to recall packing my stuff for a week, stressing away and forgetting everything. I remember a rainy day and an arduous trip to a meeting point in the outskirts of Utrecht. I seem to remember, albeit vaguely, a couple of people nearly being late, and then a bus trip of 15 hours. And then that first moment of seeing snow, as clear as pure white starlight, branded in my mind. Beautiful, soft snow, covering the pioneers of plant life in a thin layer of frosty white. Slowly but surely, however, the pure white was replaced by crusty brown and spiced green of the pine forests of the French Alps. The beautiful La Joue du Loup – The Wolf’s Cheek – was one of a muddy brown wolf this year. Bold, grey ice was visible here and there, with the occasional slipped student groaning beside it, holding his leg. The mighty mountains to the east were covered in a thick layer of pine forests, dense fog barely visible between the few open areas. This proved to be a special wintersports trip.

But everything changed when the frost nation attacked.

When we looked to the west at dusk on the 2^nd day, our eyes were met with ominous, ill-foreboding puffs of black vapour, something that means nothing but good during skiing trips. The snow that fell afterwards was of an extra thick yet fluffy sort, covering the treacherous ice with a safe layer of soft, fall-breaking powder. The days after that were a blur, quite literally: trees flashing by, snow splashing in our faces, strong gusts of wind blowing us away and vicious stops in the sun-laden valleys; everything was fast-paced and rushed. For five days we were blessed with a happily shining sun, casting everything in a yellow-white glow.

But that changed.

On day seven we woke up with gusting winds and slicing snow. The dense fog of the eastern mountains had crept towards our little powdery paradise, covering the area in darkness and questionable safety. Random strangers popped out of the white walls that moved around us, with us, and cliffs of staggering heights that didn’t seem to be there the day before appeared out of thick air. People broke out in tears on the slopes as the razor winds and sharp ice particles rent our bare cheeks, colouring them angry red against the pale pink of our skin. Toes froze over in the relentless frost winds that raged over the snow, scraping the mountain clean of the now overused powder and blowing it into the valleys, snowblasting poor children in the lower reaches of the skiing area. Needless to say most of us gave up, longing for warmth and cosiness in our cosy little rooms in our cosy little big cabin. Even the French-sized shower seemed attractive, as did the bathtub. We sat down, like the previous days, with a couple of simple card-games that were designed purely to have fun, and have fun we did. A bold few of us ventured out into the unrelenting, inhospitable snow, only to return hours later, exhausted but satisfied. The food that a couple of us made that day was particularly welcome, the steamy scents rising up from the inviting pots and pans. A lot of coffee was drunk, as was a lot of beer, and the mood was set for warmth and loud, good times.

The days after were equally bitterly cold, but were milder in comparison of the frozen-over hell of the seventh day. Ice and fog took up the majority of the setting, but certainly it was more welcome than mud and ice-cold rain. By day nine everyone was ready to go home, regretfully looking forward to sleeping in a bed that didn’t force you to sleep in fetal position. The trip home was one without much activity. When straining, I can barely remember seeing the whole bus sleeping with mouth wide open and soft music playing in my ears before I, too, drifted off into peaceful, forgiving sleep.

When we arrived, kisses were exchanged, strong embraces were had and promises were made before we all travelled home, longing for our lovely little homes. The beautiful city of Utrecht was forgivingly free of snow and rain, ever so peaceful amidst the violently twisting wheels of time. The same wheels of time that, after a couple of days, make you look back longingly to those 10 days of pure tiring pleasure in the adequately snow- and sunladen slopes of La Joue du Loup.

Certainly a time to look back (and forward!) to.

by Yorick Burgers

Week 5-6
Friday January 31st – Sunday February 2nd: Albion London trip!
Tuesday February 4th: Student Assembly
Tuesday February 4th: Monthly Drinks
Wednesday February 5th: YogA6
Thursday February 6th: Carrièredag UU