Junkie no. 1

dictionary.com's definition of a junkie reads: "One who has an insatiable interest or devotion: a sports junkie". In my case, that would make me a powder junkie. I'm talking about the light, fluffy powder that falls from the skies on top of which skies and boards float, ever so effortlessly. I'm also another type of junkie, but I'll leave that for my next post.

Having just had a fix, like any junkie, I am left with wanting more. I am writing this post from my Causeway Bay office on a typically, overcast, hazy Hong Kong day, so you may have guessed that I am suffering from withdrawal symptoms.

I miss the feeling of freedom that is skiing (or boarding) -- to breath freely, move freely, and just letting go. It's all really zen when I'm at the top of that steep, black slope, starring down and telling myself that, I will go down with grace and ease. It's just me, the snow-covered mountain and silence (unless, of course, when it's me screaming as I spin and slide on my back down the mountain). It's about living in the moment, one sure-footed turn at a time, revelling in the sun, wind-swept snow and powder sprays coming off the edge of the skis. All I have to think about is the staccato tac-tac, tac-tac -- like a metronome -- of each pole plant as it accents a seamless transfer of weight that then translates into a perfect turn.

When I'm down the slopes, zen gives way to indulgence as I sit down, admire the view of what I've just conquered or am yet to conquer, and knock back a few bombardinos. If I'm really lucky, I get to fill your stomach with some delicious, yet simple, casunziei (beetroot ravioli with nothing else but melted butter, a sprinkling of parmesan and poppy seeds). At the moment, I am thinking of El Brite de Larieto, a charming farmhouse restaurant in Cortina surrounded by larch trees. But it could also be the terrace of Riffelalp in Zermatt with front row seats to the Matterhorn on a sunny day. Just substitute the bombardinos with a bottle of bubbly and the casunziei with an amazingly comforting pot au feu. Their chili con carne's not bad either. All that racing around mountains does work up quite an appetite! And then, after much cheer and joy and a full stomach, I go to bed with a feeling of total satisfaction and great anticipation for the next day. That is, if it's not my last day.

Back in Hong Kong, I am now counting the days until my next fix. Hopefully, it will be August in Bariloche. In the meantime, I've just googled a recipe for bombardinos.