Christmas in Austria with car trouble, a Spanish Christmas dinner and a run in with Tyrolean Firewater.

Every year, after training on Christmas day we tend to take a three to five day break from all things skiing and it is in this time that I tend to get grouchy.
Not because I'd rather be skiing, far from it, but when you take away all the distractions I start to think more about home and friends and family and all the places I'd rather be than stuck in Innsbruck with nothing but a scooter for transportation.
My weariness aside, I think this must have been one of the most memorable Christmases in some time, yet for all the wrong reasons.
First off, Christmas training at Kuhtai.
Think about GS in horizontal rain, sleet, snow and fog.
Then add a T-bar into the mix.
Christmas was already going great.
Then add a blizzard, and somehow a 20 minute drive became a four hour ordeal.
Top it all off with some snapped chains, a bunch of disabled guys pushing vans up hills and an hour-long unintentional rest stop in the middle of the road.
Our two-wheel drive Fiat rental van couldn't move and neither could we. Frozen solid, we clambered back into the van in an attempt to defrost.
Eventually the plows arrived and began clearing the road, allowing our unflappable ski tech Al, now with the aid of just a single chain, to guide 'the-little-Fiat-that-could' up and over the monstrous snowy slope that had thwarted our previous attempts.
We arrived home to a much needed hot shower, followed by two rounds of Schinken-Käse toasts in the bar here at Hotel Charlotte.
By this stage I was sufficiently full and beginning to fall asleep on the bar, however the others rallied and managed to drag me out to dinner at the Tapas bar in town.
Following the ever so Austrian giving of presents on the night of Christmas Eve, bits and pieces of the team had departed to various locations around Europe and there were only five team members remaining in Innsbruck.
A couple of share plates and a bunch of Apfelstrudel later, the five of us departed our surprise Spanish Christmas feast and made for home where our warm and inviting beds awaited.
Yet this weird and wonderful Christmas day was take another twisted turn.
As we began to set foot in the hotel lift, Allan uttered the now infamous words, "one beer in the hotel bar?"
Moments later John, Hotel Charlotte's owner, had lined up a row of five Tyrolean waters. Purely as a courtesy we begrudgingly agreed to drink them.
For all intents and purposes, 'Tyrolean water' seems to be a particularly fiery local batch of pear schnapps. Five beers followed.
Then five more Tyrolean waters.
Beer, Tyrolean Water, beer, Tyrolean water, and so it continued.
In half an hour we put away more alcohol than I probably have had all year, Toby and I were slurring our words.
The pace slowed slightly, but John couldn't be argued with and the Tyrolean death waters kept coming.
At around midnight we called it a night and crawled upstairs to our rooms.
Rough night, rough Christmas, but it sure was memorable.

tags: olympic, problog, photo, mitch, gourley, paralympics, gs

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