Voyage to Andorra. Part 4
Had a good time. Sincerely. Friends, finally, were able to tell me their vision of the situation with the organization of the trip. And I even began to doubt, are they really wrong? From their point of view, things were very different. Yes, this is understandable. It always happens that way. Few people try to put themselves in the place of another person. Everyone is in a hurry to judge by the view from their bell tower. Yes, actually, what's the difference? The main thing is that we did not go broke on this basis, despite the seemingly irreconcilable contradictions.
I don’t know how noisy we were, but no one knocked on the wall / door / on the battery or called on the phone. With television, it’s completely pichalka here - there are only local channels, among which there is not a single musical one. Solid news, but stupid cartoons. But there was great free wifi. They played their favorite music found on the Internet. They didn’t order a fight, they didn’t yell out the window, they didn’t run naked down the corridor. If we had another great friend with us, it could be like that. But he is not a skier.
“The neighbors are already leaving after midnight, the wine has not been drunk, and the cake has not been eaten, and I’m going to take out the garbage in the muffler... ” (c)
The first thesis is right on point. Dispersed at midnight.
The second one is fundamentally wrong. Shampoo is gone. I had to catch up with the remnants of cracker, unfinished yesterday. By the way, when I opened the Clicquot, some foam came out! Here are those on! It was very cold and I did not shake it before opening it. Where is the foam from? If someone else had opened it, I would have been in! But I do not trust such things to anyone, and I have perfected the opening of champagne bottles. Can I, of course, do not understand something? In the old movies featuring the hussars, the bottles were opened with the same fountain of foam. And artificial carbonation had not yet been invented. Well I do not know. As for taste. We started with Moyot. Not bad, but it is 8 times more expensive than Artyomovsk brut, but certainly not 8 times better than it. Clicquot. Tastier than the previous one, but, again, 33 euros for a bottle of 0.75... But the third one and a half was quite tasty, although it cost only twenty.
The cake was not eaten due to lack of one. I don’t eat sweets, so I didn’t even remember, and I doubt that cakes are sold in local supermarkets. At least it didn't catch my eye. Champagne just rushed, but the cakes - no!
They didn't take out the trash themselves. I don’t know what the maid thought of us there, raking out every day a wastebasket full of empty wine and whiskey bottles and beer cans. Maybe jealous? Although, I think they've seen everyone here. But the hotel is quite respectable. I somehow seized the moment and asked Masha why she doesn't like the hotel? After all, that's what my mother told me. Masha assured me that she had never said such a thing, and she liked everything. OK?
Well, here's how it worked out.
At seven fifteen Oleg commanded "Get up! ". For some reason, I didn't feel like getting up. It seems that the head does not hurt, but a couple of hours of sleep would not hurt me. Vadik said that he would not skate today because "the leg hurts. " "Lucky, " I say. And he told me - "And who prevented you from breaking your legs? ".
Let's go to breakfast. The sight of the sausage made me sick. I managed with yogurt with fruit, and cereal with milk. Yes, three glasses of juice, by the way, quite good. Pineapple and orange.
One Russian-speaking family came. While the mother poured sausages for herself, her daughter, 7-8 years old, somehow managed to overwhelm the container with cereal, strewn the entire table and part of the floor. The staff didn't see it. Mother in a semi-conscious state asked: “Anya! AS?!!! " Then the child, with truly outstanding acting abilities, squeezed out a tear and, going up to the guys in aprons, said in a pained voice: “Help mi! ” One of the uncles, clasping his hands and assessing the extent of the destruction, brought a whisk and a dustpan. Raking the flakes from the floor, he took them somewhere. Vadik said: “Now he will put everything back into the container. ”
We returned to the room. Oleg and I began to dress, and Vadik got into bed again.
Yesterday, at a celebratory meal, the youth shared with us that Grandvalira was a little bit snowy, and it’s not at all as gloomy as it was in previous days. Well! So we are on our way there!
The bus driver knew a few words of Russian. Suddenly! Only how did he understand in what language to address us? What is written on our foreheads? And yet, on my forehead, or rather on the bandage, it was written "Dombay". But in foreign letters. And how does he know where it is? However, he declared that I am beautiful! Of course! With a hangover!
And the landscape, indeed, began to please the eye. Slides in the snow look much better than without it!
I was glad that we came here today! Above everything was covered with needle-like frost. Beauty!
Even the chair seats and their metal frames. There was nothing good in this, at least for the buttocks that were not protected by plastic underarms. We decided to go to Pas de la Casa. One of the black slopes was covered with pristine velveteen. And not even too hard. Fearing ice, I always try to ride on the edge of the track. I'm going. The track became wider, and I took even more to the right, leaving the corduroy lane. I thought it would be softer. And… ################# hello! Only a brilliant detective could say (sorry, skier). There were stones under a thin layer of snow. No, not pebbles, but stones sticking out of the ground, or rather their tops. Oleg, hearing my cry, also moved out, for some reason, to this ill-fated roadside. Poor skis! Me too, Europe! Could not protect the edge of the track!
We returned to the ski track and drove on. But even in the middle of the track there were a lot of stones. It seems that some sower walked here, scattering them. Spy from Vallnord, not otherwise!
Having reached Pas de la Casa, we decided to go back, closer to the funicamp station, where there were not so many stones. On an almost flat area in front of the village, someone was packed into a stretcher. Brr! God forbid!
There was a queue for the chair, so they did not make their way to each other. It so happened that we sat down through one with a Spanish (or Catalan) group. And they started talking through me. Mom dear, I thought my head, together with my ears, would burst!
Meanwhile, the chair drove into a thin cloud. Myriads of sparkles danced around, forming pieces of a rainbow around the sun. Just magic! But it seems that no one but me noticed this beauty! I began to enthusiastically shout to Oleg and point my finger at an unusual phenomenon. Finally noticed! Including the Spanish. While I climbed for the phone, the miracle managed to disappear. Well, as always!
Now I understand the origin of frost on all surfaces. We thought that it was the guns that covered everything with snow. But there were no guns there, and they would not have reached the chairs either. Hoarfrost was formed when the cloud came into contact with everything around it.
Wishing to get to the top station of the funicamp, from where a good track left, and there were also cafes where, in theory, it was possible to get hold of a toilet, which was already absolutely necessary by that time, we drove somewhere in the wrong place. The funicamp station loomed on a nearby hillock, and to get to it, you had to slide down and climb up with another chair. Whole business! And presses already, be healthy. And then I see such a miracle
Outside, it seems to be a toilet, like a toilet. But when I went inside, I felt like I was in another dimension! The space expanded in a strange way, and inside the seemingly small house of an unknown architect looked quite spacious. The effect was created by two floor-to-ceiling mirrors at opposite ends. But the optical illusion of vision could not create four from two booths, so a queue was formed, mainly from the French. It was Saturday. A few kilometers, just beyond Pas de la Casa, is the Andorra-France border. From there, apparently, they ran.
When I waited for my turn and entered the booth, I was overtaken by a new awesomeness! It doesn't happen! Apparently, it was a dry closet, since there were no buttons or flush pedals. In the middle of the cell towered a white miracle, apparently of Finnish plumbing from the Akkala-kakkala company, from the bowels of which not the slightest scent came. But that's not what threw me into a stupor. The whole wall behind him was covered with a photographic image of a skier in a jump! I even forgot why I came here, and reached for the phone, spitting on the fact that a few more sufferers were dancing outside the door. Alas! The photo, among many others, for some reason, was not preserved. So, you'll have to take my word for it. And for especially unbelievers who suspect me of being related to the notorious baron, I suggest that they go and check it out for themselves.
Having finally reached the starting point, we began to ride on the chosen tracks. Near the turnstile of one of the lifts, Oleg found a glove and put it on some shelf. And ahead we saw a girl in one glove who had already managed to plunge into a chair. When we got down to the ground (sorry, on the snow), she, with the company, stood nearby. Hypersociable Oleg decided to tell her about his find and, therefore, about her loss. But the snag was that Oleg did not speak languages. Although he often tells us one story. In deep Soviet times, I don’t remember how, he ended up in the GDR. And he and his friends perfectly found a common language with some Germans there. It happened, however, after a certain amount of vodka. And at the moment, we have never even kissed an eggplant with whiskey. So the language barrier seems to be inevitable. But Oleg boldly drove up to a group of foreign tourists, and I remained on the sidelines to watch. Oleg in the purest Russian explained to stupid foreigners where their glove was, and they only knew what to ask leading questions: “English, French, Espanyol? ” I rolled with laughter. But the persistent Oleg achieved his goal. They followed us. And the glove has evaporated from the shelf! Probably, the rope boys took it away. We sent a confused girl to them. But they themselves did not wait for the result and left.
When the sun rose over the mountain and illuminated the patch in front of the cafe, we sat down on the metal chairs to have a bite to eat and get drunk. Previously put gloves under the fifth point. Sitting on a cold iron is somehow not a thrill. After eating, traditionally went to pee on the path. They didn't have a carpet.
Because it was lunch time, several hens (sorry, girls) accumulated in the vestibule with two doors, on which images of a rooster and a chicken, symbolizing the gender differences of visitors, accumulated. Having defended the position, I penetrated inside. Only one of the two booths worked there. Many ladies had pants with braces, so they had to take off their jackets. And they did it, directly in the booth. It took a lot of time, hence the queue. It's easier for men. They didn't have to take off their coats. Depending on what need they came here, of course. While I was waiting for my turn already inside, along with two more unfortunate people, the front door opened and a woman's head stuck in, giving out a truly brilliant phrase: “Are you all here? ” I almost collapsed from laughter!
Well, I think that the topic of toilets is already sufficiently disclosed. The next part will have to wait a bit. I'm leaving for the weekend.
