We head for the Médran cable car station to sort out our ski
passes. The woman behind the counter wears a Union Jack badge but
maybe she’s just a fan – she doesn’t speak English, at least not to
us. After lots of faffing, and despite her pointing to various
unpleasant weather forecasts, we sign up for six-day all-area
passes. Kerching. We get new-style keep-in-pocket ski passes, no need
to wave them at surly people in booths, just waft your pocket near an
automatic detector. It’s the way of the future I tell you.
Next, skis and boots. We go to Médran Sports, near our
apartment. The boots are as usual tough to get into (and out of), but
I find mine pretty comfy. I gulp and ask to hire snowblades rather
than big boys’ skis. Pas de problème, m’sieur. Barrie gives me
a strange look; he reckons I’ll be bored with them after a day. Well,
if I am, I’ll just come back and exchange them.