We take our gear back to the apartment, Mikey and Barrie in tow. I
try attaching the boots to the snowblades (it’s not like with normal
skis, where you just stamp into the bindings; with these, you have
independent heel and toe sections that you manouevre into position
manually). “It helps if you put them on the right way round,” says
Mikey. Oh yeah. (Snowblades have a raised pointy tip at both ends to
allow backwards skiing, so this isn’t as stupid as it sounds, he says
defensively.) Also, the snowblades don’t have brakes like yer standard
skis; instead you strap them to your boots. How easy will this all be
on the slopes, I wonder? And there are no poles either – hope I don’t
end up having to traverse lots of tedious flat bits.
Swiss money, usually labelled CHF, we christen Chuffs. There’s about
two chuffs to the pound. The notes are ugly, we decide, containing
portraits of gurning twonks. (CHF actually stands for “Confederation
Helvetica”, which is Helvetica Bold for neutral countries :-)
Yes, we’ve been to the supermarket (right opposite our apartment).