The snowflakes are pelting down on me. Gathering in the folds of my jacket. First as perfect, tiny crystals, later as a wet spot. The wind whips into my face and makes the chairlift sway. The seat is rough and cold. The imprints of stick tips decorate the dark gray foam. Fine star patterns. Of ski school children, teenagers, senior citizens. They read almost like a diary of lift boredom. There are no soft upholstered seats with integrated seat heating here. Nor are there any of the Plexiglas covers that usually encase modern chairlifts and protect the skiers sitting in them from the weather on the mountain. It's still raw and pristine here, just like skiing used to be. Almost nostalgic.
Ski resort or leisure park
Where am I? That doesn't really matter. The chairlift stands for the small ski resorts. For the ones that have had to make way for the large alliances in recent years and have to fear a lack of snow. The areas with perhaps 30 kilometers of pistes, five lifts, three of which are T-bar lifts and possibly one platter lift, as well as one or two huts. The areas where most of us learned to ski. After all, they are what skiing is all about. For me as a child, the greatest thing was going to the Allgäu Alps with my dad on Fridays after school or at the weekend and skiing for a few hours. It didn't matter that you skied the same two slopes all day, you were there to ski. You honed your skiing technique or took advantage of every more or less open space in the powder. You didn't have to fight with hundreds of other skiers for the best lines, the few locals could coordinate with each other. The focus was on the sport itself and not on the other activities that modern ski resorts have to offer: Art exhibitions, Michelin-starred cuisine, concerts, gondola breakfasts or viewing platforms. None of this can be found in small ski resorts. And why should you? It's a ski resort. Not a leisure park.
