I had hoped for slopes and beaches, secretly wishing that if a choice had to be made, the beach it would be. The slopes it was. I'm beginning to see a pattern here.
Remember how I had to get up at 6.00 on Friday to catch that plane (c'mon, people, this was a mere 2 posts ago)? Well, there was a slight improvement on Saturday. 7.00am. "I want you for Toulouse army".
Two hours and change later, spent in the car listening to some very very bad music, as you do, and one very intellectual radio programme on Virginia Woolf (which in turn led to some lively conversation about feminism, but I digress), the stunning Pyrenean landscape appeared. Snow-covered domes and peaks, the length of the border between Spain and France, amazing. The sight in the station was equally fabulous: snow all around, dotted here and there by lush green fir trees.
If it wasn't for the skiing, it would have been a truly fantastic day. Nuff said.