Shoes at Verbier

At the end of this season's first ski day, I left my ski boots on a train. They were sitting neatly between two seats, and as I left the train without them I thought smugly how pleasantly light my belongings seemed. "This connection between trains is wonderful!", I thought. The next train was already right there, on the other side of the platform in Martigny. I boarded, and less than a minute later we left the station. About one minute after that my smugness evaporated as I realised what I'd left behind.

Apart from low visibility, the day had been excellent.

Tanya skiing in the white-out.

"Call the station immediately!", said our friend Luca. I tried, but alas it was evening, and not even the Swiss Air Force picks up the phone outside business hours. I formulated a cunning plan. I would get off the train at the next station, Bex. I would catch the next train back to Martigny and I would find my boots. I leapt out in a great rush and waved to Luca and Tanya as the train left me behind. In Bex it was raining and cold. The station was deserted, and it was only then that it dawned on me that not every train stops at Bex. In fact, as I quickly discovered, they only stop there about once an hour. Cursing myself, I had no choice but to settle in for the wait.

Tanya, pleased about skiing for the first time this winter.

Obviously, when I finally got back to Martigny the station was shut and the train carriage I had left my boots on was nowhere to be seen. Defeated and in foul spirits I headed home. I filled out a CFF lost property form on the way, and hoped for the best.

Tanya and Luca enjoying the snow earlier in the day.

Good news arrived the next day. A Swiss friend said I'd be much better advised to call the tiny company that operates that particular train. So I did. "You're calling about the boots!" said the friendly man on the phone. "Have you also lost an umbrella?". My boots were safely at La Gare du Châble, near Verbier. All I had to do was go back and collect them. This provided a worthwhile — but wholly unnecessary — excuse to go back and ski at Verbier again the next weekend.

I collected my boots bright and early the next Saturday morning. Ten minutes later I was wearing them and ready to go skiing. Looking for somewhere to leave our normal shoes, Luca and I spied the top of a tall wooden storage locker. I launched my shoes onto the locker and there was a strange thump. It was the sound of one of my shoes falling through the hole in the top of the locker, and landing inside the locked box. Having regained four shoes for the briefest of moments, I was back to three.

Luckily, my ineptitude was limited to only losing the shoes I wasn't wearing on my feet at that particular moment. Already shod in ski boots, I decided to deal with the locked shoe later, and went skiing for the day. I vaguely thought someone might hire the locker, see my other shoe outside it, and do me a favour in releasing it. With this fantasy in mind, I enjoyed the snow for the day, which it must be said was simply epic.

L'équipe.

In the evening, of course, everything was shut, so there was nobody to ask about the locker. I was secretly pleased to not have to explain what had happened. I discovered, then, a narrow opening underneath the locker, no bigger than an inch high. Through this opening, I could feel — at the end of my reach — the heel of my shoe. With much manoeuvring, I managed to get its toe sticking out from under the box. Then, with a great deal of force and over about ten minutes I succeeded in pulling it free.

Skiing with friends at Verbier is always awesome. These weekends there was great snow and great company. And in what I have come to regard as a minor miracle, I have kept hold of both pairs of shoes from that day on.