And so our trip continues. In some ways like a normal ski holiday, in other ways quite the opposite. We eat chicken curry, not raclette, every night and cross patrolling soldiers and monkeys on our way to the gondola.

At the time, the only foreigners around were a handful of kindred minded Australians and a few wealthy Indian families who, dressed in rented fur coats, came to witness the phenomenon of snow for the first time in their lives.
To say we have been skunked for snow would be a fallacy; we did indeed cut fresh tracks, dodge trees and had a great time doing it. Unfortunately this was not sustainable as our poor skis and snowboards became very well acquainted with the cunning rocks that lay just below the surface.

The storm of storms turned into a mere dusting, just over the length of a man's foot, and as the snowpack was as unstable and dangerous we did not get to enjoy the fruits of our labor.