Diary Of A Chalet Chef Girl: Week 10, The Return Of The Espresso Martini… Andorra

How to be real seasonaires: Bitch about your incredible job, lose all respect for yourself and drink way more than necessary. Week 10 was the birth of Gabs and I as real seasonaires. How else do we know? Because pretty much every single act we committed that week made completing the season, still in employment, very questionable.

Sunday was pretty fun. We decided sledding down the hill was a totally normal way to greet this week’s guests. We wore cheesy hats and snow goggles for added effect and when they all grumpily looked at us after their three hour transfer we just continued to be ridiculous hilarious. Because that’s all you can do by that point.


For reasons unknown, Monday felt ridiculously long. I mean, Mondays are pretty long anyway because there’s a lot of prep for dinner and you start earlier to give your guests the extra time to get up the mountain. After setting breakfast and clearing away, I started mixing and kneading focaccia dough, infusing milk with bay leaves and cloves and defrosting lasagne sheets. By 11AM I had finally finished cooking bolognese sauce, thickening the bechamel, grating the cheese and constructing three pretty large lasagnes. All that was left to do was make coleslaw, a fruit crumble and clean up all over again.

Let me tell you now… NONE of this prep really helped us later. We still ended up stuck in that kitchen until 11PM. Which doesn’t usually happen unless we’ve been lazy bumholes all day. But sometimes these days just kinda exist.

This is where I would like to reintroduce the Espresso Martini.

On this evening, we constructed pints of Espresso Martinis and within five minutes of our first sip we were off our faces. Definitely more so than last time anyway, because we ended up hitching a ride with our friends to the other side of the country.

We kinda hoped there would be a lift going back towards El Tarter in the early hours but there wasn’t. And at 3AM our taxi friend no longer had her phone on. We were stuck in Pas. AGAIN. Fortunately, we got a good couple of hours of party time in before Gabs was sick profusely in the street (and took me outside to show me said sick). So the trip was worth it… but the sick had definitely ended the shenanigans.

We let ourselves into the reps’ flat, up the hill, in the hope that they wouldn’t mind us crashing for the night. But before anyone actually noticed we were there, we had to endure the unmistakable sounds of Gabs’ boyfriend having sex with his housemate in another room.***

After trying to sleep in the freezing fucking cold we gave up and huddled in the spare room. Our teeth were literally chattering and we were suffering cold sweats, fully clothed. We only let go of each other to make vomit trips to the bathroom.

We eventually made it back to Tarter about five minutes before our shifts started. Our head host asked us where we’d been and before thinking rationally about it we lied… we said that we had been for a walk because we needed fresh air after gassing out my bedroom with horrendous bowel movements.

Yes. We still attest that we are ladies.

He must have told our boss because he turned up an hour or so later with diarrhea tablets. Rather than admitting we were lying, Gabs and I exchanged nervous glances and I went for it. I took the tablet. I don’t know what I was demonstrating other than stupidity, but it seemed like my only option at the time. Fuck the police.

Although, I’d like to take this opportunity to apologise to Boss Ben. If you’re reading this Ben, please rest assured that I was suitably punished with constipation for AT LEAST a week. AND those tablets did actually come in handy later in the season.

The madness didn’t stop at Tuesday morning.

It was a busy week at the hire shop and the staff were getting more and more shitty every time we went to hire boards. Unfortunately, my ski shop crush had abandoned me (and the shop) and was successfully living the life of a board bum, so he couldn’t hook me up with decent kit anymore (boohoo). So instead, Claire and I took a casual ride down to Soldeu on Wednesday with the intention of asking Merlin at Slidewayz about the dynamics of different boards.

I walked out that day with a new board, boots, bindings and a board bag. I was fucking stoked.

I used all my new gear (aside from the bag) the next day on a team ski/board to the Iglu Bar. This was my first time on a red run and my first hot wine on the mountain. LIFE WAS AWESOME. Even if I was constipated.

On this big fat high, I suggested a pretty goofy plan to Gabs. It was Valentine’s day on Saturday… and I wanted to go out advertising free hugs and kisses. With lame ass cardboard signs, hung around our necks by iPod cables.


And we bloody did it. We hopped a bus down to Pas to share the love (and pints of Malibu and pineapple) and got stuck. Again. Yep, seriously, there was no time ever that we went to Pas and didn’t end up coming home way later than we wanted. We sat, on that god damn roundabout, in a state of “dude, we have been here before…” Burger King hanging from our lips, waiting for a bus back that turned up way later than it should have.


Shamefully, we weren’t any better behaved in week 11. So if we didn’t shaft ourselves enough times for your entertainment in this post then check back soon for the next one.

***LOL mistake… Turned out to not be Gabs’ boyfriend.

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