Summer 2018 was undoubtedly one of the best summers of my life, and not just because my skin remained tanned as fuck.
Following a week in Tunisia with my immediate (and very good looking) family, I boarded yet another Easy Jet flight to Geneva. This time, passport control was not a bottleneck, and I did not have to wait 100 years for my oversize luggage to trundle down the designated conveyer belt. In fact, getting through arrivals was a piece of chalet cake and my transfer to Morzine was actually running late so I had extra time to get busy getting coffee… and sussing who else might be waiting for the same bus.
Probably the guy with the giant bike box. Probably definitely the guy with the giant bike box. Just speak to the guy with the giant bike box, already.
‘Hi, I’m Zoe. You were on my flight. Are you going to Morzine? Cool. Is that a bike? Of course it is. Where are you from? Oh! I live near there! Sorry, what was that? Oh yeh… we both flew from NCL.’
Zoe, you’re an idiot.
The guy didn’t want to speak to me much after that, not in the airport, not on the transfer… not any one of the gazillion times we saw each other in resort.
For most of my three month season I had less than zero euros to my name. That’s not because the wages were poor as a summer chalet host, but more because my baller summer lifestyle was in need of sponsorship by regular weekly tips. And we weren’t getting regular weekly tips because, well, we hardly ever worked.
As Morzine blossomed beautifully into Manzine over the month of June, and as we found ourselves slowing down in the RAV solely to perv on downhill mountain bikers cycling beside us, we enjoyed(? Endured? Survived?) countless sweaty nights in Cafe Chaud and forced our neighbours and guests to listen to Busted’s ‘Thunderbirds Are Go’ on repeat.
And those who know me will be shocked to learn that this was not actually my track suggestion.
Unfortunately, time gets away from you quickly when ‘one drink after work’ (at 1pm) inevitably turns into at least 10 drinks plus tequila. And then you find yourself rolling around in the boot of 7 seater mini bus and forgetting to polish the chrome on changeover day.
Here’s a photo carousel of shit I did do, because I was drunk 90% of the time.
After three not so long but very life changing months I headed home to Newcastle. As chalet hosting laws in France are changing, I’m not sure I will be returning for another summer. However, if the opportunity arises for you to spend summer in the Alps, DO. I implore you.