The past two weeks were filled with extreme adventures and passion. It never occured to me that I may develop a crash on mountain skiing so fast.
The moment I slided down the mount for the first time I was hooked. It took two days to gain some paramount skills, and on the third day the cable-way lifted me to the height of 4700 metres and the adventures began.
I was so agitated and scared that had to pluck up courage for several minutes to ski down the narrow route in the teeth of the wind. There was a cliff to the left of me and a steep to the right, which left me with a metre-wide skitrack. Scary. Reckless. Wild.
I was sking down the Elbrus for almost four hours, while the descending normally takes maximum 30 minutes. The stress was immence and the next day was spent on lying around and walking.
The walk brought me to a lovely cafe at the foot of the Mount Cheget, where I met a man of my dreams. Together we stayed till the day I left. We went skiing all day and danced all night. We shared our life stories and believed we'd live forever.
It was a lovely winter romance with a man of my dreams and mountain skiing. I'm still not sure which I love most. Time will show.
