Snow, slopes and purple trousers ...

Hi there, hope you are well.

I don’t know about you, but February is one of the months I really struggle with. There’s a bit more daylight, yes… but it’s still cold, still grey, and somehow it feels like spring is always just out of reach. No real promise yet of warm sunshine — just endless dull, chilly days.

Andreas always claims that his heart is surrounded by ice (his words, not mine!), so we always try to plan a little escape during this time of year. This year, though, our getaway will only be Bloemendaal! 

Some of you, on the other hand, might be preparing for the slopes — cold weather, but with sunshine. I always wonder if that combination helps. Then I remember my very first encounter with a ski holiday… and all my daydreaming disappears immediately.

I was 18 when my German host family spoiled me with a ski trip to Saalbach Hinterglemm in Austria. My travel companion was Sigrid, my host mom’s sister. I had never seen snow in my life.

We took an all-night bus from Haltern am See to Saalbach — hours and hours of travel — and arrived at one of those beautiful wooden lodges straight out of a postcard.

We enrolled in a four-day ski course, rented all the gear…and I ended up in bright purple ski pants borrowed from a friend of a friend. This was long before Vinted existed, and honestly, they fit like a second skin — circulation was purely a luxury.

I was layered up like a cabbage — no proper ski jacket, just a rain jacket that didn’t breathe at all. I was basically skiing inside a plastic bag.

The first day, I was so excited. People from all over the world were there. Of course, I was the only South African.

We stood in a circle while the handsome Austrian instructor told us to start moving.

Well… I moved.
But I didn’t go anywhere.

And that resulted in the collision of the year: skis and poles flying everywhere, bodies tumbling on top of each other, absolutely no grace, and definitely not my finest moment.

Things improved slightly until we reached the ski lifts.

I lost my balance, lost my grip on the way up, and the entire lift had to stop while people helped me. Quite embarrassing. Nothing builds confidence like being the reason a mountain comes to a standstill.

The next few days went better — except for my fellow course attendee, Faisal, my Pakistani friend from Lahore, who decided I would be the perfect person to help him stop.

Total disaster.

One of those slow-motion movie moments where you already know this is going to end badly. And it did.

Somehow, I survived. I got my certificate. Very proud. Proof that miracles do happen.

And then, after a hearty lunch of clear broth soup with Eierstich — and of course that famous raw egg yolk floating in it — followed by lots of schnapps, beer, and far too much confidence, I decided I could ski back to the lodge.

That was… a mistake.

I fell so many times, laughed so much, and had kind strangers helping me remove my skis that I eventually decided: perhaps skiing is not for me.

And honestly, if I had only had a little bit of biltong in my pocket, I’m sure the whole experience of trying to get home on skis would have felt much better. A taste of home makes every disaster more manageable.

But truly, my biggest fear on that trip wasn’t even the skiing.

It was Sigrid’s constant wish to go to the sauna.

A shock, when you grow up in a conservative religious family where being naked is private — not something you do while sitting around having a casual chat.

Let’s just say… I am much more of a “badpak-and-sauna-days” kind of girl.

Never again.

So, if you’re heading to the slopes this winter, I wish you sunshine, smooth landings, and much more elegance than I ever managed.

And if you’re also feeling the February heaviness, just know you’re not alone. Spring is coming — slowly, but surely.

Until then, we’ll keep the kitchen warm, the food comforting, and always try to add a little taste of home to these cold winter days.

Warm wishes,
Marnella and Andreas