Hidden deep in the Pyrenees is the sixth-smallest nation in Europe and the 16th smallest in the world, the tiny principality of Andorra. Andorra is a lovely realm snuggled between France and Spain, who both share its diarchy and control access to this Disney-like world. Famous for ski resorts, which take up nearly a quarter of the entire country, shopping, hiking and financing (tax haven), Andorra is a favorite destination for Barcelonans. Thus it came as no surprise, when I stopped at the Sarrià travel agency one morning on the way home from dropping Allita at school, that the friendly agent recommended Grandvalira as the best destination for our ski trip. Allita had never gone snow skiing, although I am an old hand at the sport, having learned as a child in Vernon (yes, with the Bunnies as Dad was a member!) and honed my skills in the Alps during my high school years. So, this was going to be a grand adventure for the two of us. Mom agreed to stay home and cat-sit while we road the ski bus with a variety of other tourists (Americans, Canadians, Russians, Japanese) and locals for nearly 4 hours, stopping only once for dinner along the route.

Once we finally located our bus, which the chipper travel agent assured me would be much easier to find than it actually was, we met our energetic and optimistic guide and settled in for the long haul. The trip up on Friday evening was mostly uneventful until it started to snow. Just as we entered Andorra, the bus driver was forced to pull over to the side of the road and put chains on the massive tires. Fortunately, many of the male passengers volunteered to assist him and after what felt like eternity but was likely only a half hour, we were finally on our way again. At this juncture, Allita and I were barely hanging on to wakefulness. We are not routinely active after 11pm, so we were both a great deal less than mentally alert. Suffice it to say, this situation presented us with our first disaster: we departed the bus with our luggage at the WRONG hotel. From the paperwork, I knew our hotel was in Andorra la Vella. However, unbeknownst to me, the bus had plans to stop at 3 hotels, all in Andorra la Vella. So, when the announcement came, we assumed this was our stop and groggily departed. We only realized our colossal error when we tried to check in to the hotel only to discover we didn’t have a reservation. To make matters worse, with the heavy snowfall in progress, taxis were not available and the bus driver was unable to return and retrieve us. Allita and I were resigned to sleeping in the front lobby when the most fabulous miracle occurred: a hotel employee working the front desk volunteered to walk to her house, retrieve her car and drive us across the snow-covered village to our correct hotel. The only catch was, we had to wait until well past midnight, when her shift was ended. I nearly cried in relief. Time passed fairly quickly and before you know it, we were trudging through the snow and slush, me dragging our suitcase and Allita chatting freely and incessantly with the poor, kind-hearted receptionist who was surely having second thoughts. I helped her use her navigation system and we finally made our way to our actual hotel, checked in and crashed, face-first into our beds. The guide had waited for us in the hotel lobby so she could remind us, ever cheerfully, that the bus would depart at 8am for Grandvalira.

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The next morning dawned bright and early. After a continental hotel breakfast with plenty of java, we joined our compadres at the bus stop and waited and waited and waited for the ski bus. Turns out, the driver overslept and he was an hour late to retrieve us. This adventure was not to be the smooth, organized experience I had envisioned. In the interim, Allita and I made a ball from snow and ice and played soccer (football) with our new friends. Then, she and a nice Russian couple used the snow on the back of some nearby motorcycles to construct snow men, snow birds, and a variety of other snow creatures until the belated bus rolled up. We collected other enthusiasts from the remaining hotels and made our way from Andorra la Vella to the massive ski resort of Grandvalira. The guide got us suited up with rental gear and handed us our ski lift tickets. Then, she escorted us to the ski school where Allita’s class started in 15 minutes! As anticipated, we were the last to arrive but the instructor, who only spoke Spanish and Catalan (yikes!), was patient and welcomed Allita helpfully to class. While she learned all about skiing, I took some time to remind my body and brain how to coordinate and “warmed up” on the slopes gradually until I was finally in my comfort zone.

We met at 1pm and shared a late lunch, which was a massive array of food because we were both starving and, at that point, willing and excited to eat everything in our view. Then, Allita, who has the amazing skill of finding a playground at any location in the world, played outside in the snow for about an hour while I enjoyed more coffee (vital caffeine!). We skied together for another few hours until we both got tired and decided to return to the main village. Allita is a natural skier and really enjoys racing downhill, giggling as she flies over hill and vale. She didn’t fall even once! Although she later admitted that she had fallen several times during ski school. I was so proud of her, and secretly delighted that she was having as much fun as I was. This was sure to be a fantastic weekend after all!

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We both slept on the bus ride back to Andorra la Vella. I think I passed exhausted somewhere on the last slope downhill. We slept more when we got back to the room because dinner wasn’t for another 2 hours (9 pm!). It was a welcome nap and we both rose feeling refreshed and hungry. Dinner was a community affair. Apparently, all the hotel guests were skiers in our group and we were sufficient in number to fill half the restaurant. We ate like royalty with plates served directly from the kitchen, one multi-course meal, no menu. Soup, salad, roasted chicken, veggies, bread, custard and coffee. Allita, being the youngest and probably cutest, was offered the best selections of each of the courses and made the most of this culinary opportunity. We waddled back to our rooms after a brief post-dinner walk around the hotel and neighborhood and fell into a deep sleep.

The plan for day two was very similar to day one. Rise early, meet the bus, ski all day, ride the bus back to Barcelona. The main difference being that we would check out of the hotel after breakfast and store our luggage in the bus while we skied all day. Allita and I diligently hung our wet ski clothes strategically around the room so they would be dry and warm the next morning. I laid out everything we would need and we were prepared for an early start. Little did I know how early our start would be. Around 1am, I heard the noise that every mother can hear even when in a deep sleep, rooms away from the source. It’s not a pleasant sound and it warns of an equally unpleasant bodily function that is either in process or imminent. Without going into great detail, suffice it to say that Allita woke with violently ill and did not recover until nearly 5am. I spent my evening cleaning and cleaning and cleaning. Then, finally, packing. It was obvious to me that we were not going to be spending the following day skiing as planned. In fact, I was worried just how we would be spending the following day since our options were considerably limited. No car rental agencies are open on Sundays. In fact, most businesses are not open on Sundays. Hotels and ski resorts not withstanding. I connected with the guide at breakfast (I went for coffee and left Allita sleeping in the room) and we discussed options. Thankfully this was not her first rodeo and she arranged for us to return our rental gear and spend the rest of the day hanging around the little ski village and sleeping on the bus as needed until our return trip home.

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Sunday ended up being a fairly decent day – although it started horribly. We rested for a long time on the bus, after we made our returns and I got more coffee, and, just after noon, we decided to wander around the town. Allita played in the snow, made a snow angel and threw snowballs into the river. We found a nice outdoor cafe with comfortable chairs where I could nurse coffee and water long enough for us to make the most of their wifi and soak up some sunshine. She remained sick all day but not unpleasantly so. The ride home was not without a little drama but thankfully the bus driver was able to make some accommodations and we were afforded the very front row seats which apparently are less sensitive to the twisting and turning of the tiny mountain roads. Also, it put us closer to the giant tv screen (movie) and the front windshield which were equally distracting. All-in-all, we accomplished our goal of skiing. Not as frequently as we might have liked but we did it. Will we go back? I’m not certain we will revisit Andorra but we will absolutely give skiing a second go next winter if we have the opportunity. After all, if at first you don’t succeed…..