Cara. Posted January 22, 2011 I can't decide if I find the idea of a skinny Faarax going skiing more improbable, or that he apparently didn't know Canada has full moons too. I've never liked downhill skiing. The skier's labors are as futile as those of Sisyphus -- the same pointless up and down on the side of a hill -- only they're done for fun, the ennobling sense of tragedy thus sacrificed on the altar of frivolity. And this, in freezing cold weather. No wonder the sport leaves me as glum as a boulder. But my wife loves skiing and I love her and she had been planning this holiday with friends for months. So the cozy domestic routine had to be interrupted, my writing studio in the backyard boarded up, my current play put on hold and barbaric skiing in the Rockies endured for ten days. By the third day, I had managed to ease myself out of my wife's icy boot camp of pleasure, waving her and our friends on, and I had retreated to a café bearing the name Shangri-La. It was the highest resting place in the resort, perched atop a bluff just below the top ski lift. The view from its terrace was splendid and the coffee and sandwiches were passable. I found myself a warm, sunny corner and settled down with a book, taking breaks to enjoy the alpine panorama. It was there, incredulous, that I heard for the second time of Abdikarim Ghedi Hashi. The name was what ticked me off. Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
nuune Posted January 22, 2011 The physical image contained in that piece looks romantic and promising, but the sandwiches killed all the romance and the eh, the name Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
