Little Tibet in Europe

If you had asked me (a non skiier) to recommend a European ski destination Italy would not have come rushing to mind. Instead my mind would have wandered to the usual suspects of Val d’Isere, Zermatt, St. Moritz, Klosters etc. in France, Switzerland and Austria. Italy is more famous for ancient ruins, breathtaking architecture, Tuscan countryside, vineyards, olive groves, crystal blue mediterranean waters, Geary pasta dishes, picturesque villages….the list goes on….but snow????

5 days into our Easter break, our first ski holiday as a family and I am already planning next year’s holiday in the home of the Azzurri!

Livigno is an unspoiled, tranquil resort comprising three side by side villages nestled in the Italian Alps, a stone’s throw from the Swiss border. Known as ‘Little Tibet’ because of its comparatively remote setting, Livigno’s charm lies in its relaxed, laid back pace. Climbing to just over 1,800 meters above sea level, Livigno’s slopes are practically guaranteed good skiing and boarding conditions until the first week of May!! The promise of snow so late in the year was the main reason DH chose this resort for our Easter trip.

On our arrival the Alps’ crown was covered and just enough snow lay on the main slopes to make skiing fun. At the village base, the roadsides sheltered exhaust fume dirtied slush and the pathways were bare and dry. The sun shone. The sky was electric blue. Skiing conditions were pretty good.

A couple of days of non stop snowing and blustery blizzards ensured a generous snowfall of up to 15cm, thus making for a lighter powder through which my little skiiers could glide and hone their skills.

The resort appeals to all levels of ability: 115km of ski area is home to 12 black runs (advanced), 37 red runs (intermediate) and 29 blue runs (beginner). Ski schools run lessons in the mornings and the afternoons, and the instructors will have the most green of beginners on the red slopes in no time!

The village itself reminds me of a distant era gone by. It is a place where neighbours take the time out of their day to stop and talk to each other, where the supermarket cashiknows on first name basis with his customers and is never too busy for a chat (irrespective of the queue forming), where grandparents push buggies containing their precious next generations. Church bells ring out every half hour. Shops close for a couple of hours to mark the afternoon siesta, allowing weary skiiers to ‘down tools’ and recharge. There is no distinction between high street fashion and haute couture here – fluorescent ski jackets, pants and fleece lined waterproofed footwear are the order of the day. There are fruit and vegetable shops selling just that and supermarkets do not stock over the counter medicines – a 2.5km trip to the nearest pharmacy is necessary for a pack of panadol. Small, boxy cars like Opel Corsas and Fiat Pandas zip though the one way streets; there are no moster 4x4s here. I think this is where lemon cars come to retire!

We have had a fabulous time in this snow haven. It has been a wonderful introduction to ski holidays, and with the kids declaring skiing as their new number one sport, I think we can safely say it has been an all round success!

Note: this is not a sponsored post!

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Snow Fun

Livigno, like many European ski resorts is a quaint, ‘olde worlde’ village. Running through it is one main street lined with three storey wooden guest houses with colourful wooden shutters, like something straight out of Johanna Spyri’s Swiss tale of ‘Heidi’. Parallel streets are connected by short, steep hills. Every 10 metres there is a restaurant promising hearty traditional Italian fare. Sprinkled amongst the warm and welcoming restaurants are ski rental and ski attire shops as well as thrifty duty free shops touting perfume, wine, cigarettes and electronics at prices lower than any airport can boast.

We settled into our family apartment less than a five minute walk from the slopes (well, perhaps a 7 minute robot like walk in stiff, unforgiving ski boots and laden down with ski paraphernalia). The munchkins were uber excited to see real snow for the first time and could hardly wait to test out their Ski Dubai skills on real ski slopes!

Day 1 of ski lesson week saw my 3 join the excited huddle of super colourfully clad wannabe skiers, all of whom were awaiting their assessment to determine their appropriate ski level. Unfazed by the natural terrain and slightly icy conditions, my munchkins each showed off impressive snowplough technique and even managed to strut some sweet, albeit wide, turns.

DH, being the parent representative (dodgy knees…..what can I say?!!!), was not as slick as the threesome who use their age blessed lower centre of gravity to their full advantage. 50 metres and 2 wipe outs later, DH was confirmed a ‘beginner’. After a 10 year absence from the slopes, this hardly came as a shock!

The first two hour ski lesson passed as quickly as some of the downhill slalom skiers I had been watching. I waited excitedly at the bottom of the slope to greet my sure to be weary skiers after their first session in real ski conditions. The kids were full of excited chat whereas DH described his return to the slopes as ‘brutal’.

After a warm lunch DH was brave enough to take the kids back out on the slopes by himself. I felt torn: whom should I worry about more? The kids with 15+ hours of ski/snowboarding lessons under each novice belt or DH who had a 1 hour discovery ski lesson at Ski Dubai 2 days before we left for our holiday?

DS2 provided me with the answer when he recounted his adventurous afternoon: ‘Mummy, Daddy was sooooo slooow. I was tired waiting on him’!

It would seem Daddy was in good, albeit impatient, ski gloved hands!

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Ski Italia

Last Saturday we finally set off on our first family ski holiday. Livigno, Italy….here we come. Rising with the Dubai peacocks we set off on the 6.5 hour flight from Abu Dhabi to Milan. Once there, only another 4 hour car journey to get us to the mountains. Flying 6.5 hours on a comfy plane with access to TV, movies, video games and fizzy drinks on tap makes for a great start to the hols as well as an easy travelling experience for Mummy and Daddy.

Completing our journey in an entertainment/fizzy drinks free car, DH and I took bets on how long it would be before we heard the words every parent loves to hear – ‘are we nearly there yet?’! We obviously underestimated our offsprings’ impatience…..we had not even made it out of the airport grounds before we heard it’s sister sentence ‘how much longer until we are at the hotel?’…A no nonsense glare in DS2’s direction said that was the first last time we wanted to hear that statement!

Not much looking forward to the car trip myself, the stunning scenery we witnessed on the way to our destination, Livigno, definitely helped take my mind off the tedium of motorway driving. Hugging the banks of the spectacular Lake Como, part of me wished we were holidaying there for a few days (and not just in the hope we, I mean I, might catch a glimpse of George sans Amal!). The serene beauty was lost on the kids who continued to entertain themselves with games such as ‘dead arm’, ‘Chinese burn’ and ‘who can be the most annoying sibling’.

As the incline of our route to the mountains increased the snow capped mountains came into view. Excitement grew. The kids’ eyes searched for the answer to the forbidden question. I explained that just because we were practically surrounded by mountains did not mean we were close. Indeed we were not quite 2 hours into the journey and still had some way to go. I appreciated their frustration and empathized with their impatience. As the car climbed higher, the route took in more and more man made passes which were carved into mountainsides to facilitate access to the higher plains. Being a nervous flyer, I thought my hours of praying for a safe arrival were over when we landed in Milan. Not so. It seems that pulsing through the veins of every driver on Italian roads is a wannabe Formula 1 race car driver! One would have thought that the daily craziness on Dubai’s roads would have more than prepared me for the racing track that is northern Italy’s roads…..alas….no!

White knuckled, hair raised, one eye open and praying to the man above was how I entered every mountain pass. A single meandering lane in either direction in an enclosed tunnel signaled some sort of time trial and what felt like a ‘near miss’ at every turn. Perhaps there are no speed cameras in the tunnels and drivers feel ‘safe’ from the law. Perhaps there is a thrill in driving on what follows the format of a racing track. I don’t know, but I think even non believing DH offered up a prayer or two!

Once we reached the roads skirting the mountain’s edge, I realized the tunnel races were for amateurs. High up on the narrow, icy, precipitous tracks, where the only view is downwards into what can only be described as a ‘valley of death’ is apparently where the ‘real’ fun begins. Missing each other by millimeters, cars whizz along without a care in the world. I am sure rally car race drivers take more care and pay more attention on less treacherous tracks. Trying not to infect my babies with my severe anxiety I tried my best to chat and joke with them.

Never could a conversation have ripped me from my fear induced state as the one started by DS1 3 1/2 hours into the journey:

DS1 (excitedly): ‘Mummy, can we order room service when we get to the hotel?’
Mummy (not thinking ahead): Honey, we are staying in a guest house and there is no room service. We will go out for dinner.’
DS1 (no longer excited and rather confused): ‘Whhhaaattttt? Awwwwwaaahhhhhh. I don’t want to go now. I want to go home if there is no room service!!!!!!!!!’

Expat brat alert!!!!!

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Loyalty and Allegiance

International sporting fixtures provoke a huge, emotional outpouring in our household! Being a family of two nationalities growing up in a third culture with kids who are sports crazy makes for interesting times on any level. Cue a family contested contest: battle lines are drawn and the family splits to set up camp on one side or the other.

To the kids, nationality has nothing to do with parental nationality but rather all to do with place of birth! Applying this diktat, DD and DS1 who were born in London are English and DS2 who was born in Dublin, is Irish. Expect a glare of disapproval if you suggest for one second that they are Irish/English or English/Irish…….

Needless to say the recent annual 6 Nations (England, France, Ireland, Italy, Scotland and Wales) rugby tournament caused quite a stir in our household. At the start of this year’s tournament I noticed a minor shift in the hereto allegiances….’English’ DD and DS1 seemed open to supporting Ireland without feeling any sense of betrayal to their ‘home’ nation, to the point that by the final game of the tournament DS1 had donned his Irish rugby kit!! I suspect this turnaround may have had something to do with the fact that Ireland returned to this year’s tournament as champions ready to defend their title whilst proving to the world that they are serious World Cup 2015 contenders – the Twins couldn’t possibly have DS2 laud it over them if Ireland were to retain the title, so they cleverly hedged their bets!

Off to a good start, Ireland steamrolled over their early competition. Winning against France in France was immense; psychological barrier smashed. Phew! Anything is now possible!

Then came Wales…..Always a tough match…especially when it is in Wales. Emotionally charged. Painful. Knife edge. Hard to take. 23-16….How did that happen???

Breaking the news to my increased Ireland in house fanbase the following morning was not the easiest!

‘Mummy!’ bawled DS2 with a ferocity I had never witnessed.

‘I am taking out the 1/16th Welsh from me’ he announced whilst wriggling around as if he were genuinely trying to entice evil from his soul with his bony fingers.

Being 100% Irish, I did not see a problem with this….indeed, it left a gap which could be filled with more Irish!

Not so. DS2 had other plans.

‘I am replacing the Welsh part with FRANCE!!!’…..

Slightly disappointed. Slightly confused. Why France?

But hey! France is a beautiful country, with amazing food, fab temperatures (for summer and winter skiing!), great vino and some pretty good rugby…..how could I argue with that????

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Growing Pains

On Thursday afternoon just before pick up, a shiny white coach with black tinted windows pulled up to the school gates. A gaggle of excited Mums and Dads gathered on the pavement, waiting to welcome home their munchkins from their first residential trip. One of the teachers (looking a lot less coiffed, and a tad more frazzled than when she set off 2 days previously!) bounded off the bus and the unloading of the bags began.

As Miss H quickly de-briefed us, the kids readied themselves to disembark in single file. Watching tired, dazed children scan the mini welcoming party awaiting them as they tried to locate their Mum or Dad, I suddenly began to feel nervous. I didn’t know why. Looking at overjoyed parents envelope their babies in giant, snuggly hugs, I felt tears welling. Desperately trying to not allow a tear trickle down my cheek, I wondered why it was taking so long for DS1 and DD to disembark, whilst at the same time being glad I had more time to get my emotions under control – I didn’t want to look sad greeting my two!

My thoughts were interrupted by DD’s caring friend, L, ‘A and F will take ages to get off the bus because they are sitting at the back!’

Grateful for a few more extra minutes to compose myself, I reflected on the giant steps my babies had taken; steps towards independence, resilience, self awareness and maturity. All this in a fun, nurturing, encouraging environment with friends, and all without even realising it!

For DH and I, the trip definitely made for an eerily quiet house, the absence of bickering and a smoother morning school run. Part of me was excited for them; experiences like this remind me of the endless possibilities life has to offer. Another part of me felt a hint of sadness; they are growing up and Mummy and Daddy will not always feature in these new experiences, and before we know it, they will be leaving home….

Jumping off the bus DS1 hugged and kissed me. ‘Mummy, the funniest thing that happened on the trip was that someone did a poo in the shower!’

If ever there were a comment to bring me back to the present! I think we can safely pack away thoughts of them leaving home!!

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Heavenly Hour

What better way to kick start the weekend than with a full body massage???!!! With the Munchkins dropped off at school, I headed to Lily Pond Spa in Al Barsha Mall to experience what I look forward to becoming a regular treat!

Like most Mums, I try to squish as much as possible into my schedule, so my massage experiences usually take the form of a ‘head, neck and shoulder’ massage in a seated position on the irregular occasions I get round to having a mani/pedi. As nice as that is, having a mini massage under the glare of salon lights whilst in the company of other ladies having various other treatments, it is not quite the relaxing experience it should be. So yesterday, when I was ushered into a quiet, dimly lit room I instantly felt my body relax, and my brain decided, of its own accord, to press the mute button on its chatterbox.

What followed was an hour of what I can only describe as sheer bliss! As the masseuse worked her way from the tips of my feet to the top of my head, my body felt like it gradually melted into the massage table. I felt so relaxed I could have slept. I was pleasantly surprised by this. I have never quite fully enjoyed the massages I have had in the past. They have either been too superficial (a bit like the head, neck and shoulder massages) or too harsh (to the point I am desperate for it to be over and done with as my requests to reduce the pressure go ignored). Lily Pond Spa’s massage, however hit the spot striking a near perfect balance between the two. At times I felt I was receiving what could be compared to a sports massage; the intense kneading of muscles, the careful manipulation of joints and persistent attempt to relieve me of any shoulder stress knots, but this was offset by the soothing back rub like massage. If, like me, you are ‘ticklish’ (the mere thought of someone touching my feet or hands makes me jump as high as the ceiling) you need not be concerned. The level of pressure applied to my ticklish points was just right to avoid ‘Tigger-esque’ bouncing!

Desperate to freeze frame this zen like feeling for as long as possible, I requested a mani/pedi (not part of the offer). These treatments were equally relaxing. Carried out with care and attention by the polite technicians, my nails looked fab. Leaving the salon to resume my hectic Thursday, I felt like a new woman, ready to take on my weekend netball courtside, football pitchside, rugby pitchside duties in style! Thank you Lily Pond Spa – you have succeeded in making my thus far ‘go to’ salon a distant memory!

Lily Pond Spa has a number of locations in Dubai. Check out their website at http://www.lilypondspa.com

Mother’s Day offers – Free Blow Dry for mothers when they spend AED300+
Spend AED200 on a gift basket and receive a free gift for your mother

March offers – Book three or more treatments and receive 15% off total price.

NOTE: This is a sponsored post.

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Mother’s Day Treat

Earlier in the week, I received an email from a London based PR agent with a very tempting offer: a treatment of my choice at a salon in return for a review of the treatment here! With UK/Ireland Mother’s Day celebrations just a few days off, the salon is advertising its offers for the big day as well as offers for the month of Mums, as March has become known in the UAE (March also sees the UAE celebrating US and UAE Mother’s days – so it’s a busy month!).

To many, I appreciate this offer doesn’t necessarily constitute ‘tempting’: afterall weekly visits to salons are par for the course for many ladies in Dubai. To some ‘tempting’ may mean having the use of a Maserati for the day; to others it may have been a night in the Royal Suite at the Burj al Arab. However, to me, a mum of three a quick salon treat is like an oasis in the monotonous desert of school runs, packed lunches, afterschool activities and the battle of wills that is homework. I didn’t need to be asked twice!

As I emailed back and forth to arrange my salon date, the agent suggested I use my ‘SM’ to hightlight the salon’s offers prior to the first of the Mother’s Day celebrations (UK). Wondering what my DH’s initials had to do with my blog or my future mani/pedi, it took me a few minutes to realise that ‘SM’ was industry speak for ‘Social Media’!! I am not quite sure which thought horrified me more: the fact that it is assumed that everyone who has a blog also uses Twitter, Facebook and the like; or the fact that I was now expected to navigate my way around these foreign tools in a very short space of time and ‘@’ or ‘#’ something before my treatment!

Slightly panicked I logged on to my Facebook account to see how to tag the offers and just as I was about to, I recalled someone telling me that advertising on FB is not permitted…….blast! Thankfully however, I remembered UAE Dirham Stretcher’s FB page (a page dedicated to sharing information about bargains, deals, offers etc. in the UAE). Result!

The mere thought of learning how to use Twitter resulted in a burning dread that rose like acid reflux, so I had decided to tackle that monster the following day. That was until my inbox pinged with more details of my treat…..a full body massage…….well if I didn’t Google how to tweet right then and there! Here’s hoping my virgin tweet doesn’t make me look like a twit!

Looking forward to my treat tomorrow and shall report back!

NOTE: This is a sponsored post.

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Another Milestone

This time for my first borns!

Today my twiglets (as they were once known when they wrestled each other in utero) set off on their first overnight school adventure. For weeks the excitement of the 2 nights’ stay on an adventure, bonding trip with their year group has been building like popcorn in a hot pot. I am convinced if they had to wait one more single day, they genuinely would have spilled over like an unwatched pot of popped popcorn!

Not even being a fan of sleepovers, the mere thought of my 9 year old ‘babies’ spending two nights away from home in a strange place a good hour’s drive from home, bunking in with kids and teachers they have only known for a matter of weeks practically sent me into a full blown panic attack!

My initial (but not communicated) reaction to their excited little faces that assumed they would be going on this trip with their new buddies, was ‘NO WAY’! Who in their right mind would let their 9 year old (and some in the year group are as young 8!) spend two nights away from home on a trip which in most other schools does not happen for another year????? I was certain DH as well as lots of other Mums would feel the same way.

It would appear there are lots of Mums operating outside of their right minds…..

Expecting a more rational-I-have-considered-everything-that-could-possibly-go-wrong approach from DH, I was confident my ‘NO WAY’ would stand.

And there it was. I had been vetoed. The only ‘NO WAY’ that stood was my ‘NO WAY, I can’t believe you think they should go on this trip’.

‘They are in a new school, with new kids. This is a chance for them to bond with each other, a chance to build friendships, get to see their teachers in a different light. They can show their strengths and build on their weaknesses; learn about teamwork outside of the classroom. You wouldn’t want them to be the only ones left behind, would you?’ he blackmailed argued emotionally.

I knew he was right. What an amazing experience. They weren’t phased by it. Why should I be? The thought of competing in teams through an obstacle course, building rafts, kayaking, rock climbing, swimming and jumping off a boat……all sounds like so much fun, after which I am sure, they will return home a little more independent, self sufficient and proud of what they will have achieved.

My ‘babies’ are growing up and I have to let them spread their wings but I shall miss my goodnight kisses and cuddles and hope they will spare a thought for DH and me when we are taking care of their favourite teddies who were most definitely vetoed from going on the trip!!

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The New Weekend

In times gone by, weekends were lazy, ‘do nothing’ affairs. In the past I could sloth around in my PJs until lunchtime before I showered, dressed and made my way to a long, lazy brunch by the river Thames that lasted through lunch, dinner and kickstarted evening aperitifs…..and the best part, I didn’t have to adhere to a curfew that would require me to get up with the birds the following morning. Just thinking about those days evokes nostalgia and sentimentality. Anyone remember Barbara Streisand’s song, ‘Memory’???!!! In this context this might be considered slightly melodramatic I know…but when you haven’t had a ‘duvet day’ in what seems like forever, it is that dramatic!

‘Memory
All alone in the moonlight
I can smile happy your days ( I can dream of the old days)
Life was beautiful then
I remember the time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again’

As my children get older, our weekends seem to be getting busier. For this, I have to admit, I was not prepared. There was a time when the weekend offered a reprieve from the hectic demands of the nursery/school/after school activities for ‘Mom Taxi’ but a sinister quirk in the parenthood galaxy translates as ‘naps are for babies, toys are for toddlers, iPads are for 4 year olds….anyone older than that has weekend long sporting demands’.

Seriously, the week has now become my reprieve.

Today, the first day of our weekend, we arrived at the kart track at 7:30AM. DS1’s first foray onto the track was 10ish…..a long time for a 9 year old boys’s attention span! For the next 5 hours we endured the repeated question from DS2 of ‘what time is it?’. He was in a hurry to get to the party to which he was invited at 3:30PM!

Tomorrow DS2 has two football matches, DD has netball league matches to play and DS1 is once again at the kart track for pretty much the whole day. DH and I have drawn straws and decided who does what.

There is no winner.

We split to cater to our children’s preferences. DH takes the track. I mop up the rest. When we overcross we will have fun. I miss our family weekends. I miss our free time. But I love that Dubai gives our kids the opportunity to explore new and exciting sports. #mydubai #dubaikartdrome #alainraceway

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My Life in Shoes

Not so long ago I read Mrs Dubai’s post on ‘Shoes we keep but never wear’ (being a bit clueless on how to hyperlink on WordPress, I have pasted the link to this post below). Apart from envying Mrs Dubai’s fantastic sounding shoe collection as well as admiring the strength it must have taken to discard her babies, errm, I mean her beloved shoes, her post got me thinking about how my shoes could possibly tell a story about my life.

Before Work Life – Being a creature of comfort and all things comfortable, I was never happier than when I was wearing my trainers, Doc Martens, Birkenstocks etc. This time of my life involved a lot of footwork. It seems I was on the go all the time; cycling to friends, running to catch buses and trains to make my way to Uni, walking around 400 year old cobbles at Uni, hours of waitressing to fund my studies, and even more hours dancing the night away!

Don’t get me wrong. I have always had an appreciation for shoes; I have always loved beautiful shoes, and back in the day I even possessed a few ‘special occasion’ pairs. Unfortunately, apart from the odd Uni ball, I had little opportunity to give them an outing, and they spent most of their fashionable lives avoiding dust in shoeboxes stored at the bottom of my wardrobe.

Worklife – My City worklife ushered in the dizzying and varied heights of fancy footwear. The life of a professional demanded an upgrade to accompany the smart business attire. Enter heels in every colour, style, and height. In my mind, the right shoes made an outfit, even if you couldn’t always see them under the floor sweeping, tailored trousers. Heels were beautiful, empowering, and just plain gorgeous.

Don’t get me wrong, walking too far in the lush discomfort was never an option for me! The walk to work along London’s Thames river called for my old reliable comfy trainers until I reached the office. A work out with one pair and work with the next!

Mummy Life – Well, it didn’t even take the arrival of my munchkins to make me reach for my trusty friends. 6 months pregnant with twins, I purchased a trendy (at least that is what I hoped they were!) pair of Doc Martens! Oh gosh…they were so comfy. Still walking to work along London’s riverbank, I stopped changing my shoes once I reached the office! I continued to wear my feet friendly companions around the office and on my walk home again.

I think it was only weddings and the very rare date nights of two very sleep deprived first time parents that forced me to up my game by 3 inches!! Even then, I am sure I kicked them off under the table after a few minutes and dreaded putting them back on to face the walk to the car/home!!

Fully Fledged Mummy Life – Well, now that we have been living in the desert that is Dubai, for the majority of my babies’ lives, shoe life has become more about what they want as opposed to what I would like! Glued to flip flops, I barely know what a ‘heel’ is these days! School run? Flip Flops. Shopping? Flip Flops. Afterschool Activities? Flip Flops.

I never thought that children would steal my shoe shopping time for themselves; cheeky beggars! Standing in my flip flops, I reviewed last year’s life in shoes:

– 3 pairs of sensible, black school shoes
– a lot of pairs and solo flip flops
– 3 pairs of Birkenstocks
– 5 pairs of smelly trainers
– 8 pairs of football boots….3 more and I can supply a football team
– 1 pair of skateboarding trainers
– 1 pair of Go Kart racing shoes
– 2 pairs of slippers
– 1 pair of high tops
– 1 pair of espadrilles
– numerous pairs of unworn hand-me-down shoes
– 1 pair of gold, sparkly unworn ‘dancing with the stars’ type shoes……(shunned in favour of rugby boots!)

Not quite in the same league of Mrs Dubai’s ‘to-die-for’ collection……but still pretty special all the same!

On shoes we keep but never wear

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