First, there is the deciding to go – the where, the when, the how long. With kids in school, the when and how long are preordained, leaving only the where. I tried talking my ex-pat brother into coming to New England, holding out Sunday River as our destination. He didn’t bite. I shifted gears. What if we were to come him and ski in Europe? Our only perimeters – it had to cheap, and it had to be kid friendly. Kranjska Gora became our where.
Then there is the getting there. The booking of flights, the packing of bags, the selection of reading materials just before the final boarding call, followed by the long night flight to Berlin. Passport control, short hop to Munich, collecting the bags, and finally, the brother waiting to take us to his flat, pour us glasses of wine and shots of the local walnut brandy and tuck us into bed. The next day, he drives us into the mountains, through mile long tunnels and hairpin turns on steep mountain roads, and then we’re there – in a place that feels like skiing was invented.