black and (A)broad

Just got back from my in-laws, who live in the Dutch province, Zeeland. My husband always refers to it as the Florida of Holland since, supposedly, the sun shines there more than any other place in the country. Mmmm Hmmm.

The week before hubby, Chloe and I spent a week in Austria. For the second year in a row, we shared a chalet with a family that also lives in Voorschoten. I met my friend years ago at the mothers and toddlers gym class our daughters were taking. We immediately hit it off, despite her British accent (lol). She’s Chinese by biology, Malaysian by culture and British by heart (my assumption, not hers). Also being married to a Dutchman, we had a blast comparing notes about our common lovepat experience.

We decided to go to the same place as last year and stay in the same chalet. We weren’t disappointed. In fact, the owner showed us around the new wing of luxury suites he’d had built in the course of the year. A tad bit outside our price range, but hey, we go to ski not sit in the lap of luxury. Yeah, right.

Anyway, the first day out was a blistering 18 below zero. Not an avid skiier, I surprised (and impressed) myself by staying on the slopes until the kids and my friend finished their lessons. Alas, with each day temperatures rose, and by Christmas, our last day, all pretense of snow vanished. It rained and even hailed, sending the kiddies into fits of tears. Hubby relayed this last bit to me since I was the only one with the sense to go back to the chalet at the first sprinkle!

Besides the heatwave, this year’s trip varied in one other way: I saw other black people on the slopes. Not the requisite one (which I thought was me), not even two, but three other brown faces graced the slopes of Scheffau in Tirol. I do have to say that after living in Holland for ten years, I don’t tend to look for other brown faces when I attend an event or go to a restaurant or take Paige to the mother-and-toddler gym class. Indeed, the Dutch don’t go out of their way to make me aware of my race. That notwithstanding, the slopes seem to be that one last place (at least in Austria) where I’m the only proverbial one.

On the drive over to Austria, we stopped in Munich and stayed with a friend of mine over night. She’s a beautiful German woman I also met years ago at the gym class. She was my rock-solid support system during the months I was deciding whether to leave my job at the university to work from home as a freelance writer, translator and editor. A few years before, she’d given up her career as a very successful architect who was in demand all over Europe to explore her love of horses and alternative healing. She provides cranio-sacraal healing on horses, and apparently she’s very gifted.

Anyway, about a year ago we were discussing her upcoming ski vacation when I mentioned that I’d never seen another black person skiing (take that with a grain of salt because I ski maybe once a year for one week). “That can’t be true,” she answered me in disbelief.

“Well, when you go, take a look around.”

Sure enough she told me later that she hadn’t seen any black people. She asked me why I thought not too many black people skiied, and I explained that, at least in an American context, it had less to do with race than economics, i.e. money.

Skiing is a ridiculously expensive hobby/sport. If you can afford to travel to the few places in the US where you can ski (I won’t even mention flying to Canada or Europe or Asia for obvious reasons), you still have to have a place to stay. And food is important because you really work up an appetite. Proper attire is a must. High up in the mountains, it’s cold. Period. A ski suit offers protections from the elements, so you need to have one. Thermal underwear, ski socks and gloves add to the expense. Then you have to rent the ski boots and skis. Add to that money for a ski pass and you begin to see why this sport is out of reach for many black Americans.

I think it’s a pity because it is an enjoyable atmosphere. I mean, the skiing’s ok, but stopping at lunch for a bowl of hot goulash hits the spot when your toes start going numb. A pit stop for a glass of gluhwein or jagertee in front of the fireplace always manages to warm up the coldest of the cold-fearing people. Me. And, I’ll admit, though never to hubby, that being outside all day - even when it’s cold - is exhilarating.

I do notice the occasional stare, but the Austrian people I’ve come into contact with are hospitable and are kind enough to humor me when I mangle their gorgeous language. They don’t seem to judge me because my skin is brown. I’m trying to choose my words carefully so as not to make a racial issue out of something that probably isn’t, but it’s hard not to comment on such an obvious absence of color.

On a lighter note (couldn’t resist) I’m glad to be back home getting back into my routine. I think this year hubby and I are on our own for New Year’s eve. We’re planning to cook ourselves a very chic three-course meal and drink lots of prosecco, well, maybe just one bottle. Hubby has to work on the 1st.

I’ll be lifting my glass up in a toast to all of you at midnight - my time, of course - wishing you all a happy new year.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, December 30th, 2009 at 10:32 and is filed under Reflections, travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.