"You need to take care of you and yours" wrote a caring and wise friend to me via email last night. For once, I actually followed advice, which is how I come to be at the airport in Sochi waiting to board a plane to the UK, rather than at the ferry port, waiting to board a boat for Turkey. My mother is suddenly and seriously ill, and I need to fly home to be with her. For my own sake as much as for hers. Nothing else is quite so important right now.

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the town, not a creature was sleeping, they were all partying on down!” Throughout Beijing hotels, restaurants and clubs are competing to offer the most lavish, glitzy, star-studded celebrations of Christmas Eve. The guest of honor at such an event is more likely to be a sequined, coiffed chart-topping singer or soap opera hero than a red -suited, bearded old man. The Chinese, traditionally eager feast makers, have taken Christmas as an excuse to eat, drink and be merry. Not too unlike the West, come to think of it! They just dropped the archaic Santa Claus and added a few more contemporary popular icons. Seems to have worked, tickets for the most prestigious “scenes to be seen at” parties sell out fast at $600 a head.

 

The planned festivities here are on such a scale that “The China Daily”, Beijing’s factual, humorless newspaper, warns they will bring traffic chaos to the capital. Apparently Beijing is struggling to cope with an unexpectedly sharp rise in ownership of cars for private use. Each day during the past month, over 2,000 new cars have appeared on Beijing’s roads. The challenge of finding room for all those new wheels in amongst the bicycles, buses and trucks already clogging the city’s arteries is prompting a discussion on rationing. One car per family. “Surely not,” cry the young folk as they jangle the keys to their Range Rovers, BMW’s or Mercedes. “Surely yes“, think their parents, as they look at their only sons, themselves products of China’s previously successful quota system - one child per family.

 

Based on the article’s advice I decide to take the subway back to my hotel, thinking I will miss the worst of the traffic congestion. After waiting through the arrival and departure of two trains at Dongdan station, deeming them too crowded to allow me to enter, I realize that if I keep measuring “full” in the same way, I will be here until the New Year. So, as the next train pulls in, I surge forward with the other 100 people attempting to board an already crammed car. Somehow I am swept inside. New law of physics applying to subway trains in Beijing - infinite internal expansion? From the array of gaily wrapped packages poking into my ribs, nose and neck I see that last minute Christmas shopping seems to have succeeded in transcending cultural boundaries in an effortless way that international policy makers can only dream of.

 

As I exit the suffocatingly over heated subway station, I welcome the contrasting chill of the outside night air - for approximately two minutes. By then my face feels as if a million ice picks have hacked their way through the epidermis. This is the Beijing winter I remember. When the da feng “big wind’ blows unobstructed down from the Siberian plain it brings with it painfully frigid temperatures.

 

So much has changed since I was last here yet so much is as it was. And the same can be said of me. I am, as we all are, a fabric weaved of our experiences. China is as intricately stitched into my soul as anywhere I have lived. As all good girls and boys know to do, I fall asleep before midnight - not to the jingle of Rudolph’s approaching sleigh bells this time, but to the beat of karaoke pop music from the hotel’s party, I tell myself that Christmas in China is adding another thread to my tapestry, one that, if I am honest, I would sacrifice for this night at home.

 

 

“Why would we teach disabled people how to ski? They are disabled, that means they are not able to do anything!” answers an incredulous ski instructor at Nanshan, reportedly the most modern of Chinese ski resorts. Fortunately, her English is far better than my Mandarin, which means I can at least try to argue with her.  I spend the next half an hour explaining the benefits of sport, particularly skiing, to people with all kinds and levels of disabilities. She listens impatiently until finally, looking at me with something like pity, she declares “You are wasting your time, I told you, they are not able to do anything. See for yourself, there are no disabled people here!”

I conclude she is right at least on the first point, I am not getting anywhere in my quest to convince the ski school at Nanshan of the value of an adaptive program. I wonder, not for the first time on this trip, if I am just wasting my time, period? But that is a question I have promised myself I will save until the end of this trip, assuming I will find a way to measure tangible success, or failure, as the project draws to a close.

I know she is wrong on the second point. I try, and fail, over the next two days to prove her so on the third. No one I encounter, on or off the slopes, exhibits any sign of being either physically or developmentally challenged. When I conduct an impromptu mountain survey, the answers of  my able bodied chair lift companions differ little from the “expert‘s” opinion. “ Not worth spending the time or the money - they won’t be able to do it!” is the general consensus. I mention the Paralympics and the successes China has had in both the participation and hosting of that competition. “Yes, but that is different! They are real athletes!”

Hampered by a lack of Mandarin debating vocabulary, coupled with a sense of growing frustration, I realize I cannot single handedly take on Nanshan. I am not giving up on adaptive skiing in China, but I do need reinforcements! Armed with sufficient ammunition, I know I can win this battle. Just not here today on my own.

Like so many places I have visited on this worldwide trip Nanshan surprises me. I am not sure exactly what I had been expecting but it certainly isn’t what I find. Throughout the bus ride across the plains from Beijing I peer through grimy windows watching for the first sight of snow. About an hour into the journey a startling whiteness suddenly appears in the distance. An area of such contrast to the surrounding brown hills that I know it cannot be naturally occurring. Having experienced Afri Ski I recognize Nanshan for what it is - a resort of manmade snow. As I am readjusting expectations for the two days ahead the bus stops abruptly, allowing a bellicose man to alight “Come with me to Nanshan! Get off here!”  Next to me, an elderly woman whispers through toothless gums, “Don’t listen to him. He is trying to cheat you. Stay on the bus, go one more stop, the taxi will be cheaper from there.”  I stay put, causing the hustler to become even more insistent “ You must get off here!” By now everyone on the bus is yelling, seemingly equally split in their advice. Another part of Chinese life I had forgotten, arguing here is an acceptable and enjoyable participatory event.

A 20 minute taxi ride from the recommended next bus stop to the resort base costs less than $2. As we approach, I am impressed by the size and complexity of Nanshan’s slopes which provide ample beginner, modest intermediate and limited expert terrain. Choose between moguls or manicured corduroy. Free stylers can catch big air off the jumps in well designed and maintained parks. High speeds lifts, tickets payable by the hour or the day and a comprehensive rental service offering complete snow suits as well as skis, boards and boots at extremely affordable prices ensure the resort is accessible to everyone - except, of course, those with a disability. But then, as I am assured by the ski school here, they are not able to come anyway!
 

 

 

http://www.whistlerquestion.com/article/20101215/WHISTLER02/312159947/adaptive-skiing-advocate-makes-whistler-visit-on-global-tour
 

“If you are comfortable, then it’s not tight enough.” Familiar sounding words to any novice skier as they try to force a reluctant foot into the inflexible shell of a ski boot for the first time. Not surprisingly, as I am learning there are more similarities than differences in the worlds of non adaptive and adaptive sport, they apply equally well to the fitting of a mono-ski to a sit skier’s hips.

As I enter the equipment hut of the Whistler Adaptive Snowsports Program ( WASP) on a cold and snowy morning, I hear Gil, a veteran sit ski instructor explain, “ If there is too much space between the hips and the bucket (seat) it is impossible to transfer movement effectively.” Andrew, a “never ever” (WASP’s terminology, and now one of my new favorite terms for first-timers on the slopes) tries a foam padded insert in the bucket, but this throws him too far forward, out of the seat. So Gil removes that, adjusts a strap here and there and is finally satisfied with Andrew’s fit and appropriate level of discomfort. Time to try it out.

Chelsey Walker, WASP’s Executive Director, and I ride the Magic Carpet behind Andrew and his team of instructors. As the conveyor belt inches slowly up the beginner slope she helps me understand more about the program and its overall contribution to sporting life in the Whistler community.

“WASP is dedicated to providing sport for all - any disability, any income bracket, any season. We offer alpine and Nordic skiing in the winter. Kayaking, rowing, hiking and biking in the summer. For every person who approaches us wanting to try out a sport we will find a way to make it possible - no limitations!”

WASP  relies on 180 trained volunteers to provide instruction, support and motivation to more than 2700 program participants throughout the year. If the handful I met are representative of the group then adaptive athletes in Whistler are in excellent hands. Energetic, passionate, committed, the volunteers share a common aim - to get people involved in sport for life, no matter the disability. Today, one of these volunteers is a sit skier named Rob Gosse, a member of British Columbia’s Para Alpine Race Team. Wherever possible WASP includes an accomplished adaptive athlete in a team of instructors - preferably someone sharing a similar disability to that of the “never ever”. While an able bodied instructor can do a fine job with words, a disabled skier can empathize, motivate and teach in uniquely beneficial ways.

We reach the top of the carpet and slide over towards Andrew. Instructors are readying him for his first downhill run. They plan to use a technique called “thumbing” - two hands gripping the bucket, steering the mono-ski in gentle sweeping arcs down the most benign of the mountain’s slopes. Andrew is strapped around the shoulders, waist. knees and feet, leaving just his arms free to hold an “outrigger” in each - a crutch type device tipped by six inches of mini ski. “Sit skiers use these as standing skiers use poles - to aid balance, positioning and smoothness of turns.” explains Chelsey.

The team sets off. Andrew throws his weight to either right or left as instructed, Glen uses his thumbs to help steer, the outriggers make contact with snow on either side of the monoski on the appropriate turn and he is skiing! Chelsey and I smile at each other, another “never ever” loses his title! Over the course of several hours, Andrew progresses from “thumbing’ to “tethering” ( an instructor attaches a long leash to the monoski , keeps it taut and uses it to brake the device).

We take a well deserved break from the hard work on the slopes and head up to Roundhouse, a spacious lodge at the confluence of a number of lifts and gondolas higher up Whistler Mountain. Home of the 2010 Paralympic Games, the resort prides itself on its complete accessibility. Andrew has no difficulty riding the gondola in a wheelchair, makes use of the conveniently situated elevator inside the lodge and heads for tables clearly designated for the use of people with disabilities.

When asked for his expert opinion on the proffered culinary options, Rob recommends I try the Vietnamese noodles. I figure he eats here often enough, based on his rigorous training schedule, to follow his advice. As we enjoy bowls of fragrant, steaming Pho, I ask how he came to be on the Para Alpine team.

“Motorcycle accident, four years ago.”  he says in a very matter of fact way,  “left me in a wheelchair but, hey, could have been worse, I could have died!” Rob accepted his disability quickly, even before he completed his hospital based rehabilitation, he organized a camping trip for other newly disabled patients. A former gymnast, Rob understood the value of frequent exercise and participation in sport. He began trying out a number of different adaptive sports through WASP and in his words “mono skiing just stuck”.  He explains, “ it is something I can do with my whole family, I have two young children. On the mountain I am a skier, not a Dad in a wheelchair”  I watch Rob take a few turns after lunch, he soon leaves me far behind but not before I have appreciated the grace and speed of his descent. Rob hopes to make the national team in a year or two, and if positive attitude counts for anything in the selection process, he will be there!

I catch up with Andrew at the end of his first day. Snowfall has reached blizzard intensity, visibility has reduced to 20 feet but Andrew’s smiles light up the mountain. Despite numerous aches and pains in his upper body, especially the wrists from gripping those outriggers, “and pushing myself up from a few too many falls” he confesses, Andrew is exhilarated, and looking forward to day two in world class Whistler.

"We need to get a training program in place for you, Karen, only four weeks to go, time to get started!” With these words, Grant, my generous Calgary host, opens his well-stocked liquor cabinet and produces a bottle of Pravda vodka with a flourish. “Pomegranate martinis, I think, perfect way to ease into the program”. Clearly we are not talking about a typical fitness regime here, Grant has decided to work on assuaging any concerns I may have about my forthcoming train trip on the Transiberian Express by train -ing me to drink vodka in readiness for the 6 days and nights of potentially proffered shots.  I think I would stand better chance of being fit to run a marathon than to endure neat vodka night after night, but I agree to the first stage, deeming it the height of bad guest manners to refuse an offer of refreshment.

Calgary is the first stop of my Northern Hemisphere skitheworldforall trip. It took a little longer than planned for me to get myself out of the Bay Area and back on the road, largely due to a persistent respiratory infection. I blame this for both my physical lethargy and mental apathy in the early days of my return from South America. Simply put, I was not well, and it took a while to heal. But healed I am and as excited and motivated as ever about the journey ahead.

The past four days in Alberta have been filled with attitudes - all positive, energizing and uplifting. “We like to dream big” says Ian, co -founder of Rocky Mountain Adaptive Sports Center (RMASC), as a smiling server places suitably gargantuan breakfasts in front of us. “ There is so much we want to achieve, and we are determined to get there”. I believe him. Jamie, the creator and driver of this relatively new non-for-profit organization, impresses and astounds me with his list of accomplishments in the year and a half of the program’s life to date. “We have 35 kids with disabilities enrolled in a 10 week ski/board program on the mountain this winter and are looking to double that next year.”

 Nadine, a pretty 17 year old joins us at this point with her mother, Diane. More introductions, more hugs - I like the way folks say “hello” in Alberta, or perhaps it is just the adaptive community members who welcome each other so fondly. We shuffle plates and mugs around to make room for the newcomers, I am delighted when Ian refuses the servers’ offer of a larger table, I like the coziness of this slightly cramped booth. Nadine is one of Jamie’s star pupils and has come along today to ski with me at Sunshine Village, the mountain where RMASC operates. She has not let cerebral palsy stop her from becoming a very accomplished four-tracker (which means she uses two outriggers on her arms to help support herself on two otherwise unadapted skis).  She is torn between becoming an instructor to help others with disabilities or a competitive racer - from what I see later in the day she has both the coaching temperament and high skill level to be successful in either.

Jamie and I indulge in “what a small world” as we realize our paths crossed through the same group of people and even the same bedroom in the same house - albeit in different years- at Cardrona, NZ. Jamie spent several winters working with the wonderful Leslie in the Adaptive Program down there “chasing the snow” each season. He coached Adam Hall, who won gold for New Zealand in the Paralympics but I only find this out from Nadine as we ride the chair together in the afternoon. Jamie is much too modest a soul to tell me himself. He chose Canmore, in the heart of Banff ski country, to establish a permanent home and is committed to making RMASC a success, on a local but a national level too. “Why couldn’t we be a national, all year round center for disabled sports activities?” And, I have no answer for that. Alberta aspirations reach as high as the surrounding mountain peaks.

Time to see for myself what RMASC is all about. We finish up our eggs, exchange more hugs and Diane, Nadine and I head out to ski. Sunshine Village has no snow making facilities which is either a blessing or a curse depending on a skier’s view of potential ice versus limited open terrain. This early in the season, snow may or may not fall naturally. I found the conditions to be way better than those at Lake Louise,  where manmade snow had turned many of the runs into ice sheets. But then I dislike ice intensely and will ski the same run happily again and again if I like the snow. Nadine was a wonderfully patient guide to the mountain, acquiescing when I asked for “easy” runs and clearly holding back from tackling the steep blacks she would normally ski. It looks like my kind of mountain, long blue cruisers through the trees with enough steeper terrain to challenge myself should I feel the need.

I find myself promising to return in April, to complete the full tour when all the mountain is open, and to take part in RMASC’s planned events. How could I resist that Alberta attitude?
 

 

 

“Karen, can we ski together next year in Portillo?” whispers the neatly pigtailed Isabella into my ear as she snuggles happily into my lap. “I hope so, sweetheart” I reply, and kiss her forehead gently, hoping her acute hearing doesn’t pick up on the catch in my voice.

 

Lunch time at the Institute for the Blind in Vina del Mar, a coastal town 2 hours north of Santiago, Chile. I am spending the day visiting some of the children who took part in Andes Magico ( an adaptive ski week in Portillo, where I volunteered for a week - see The Magic of the Andes blog) . As so often on this trip I am awed by the ability of organizations to do so much with so little. The Institute receives no government funding, relies hand to mouth on private donations, fund raising events and somehow provides education, rehabilitation and recreation for more than 60 visually impaired children and adults throughout the region.

 

Over lentils and fruit salad, served under a severely cracked dining room ceiling, the impressively passionate Director, Marie, tells me, “ The morning after this year’s earthquake, I was afraid to even come to the Institute. I knew the building would be damaged, but I didn’t want to know how badly. We had worked so hard over the years to put this facility together, I couldn’t bear to see it fall apart. But of course I had to come, and I had to open the door - or try to. It took a while, and a few more hands before we could enter the building, debris inside blocked the entrance. It was hard not to cry when I saw the chaos before me. I walked through the destroyed rooms where just the day before children had been laughing and learning, and all I could think was - we have to rebuild this. I don’t know how, or with what means, but we will find a way.”

 

And she did. In a devastated, resource challenged Chile, Marie achieved the impossible. Merely weeks after the earthquake struck, the Institute reopened its newly painted doors. The repairs are neither complete nor perfect, as the still present cracks in the dining room ceiling prove. But through the tireless work of Marie, her staff and the children, their parents and the local community, they are sufficient to allow lessons to resume. Minus a few essential tools, damaged beyond repair and beyond hope of replacement in the present economic situation - Braille keyboard computers.

 

“ Promise me you will write to me, this is my email, promise!” As my former room mate, Sarah, kissed me goodbye, she made me repeat her email address twice before she was satisfied. Sarah is a strikingly self-confident teenager who just happens to have been blind since birth. She is intelligent, affectionate and fiercely independent. I love her for all those qualities and wonder, not for the first time in this trip, how I would have played the cards dealt into someone else’s hand. I like to think I would have played them as Sarah has - but I know myself better than that.

 

Chile is a country of kisses ( besos). You greet with a kiss, you part with a kiss - acquaintances, friends, family. It is common to kiss even when you are first introduced, once on the right cheek usually. As a highly tactile person, I find the custom endearing and quickly adopt it. Boundless hugs and kisses wherever I go.

 

I just wish pesos were as readily given as besos - think how much we could do in a world where money was as free as kisses to those in need.