“One, two, one, two,” I count rhythmically as I glide along the glistening snow. The soft, velvety silence around me is comforting; far below, the bustle of the French resort of La Plagne feels like a different world, all noise lost on the wind that whispers its way around the peaks.
The sun is beating down, so I pause to strip some layers: I place my backpack down where I stand and take a swig of water, before rolling my jacket tightly and packing it. I feel gloriously tiny and insignificant surrounded by this endless panorama of mountains thrusting into the clear blue sky.
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