According to Peter Hardy in the Telegraph , Austria has embarked on a valiant e ort to push France o its most-visited- snowboard -destination pedestal “Last season, France lost our per cent o the tour operator market, leaving it with 33.2 per cent,” he wrote. “Austria gained two per cent and now has 25.6 per cent.” This seismic shit in our holidaying habits shouldn’t come as a shock. For those into park riding, there’s an annual disap- pointment when the brochure photograph o a French unpark encounters the reality: usually an ill-maintained meadow o hal-melted lumps, not unlike the atermath o a snowman- building competition. I distinctly remember the opening o Meribel’s rst un park. “Did they name it ‘Moon Park’ because o a vague connection to the word arse? ” asked a ellow seasonaire. I wasn’t sure, but staying true to orm, the maintenance o the park’s kickers, rails and boxes ollowed a beautiul – and highly predictable – inverse relationship to the number o jazz cigarettes smoked by those in charge. One by one, the obstacles closed, until t he only line let open consisted o a terriying triple-kink rail leading into a set o black-graded super -booters, nally ending in a dash down a boardercross track with banks so tame that the sk i schools would use it to keep their toddlers herded together. No t a tting park or the so-called biggest ski area in the world. In contrast, Austrian parks have spent the last teen-years going rom strength to strength. Put it down to teutonic eciency, the energy-to-consumption ratio o the sausage-based diet, or the act that they’ll do a Jaegermeister shot at literally any celebratory event (“the sun has gone behind the cloud – Jaegermiester!”) but there is something keeping the everyday Austrian park builder on their toes. Head to Mayrhoen’s Penken Park, and you’r e likely to nd rails lined up with architectural precision; kickers shaped with love, care and attention; landings that actually have a sweet spot; and even experimental structures such as a snow ‘skatebowl’ – complete with coping. Show a picture o that to a Frenchman, and he’s likely to imagine lling it with coee. This ongoing search or the ultimate unpark has led Austria to work with its European cousins. For a ew sea sons the Penken Park was shaped by none other than Henry Jackson – an expat Brit with a penchant or medicinal alcoholic shots. Again, such collaborativ e moves show a willingness that is sorely lacking at the other end o the Alps. Ask a French resort owner i he’d consider empl oying an Englishma n and you might as well ollow it up with a request to borrow his Citroen DS and an enquiry as to whether his mistress was ree t hat evening too. So i snowboarders are likely to ollow their noses to where the best parks lie, t hen we can surely expect Austria to overtake its Gallic rival within a sea son or two. And while that’ s cause or celebration or those who like to leap into the air, slide down rails and get royally trashed at an après ski bar listening to a techno version o Who The Fuck Is Alice (compl ete with live brass-band accompanimen t), or others, there will always be a romantic re- lationship with our French neighbours that’s dicult to curtail. Yes, they hate us. Yes, every shopkeeper in the land snubs our attempts at ordering a kilo o apples, and yes, their national hero once asked Whitney Huston or a shag on live TV (whitelines. com/whitney- huston-shag) but here’s the thing: you know what you’re getting with the French. They’re rude, they don’t give a fying g about service culture, and they still think that yellow headlights are the way orward. But god-dammit it’s a lovely place to visit or a week. And like the Chinatown restaurant where they throw your tip at you i you leave coins – sometimes rudeness is really, really entertaining. I Austria does manage to entice a majority o Brits this com- ing winter, it only really means the continuation o a decades- long tourism war. “Back in the Seventies, when skis were straight and Franz Klammer ruled the downhill,” writes Hardy in his article, “most British skiers went to Austria anyway.” “ Yes the French hate us , but at least You know what You’re getting” S O A P B O X Chris Moran ENGLISHMAN ABROAD ILLUSTRATION: NICOLA ROWLAND 52 whitelines.com WL97 MoranColumn.indd 52 8/9/11 23:48:15
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According to Peter Hardy in theTelegraph, Austria has embarked on a valiant e ort to pushFrance o its most-visited-snowboard-destination pedestal “Lastseason, France lost our per cent o the tour operator market,leaving it with 33.2 per cent,” he wrote. “Austria gained two percent and now has 25.6 per cent.”
This seismic shit in our holidaying habits shouldn’t comeas a shock. For those into park riding, there’s an annual disap-
pointment when the brochure photograph o a French unpark encounters the reality: usually an ill-maintained meadow o hal-melted lumps, not unlike the atermath o a snowman-building competition.
I distinctly remember the opening o Meribel’s rst un park.“Did they name it ‘Moon Park’ because o a vague connectionto the word arse? ” asked a ellow seasonaire. I wasn’t sure, butstaying true to orm, the maintenance o the park’s kickers, railsand boxes ollowed a beautiul – and highly predictable – inverserelationship to the number o jazz cigarettes smoked by those incharge. One by one, the obstacles closed, until the only line letopen consisted o a terriying triple-kink rail leading into a set
o black-graded super-booters, nally ending in a dash down aboardercross track with banks so tame that the ski schools woulduse it to keep their toddlers herded together. Not a tting park or the so-called biggest ski area in the world.
In contrast, Austrian parks have spent the last teen-yearsgoing rom strength to strength. Put it down to teutonic eciency,the energy-to-consumption ratio o the sausage-based diet, or theact that they’ll do a Jaegermeister shot at literally any celebratory event (“the sun has gone behind the cloud – Jaegermiester!”) butthere is something keeping the everyday Austrian park builder ontheir toes. Head to Mayrhoen’s Penken Park, and you’re likely tond rails lined up with architectural precision; kickers shaped withlove, care and attention; landings that actually have a sweet spot;and even experimental structures such as a snow ‘skatebowl’ –complete with coping. Show a picture o that to a Frenchman, andhe’s likely to imagine lling it with coee.
This ongoing search or the ultimate unpark has led Austria to work with its European cousins. For a ew seasons the PenkenPark was shaped by none other than Henry Jackson – an expatBrit with a penchant or medicinal alcoholic shots. Again, such
collaborative moves show a willingness that is sorely lackingat the other end o the Alps. Ask a French resort owner i he’dconsider employing an Englishman and you might as well ollow it up with a request to borrow his Citroen DS and an enquiry asto whether his mistress was ree that evening too.
So i snowboarders are likely to ollow their noses to wherethe best parks lie, then we can surely expect Austria to overtakeits Gallic rival within a season or two. And while that’s cause orcelebration or those who like to leap into the air, slide down railsand get royally trashed at an après ski bar listening to a technoversion o Who The Fuck Is Alice (complete with live brass-bandaccompaniment), or others, there will always be a romantic re-
lationship with our French neighbours that’s dicult to curtail. Yes, they hate us. Yes, every shopkeeper in the land snubs ourattempts at ordering a kilo o apples, and yes, their national heroonce asked Whitney Huston or a shag on live TV (whitelines.com/whitney-huston-shag) but here’s the thing: you know whatyou’re getting with the French. They’re rude, they don’t give afying g about service culture, and they still think that yellow headlights are the way orward. But god-dammit it’s a lovely place to visit or a week. And like the Chinatown restaurant
where they throw your tip at you i you leave coins – sometimesrudeness is really, really entertaining.
I Austria does manage to entice a majority o Brits this com-ing winter, it only really means the continuation o a decades-long tourism war. “Back in the Seventies, when skis were straightand Franz Klammer ruled the downhill,” writes Hardy in hisarticle, “most British skiers went to Austria anyway.”
“Yes the French hate us,
but at least You know
what You’re getting”
S O A P B O X
Chris MoranENGLISHMAN ABROAD
I L L U S T R A T I O N : N I C O L A R O W L A N D
52 whitelines.com
WL97_MoranColumn.indd 52 8/9/11 23:48:15
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