While the community has enclaves oozing with opulence, I find little of the ostentatious display of wealth that permeates many American ski resorts. Our final day, we all head for Parsenn, the largest of Davos' ski areas. A funicular rail line leaves from near the hotel. On this Saturday morning, its cars are stuffed tighter than a shopper's suitcase. Emerging from this claustrophobe's nightmare, I take a deep breath and look across the mountain tops.
Ski runs lead in three directions.
They stretch toward endpoints many kilometres away. With the enthusiasm of a Guinness record quester, I traverse runs from easy to difficult. Often, I ski places where I have no business being. When things go wrong, I slide like a human hockey puck, flailing down packed slopes. Other times, I leave gaping divots in the powder.