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Patrice, the senior member of the group, suddenly piped up. "And what about a lunch stop? " And then he laughed. "After all, I didn't come here just for the skiing. Why don't we stop at that little shepherd's hut above Champery. It's right on the way..." Most everyone nodded happily in agreement. The aggros in the group (Fifou and Jean-Phil... okay, and me too) tried to hold out for another run or two. But the others in the posse wouldn't hear of it. Time for a Fendant stop.
And that's how I found myself sitting on a sun-kissed terrace on a Swiss mountainside with one of the most stunning alpine backdrops found anywhere in the world, surrounded by a joyful group of skiers, eating local sausage, sharp cheese, fresh bread... and drinking the sweet nectar of the alpine gods.
I could try and describe the taste of Fendant. But it wouldn't be enough. I'd have to include the tangy smell of the pine trees around us, the soft breeze bringing hints of summer from the valley, the easy-going camaraderie of my new friends, the scenery, the warmth of the sun, the Swiss oompapa band playing in the background. And even then, I'm not sure I could convey the perfect happiness of that moment. Sometimes, you see, it's not just about the powder...