frances
lai
SNOWBOMBING
April 15
What a week. Looking back, I can indeed say it was worth it, but that’s not to say there weren’t a few moments when I was willing to screw it all and forego my deposit.
Things were not off to a good start; need I remind you that as a steward, I was held to playing chaperone on the coach ride from London to Mayrhofen, totaling about 21 hours each way, including the ferry. Since most of the driving was done through the middle of the night, it would have been fine. I was banking on getting in a few good hours and passing the darkness away easily. Unfortunately for my acorn-sized bladder, the bus drivers were relentless in sticking to their tight schedule and refused to pull over for bathroom breaks or even water. All the festivalgoers got wasted on the ferry, so they were howling of thirst but were spared no mercy. Refusing to use the loo onboard, I was kept awake all night by my rupturing bladder.
Once we finally got to the village, the representatives who were supposed to direct everyone to their hotels and chateaus were nowhere to be found. Then of course, everyone turned to us for answers and directions—impossible for us to know as it was our first time in the village as well. The best we could do was pull up Google maps on our phone and show people the location of their lodgings. Our lead supervisor was of absolutely no help and seemed to have no idea what was going on, a trend that would continue throughout the duration of the festival.
After we were checked into our accommodations, we were given instructions to meet with the production supervisor at our assigned venue. I was already in quite a foul mood and needed to shower to slough off the sweat and resentment that had been accumulating over the last 22 hours. When we met with him thirty minutes later, we were given vouchers for lunch and told to return in three hours ready to work. I was positively fuming at the idea of being made to work a nine-hour shift until 4am after not having slept a wink on a daylong journey during which I was also “working.” When we finally tucked in at half past four, a myriad of nasty thoughts were stewing in my mind.
Kyle had difficulty wrangling me out of bed to hit the slopes, partly because it was only a few hours after my eyes had shut and partly because I was still in the mood to be annoyed and hateful. The continental breakfast offered at the Postschlössl was better than most though, with an assortment of breads, cold cuts, cheese, vegetables, spreads, cereals, yogurt, tea, coffee, and juices.
We still had to line up for our rentals and lift tickets, which took forever because everyone else was on the same schedule. But once I was carving down the first run of the day, my demeanor did a total 180. Finally getting to snowboard made me remember why I signed up for this deal in the first place, and it all of a sudden became so worth it. The mountain is massive enough that you can spend an entire day without doing the same run twice. Plus, the festival outfitted the peak with stages and speakers in choice locations, so you can enjoy the beats while snowboarding or having a pint on a cushy beanbag.
The festival itself was unlike any I’ve ever attended, having been to quite a few. There were no huge fences that marked where the festival starts or ends: the entire village IS the festival. No camping, no tents, no horrid festival food, no port-a-potties. Any music festival built on the premise of snowboarding by day and dancing by night is a brilliant model.
To the same effect, this was my very first Alpine holiday. Growing up snowboarding in Tahoe, it was a different experience entirely. The gondola is central to all the hotels and chateaus, so the end of the day is capped with a five-minute walk instead of a car ride. It’s so nice to walk off the gondola and be able to get out of your snow clothes and shower in less than ten minutes. You’d be lucky to make it to your car that fast in Tahoe. Finally I understand what Northstar is trying to model itself after: the snow resort and its Village, complete with condos, shopping, dining, a spa and even a movie theater, attempts lateral self-sufficiency to recreate an Alpine experience. But as is often the case with American versions of their European counterparts, it lacks the charm and appeal that commercial enterprises regularly hamper.
The stewarding job itself wasn’t too bad. Essentially we were given menial tasks like running the coat check and standing around to make sure people didn’t do stupid things or bring drinks into the bathroom. Stewarding became way better when we figured out we could drink on the job and no one was really keeping super close tabs on us. This was how we were able to sneak off and catch any acts we didn’t want to miss. Another awesome perk was the fact that my staff wristband allowed unlimited access anywhere—even venues that had been closed after reaching maximum occupancy. While working we were usually always in view of the different stages, and dancing was definitely encouraged. The only drawback was being placed at a stage with ruddy music. Typically we went to bed between 4 or 5am, woke up at 8 to head for the peaks, came back when the lifts closed at 5pm, ate, showered, and slept till our shift began at 9. We probably averaged 3-4 hours of sleep each day, but we were also probably more serious about snowboarding than others.
Expectedly, the Prodigy swept the entire festival. They played on the Forest stage, hands down the best venue, and their show ended with a firework finale. I didn’t realize how much I actually don’t listen to the
Prodigy—yet thinking about it now, it’s not exactly the easiest listening. Granted, I knew the big hits and I’d heard a handful of other tunes, but it seemed like everyone else in the audience knew every lyric to every song, which is understandable when you consider the primary demographic of white English males.
The Chemical Brothers, been there, done that. I’d have more to say if it was a live set. Before arriving to the festival, I was probably most excited to see Four Tet, but his set wasn’t anything memorable. Tom Odell, what a whining snore. My favorite discovery of new music is definitely Foxes. I’m not a huge fan of female vocals set to electronic beats, but Foxes is either an exception or an act that seriously makes me reconsider my stance. She has some pretty good, fun beats, her singing accompanies the music rather than takes priority over it, and her voice ain’t too bad either. The real icing on the cake is her onstage persona—not that it’s singularly amusing or remarkable, but that it’s not annoying or trying to be overtly sexual, which is the pitfall of so many female performers.
So, is stewarding at Snowbombing worth it? Abridged answer: absolutely. Winded answer: BUT expect a few moments of unpleasantness and pray that you have a cool shift leader like I did. In the end, I had a pretty good time and wouldn’t hesitate to do it again if ever I’m free in April. Looking back, had I been a better sport from the beginning and gotten over my volatile mood faster, it probably would have allowed for an even better experience.
