My happiest memory of skiing holidays remains the gentle hissing of the cows' milk as it hit the pail, and the shuffling of hooves on the cobbled floor. The Italian ski-resort was little more than a village. There was just one inn where we could gather in the evening, which made the experience convivial and inclusive. Nobody was left out. We sat and chatted, drank gluhwein, warmed ourselves by the fire and basked in a stew of warm humanity.
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