November 17, 2013 - Written by: Lauren Williams

The Real Life of a Seasonnaire

A very close friend of mine is about to head off with her camera and be a ship photographer for the next 8 months. Another close friend of mine is soon to head to Canada to do a snowboard instructor course. Another friend of mine has been applying for ski season jobs left right and centre (she’s now staying…and she’ll kill me when she realises that I’m very happy that she’s not leaving me to fend for myself in Cornwall).

I’ve been oozing with jealousy since all three of my favourite girls have been talking about packing up and seeing the world. I know I’ve just got back from Tanzania and have just completed the challenge of a lifetime, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss those days of having no responsibility other than 7 rooms to clean a day and breakfast to serve. No bills, no rent, no deadlines. Bliss.

That was, until I remembered what life in a ski resort is really like. It’s not all rah-di-dah, endless days of powder or chilling out in hot-tubs on balconies with the likes of Spenny Matthews and Jamie Laing (although I wouldn’t exactly say no)!

So here we have it, the big, the bad and the ugly of life as a seasonnaire!

Personal space? What personal space?

Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, seven months of the year, you live, work, party and ride the slopes with the same 30 people. Had a tough morning at breakfast and need to scream into a pillow? Your roomie(s) will be right there to laugh at you. Got the hangover from hell on your day off? You live opposite the hotel nursery and get woken by screaming babies at 7am. Your roomie forgot to lock the bedroom door when she went to do her shift and you’re wandering around in your smalls looking for your thermals? Guaranteed a guest walks in asking if this is the head nannie’s office. Obviously not, mate.

The dramas!

OH! The dramas! Managed to catch a glimpse of Snow, Sex and Suspicious Parents on BBC Three yet? It’s like that, but worse. Every night after evening service, almost every member of staff will just “pop in for one” because well, it’d be rude not to. Five hours later the whole team are more than likely five jugs of Jager, 7 pints of dirty German beer and a few cheap shots in. Each. Sexual tension rises after a whole 24 hours of being in each others company and most of the staff have either slept with each other or seen everyone naked at least once by the end of training week.

This causes jealousy, tears and tantrums galore. I’ve seen shoes doused in shampoo and beer thrown out of windows (not the precious beer!) to the ice below, all because the guy in question stayed in his own room.

The food

The dreadful, dreadful food. Pasta, pasta, pasta, cake and pasta. Tea that doesn’t get hot enough because you’re at altitude. And it tastes funny because you’re living on UHT. Tea – the nectar of the Gods, tastes gak. You get home and you never want to see a carbonara again. Or milk in a carton – straight out of the udder or not at all please. I remember getting to the point where I just couldn’t stand to eat any more. Not pasta, AGAIN!? Eurgh.

Oh, and there’s no Cadbury’s, pasties or salt and vinegar crisps in resort.

The guests

Most of the time, you get a hotel or chalet full of wonderful guests who are fun and aren’t overly demanding. But every now and then, you’ll get an arrogant arse of a prick who thinks it’s fine to order you about and act as though he’s the king of England over a pain au chocolat that isn’t steaming hot, only to go to clean his room an hour later and he’s left you a steaming one in the bathroom.

What happens on season…

…Well and truly stays on season. This especially goes for relationships. I made the whopping mistake of thinking that a relationship with a boy that worked amazingly in Switzerland would still be great back home. So much no. People change on season, they can be who they want and they can say what they want, but at home they have to be well… Them.

People also have no standards in resort. At all. Nakedness? Normal. Swearing at a guest? Whatever. Setting the boys up to let them film you shagging someone? Quiet night.