Ali- If you had a chance to watch the Switzerland Second promotional video, then you know that Saint Moritz is the picturesque ski town that Switzerland built for rich Russians. We are not rich Russians, but had visitors – Joe’s parents and Maya’s cousins – who wanted to see what unaffordable Swiss skiing looked like. So we did a quick survey of the weather in Davos, Zermatt and Saint Moritz, with the latter promising to supply several days of sunshine (because Russian fur coats look best in the winter sunshine).
After a quick perusal at AirBnB options, we decided that the neighboring town of Celerina was close enough to Saint Moritz, allowing the 7 of us to stay for only $600/night instead of $2000/night. I had trouble picturing rich Russians opting for AirBnB; I mean can you imagine what that post-stay review would look like:
Most not so terrible stay. Caviar left by hosts was not at precisely 18 degrees Celsius but place conveniently located next to wodka bar.
Anyway we arrived by train on Saturday and, after a brief and highly unproductive phone conversation with the Italian speaking host, managed to connect to get keys. We wandered around the town marveling at the sad lack of snow but basking in the warm weather.
The cousins were game for rolling the intestinal distress dice with a traditional Swiss cheese fondue dinner so after getting our rental ski gear and lift tickets sorted out for Sunday and Monday, we headed out for dinner. I can no longer do cheese fondue after the 3 hour fondue gondola described several posts ago – something about being trapped freezing cold and hung-over in a small metal box stewing in cheese miasma has ruined me for fondue. But I shared a Raclette dinner with Joe and Grandpa Rich, which also involves melted cheese and cardiovascular risk. 
Sunday morning Joe, Maya, the cousins Jake and Liam, and I headed across a parking lot to the Celerina gondola, which carried us up the hill into the Corviglia area of the Swiss Alps. After a couple gondolas and a chair lift, we were on the slopes. The slopes in the Alps are notable for the fact that what’s considered on-piste and what’s considered off-piste is completely arbitrary, as there are no trees at that elevation and so boundless options for plowing a route. There are just these huge expanses of snow with a LosAngeles highway sized ski run randomly plopped down. Drunk monkeys could be driving the piste- making equipment at night and it would still work out ok, though I’m pretty sure the Swiss government would require the monkeys to undergo proper training, certification and monkey plow driver guild registration prior to hire. 
Now all kids were warned about the high probability for sunburn and told to put on sunscreen but here was what we found at the end of the day:
For day 2 we headed over to Corvatsch, the glacier area at some 11,000 feet above sea level. We couldn’t fit all the kids and skis in the Maserati so we were forced to take the local bus, which was packed with similarly sports car bereft skiers.
The most notable part of the Corvatsch ski area turned out to be the terrain park; I’m generally a giant chicken when it comes to terrain parks but this one had a small ski jump that ended in a giant airbag. Foolishness with zero consequences!!! So of course I had to do it. Even knowing that there was zero danger of bodily harm I admit to a high level of anxiety as I raced down the hill and launched off the ramp. I didn’t actually pee my ski pants, but there was a non-zero probability of wet longjohns that first run. I’m happy to report that everyone in our little group launched themselves into the airbag, many of us repeatedly. 
Afterwards we headed to the top for lunch and a view. 
Both were excellent. At that point I had to say auf wiedersehen to the crew and head back to Zurich to get ready for my trip to Lisbon for the International Workshop on HIV and HCV Observational Databases meeting (affectionately called IWHOD [i-wod]). I’ll let Joe pick up the story from here.