Letter from Europe: Seasonal Angst

Upcoming in the next Vo2max:

“Now I just want the snow to melt so I can sit outside in the sun,” says Claudia, my local barber, in her thick local Austrian dialect. Just a few months earlier she was telling me how much she was looking forward to colder weather so she could get her skis out.

Such is life in countries where the contrast between seasons is so stark. Compared to New Zealand, the seasonal differences are huge. The average minimum temperature in July in Auckland is 8°C. In Salzburg, my nearest city, it is -6°C for the equivalent month, January. Average maximums in summer reach 24°C while Auckland hits 23°C.

I live in a small alpine village and the way people react to changing seasons is fascinating. If there hasn’t been snow when there should have been, people are tetchy, endlessly commenting on winters past when they were up to their armpits in powder.

One September we woke up to 5cm of snow on the ground. “Far too early, far too early,” said my landlord in an ominous tone.

By mid-November my bike was packed away after a glorious summer of cycling. During my last ride of 2009 I wondered how I would survive five months of winter without riding a bike. One week later, I didn’t care. Summer was history, all I wanted was snow.

This winter came relatively late but at the end of November when temperatures dropped to well below freezing and the peaks had a nice white covering, I travelled to a large sports shop to purchase my ski season pass for the surrounding region.

Bear in mind, this is one of many shops that sells the 500 Euro pass, and yet the queue was dozens long. There were plenty more people buying flash new equipment. “The season starts now,” said a friend I bumped into in the queue.

Europe’s 2009/10 winter was a cold one, making headlines worldwide, but for the most part people carried on as normal, enjoying the conditions when they could by skiing, snow shoe walking, cross country skiing, or sledding. There were also a few wry smiles and sniggers when discussing how a puny 10cm of snow brought the UK to a halt.

My cycling club put on ski touring trips instead of bunch rides and aside from a handful of hardnuts, roads were clear of cyclists.

And then suddenly in mid-March, the country’s collective mindset changed. “When will winter release its grip?” Asked newspapers. “I’m fed up with shovelling snow off the driveway,” said the landlord.

Right on cue, two weeks before Easter, the sun came out and temperatures switched from minus five to plus 10. This was merely a glimmer of spring yet joggers and cyclists emerged from hibernation and the shops were packed with folk buying new bikes and summer sports gear.

Ski slopes emptied and those who did take to the slopes were more interested in sipping coffee and schnapps in mountain huts rather than taking a final few runs before the pistes returned to green farming pastures.

As I write this I’m still in winter mode. I don’t know how I’ll survive until next November without skiing but probably by the next Letter from Europe, it will be a distant memory and life will be all about cycling.

“Isn’t this weather great?” Claudia the barber says. “Thank goodness summer is finally here!”

Letter from Europe: What’s the Point?

Latest Letter from Europe piece, currently to be found in the March edition of Vo2max:

From the end of December 2009 to the first week in January 2010, one of the biggest annual events in English sport took place in front of thousands of cheering, boisterous fans and received hours of prime time TV coverage.

The eventual champion was hyped throughout Sky TV’s broadcasts as one of England’s finest sportsmen and media across the spectrum haled him as unstoppable.

I am of course talking about the Professional Darts Corporation’s World Championships, and the now 13-time winner, Phil ‘The Power’ Taylor from Stoke on Trent.

Often viewed as a joke outside of the handful of countries that boast professional players, darts is a popular sport in the UK and top players can earn big money. Taylor, 49, picked up prize money to the value of NZ$1.8m during 2009 and has a number of endorsements.


It’s not hard to understand why folk like darts so much. Who doesn’t enjoy throwing a few arrows while sinking a couple of pints at your local? But you may be wondering how a pub game with overweight, tattooed, middle-aged ‘athletes’ has so much credibility and coverage in a supposedly sensible country like England?

I honestly don’t have an answer. However, I would say that watching a darts match can actually be very intriguing. The players’ consistent accuracy is amazing and seeing their nerves crumble at critical moments makes for great TV.

Venues for major championships look more like German beer halls, with rows of tables filled with alcohol-fuelled fans. Each player is introduced to the crowd with a boxing-style entrance and is accompanied to the stage by a scantily-clad model and their own signature music. Taylor usually comes out to Aaron Copland’s Fanfare for the Common Man followed by Snap’s The Power.

Games can go right down to the wire, steady hands disappear, and the audience screams at every winning or losing shot. It’s cracking stuff.

The sport seems to have more than its fair share of flamboyant characters, and their antics only add to the general atmosphere of excitement and merriment. Former professional Bobby ‘The King of Darts’ George used to enter the arena wearing a cape, huge gold chains and a dozen gold rings, and waving a candelabra. ‘Voice of Darts’ commentator Sid Waddell is known for his bizarre references and metaphors that can leave viewers rolling on the floor or scratching their heads in puzzlement.

“If we'd had Phil Taylor at Hastings against the Normans, they'd have gone home,” he said during one world championship. Another time he described mulletted 2001 champion Steve Beaton as, “The Adonis of darts, what poise, what elegance - a true roman gladiator with plenty of hair wax.”

This is not an endurance activity. Darts will never be part of the Olympics and its stars will always be overweight, tattooed, middle-aged men. But I encourage you to put that aside and if you get a chance, give watching darts a chance – it’s fun, and ultimately, isn’t that what sport is supposed to be?