I woke up confused. Where was I? I stumbled out of bed, scanned the room and tripped over my suitcase (How did that get there?). Half asleep I looked in the mirror. I had hair like Doc from Back to the Future and resembled Alan from The Hangover the morning after. It was only then that it clicked: I was in Italy. Staying awake for the previous 48 hours had done its damage as my brain took the guts of five minutes to recuperate. Dave, who slept like a baby the entire trip, woke shortly afterwards bright-eyed and ready to take on whatever the day threw at him. So, with the knowledge that prolonged sleeplessness was bad for me, Dave and I headed down to breakfast. At breakfast it was evident I wasn’t the only one who was feeling the effects of the long journey. I was welcomed by a host of students who frankly looked stoned. As we all devoured our breakfasts the effects of fatigue slowly eased. Dave and I had the task of organising the students’ skis and boots before walking them up the slopes. At this stage they were all ecstatic as all one hundred of them piled into the fitting room. Imagine rush hour in New York and multiply that by ten. The excitement was something to behold as the students eagerly peered up at the slopes and I took the first group up there. The walk up was hilarious as the students bore the skis on their shoulders for the first time. I had a few falls and one or two students, who probably weighed less than the skis themselves, swayed from side to side losing their balance with each sway. The ice-capped slopes crept into view and...