It seems a strange question from a ski lift operator: “Where do you want to go?”
Surely these things only travel one way, I think, and my reply of “Er, top of the mountain?” prompts patient unfolding of a piste map of Flims. The attendant points at an option and I nod politely.
He presses one of numerous buttons on a console and gestures me towards some tube station-style sliding doors. They swish open, and alone, I enter a gondola with tinted windows.
Sometime later, I’m a little concerned.
I’ve passed several stations where I could have alighted – had the doors even opened.
