International Ski Conspiracy

Sanville's first post from Egypt:

For those of you who don’t know, I’m spending the semester in Cairo, Egypt. There isn’t a whole lot of snow here and I certainly didn’t bring my rollerskis (any excuse), but believe it or not, this post is actually about skiing. Many of you may know the story of my first few hours of Bowdoin, on my Pre-O. I tell it a lot. However, it bears repeating here for those of you that know, and for those of you that don’t, this will be the first of many tellings. Anyway, my first day at Bowdoin was spent on Farley Fields in preparation for my pre-orientation trip. I was late (surprise) and originally put in the wrong group. After a standard amount of Bowdoin time, the leaders discovered the gaffe and moved me into my actual group, right as everyone was making introductions. Coming to Bowdoin, I was under the mistaken impression that I would be the only Minnesotan on campus. Everyone at home asked me (after the standard question for graduated high schoolers: Oh, where are you going to school?), the what became equally formulaic, "Bow-do-in? Where’s that?" So, much to my surprise, I noticed a tall blond kid in my Pre-O group that looked familiar. The reason he looked familiar, I soon found out, was that I had skied against him in high school and he lived fifteen minutes from my house. He was from Mounds View, and his name was Dan Polasky. I had traveled 2,000 miles to a school no one in the Mid West has heard of, only to be on the same Pre-O has my virtual neighbor and member of former arch-rival school (stupid Mounds View).

Now I’m in Egypt. I’m staying in the international students dorm in the Zamalek district of Cairo (which is an awesome city, by the way). I know for a fact that no Bowdoin students are in Cairo this semester (I checked, and no offense meant guys, it was kind of part of the draw). Most of the international students are American, but they’re from all over. Tonight Reslife offered us free Felucca rides on the Nile. They’re a type of wide, medium sized, wooden boat with a triangular sail. It turned out that the free rides were actually a trick to trap us while an RA gave us an orientation spiel, but it was really cool all the same. Through some mishap (pretty common here in Egypt, or even applying to go to Egypt), I, along with a handful of other students, were stuck waiting for a much later bus. While waiting in the lobby of the dorm, I heard “Chris Sanville!!!” shouted by an oddly familiar voice. I looked over and could not believe my eyes. Standing there, grinning at me, was GUNNAR FREAKIN’ DANCER!!!

Most of you probably don’t know that name, but as you’ve hopefully guessed by the first part of the story, Gunnar and I skied against each other in high school. He’s from Hastings, another Northeast suburb of the Twin Cities. We were friends from just seeing each all the time at every ski race and at Troll (a hell hole - for more explanation talk to Polasky). We kind of fell out of contact when we went to college, but strangely, two of his best friends in college are related closely to other parts of my life. It’s a small, small, small, smaller than Bowdoin feels world.

In short, at the far corner of the globe, over 5,000 miles away from home, in the middle of a desert country, I run into another Nordic Skier. This leads me to believe that there is something very odd and possibly sinister at work. I’ll call it an international ski conspiracy. No matter where I go, no matter how far I flee, skiers that I know will be there following me. I have no idea how large this organization is, but I’m sure its well waxed, scraped, and brushed tentacles stretch all the way to the most Northern frozen tip or Norway to the sunny Southern outback of Australia. I’m onto them now and its only a matter of time before I figure what they’re up to and why they’re following me. Sound far-fetched? How else do you explain how EVERYONE in Minnesota knows Jeff Bush?