Hi there, planning a little getaway in Austria. Want to hop on a plane and join me? Massages, sauna, steambaths, skiing, toboggan runs. . . .

It was a big ask, maybe, inviting my friends to make an impromptu trip to meet me on another continent. They were busy, for sure. But either—or both—grabbing a flight for a last-minute ski trip wasn’t unimaginable. Patty and Lisa had shown up to my Bavarian wedding 12 years earlier (have passports, and will travel). They were always game for fun.

I’d been in Munich for seven months, enjoying my partner’s academic sabbatical year abroad—though not every moment of it. I studied Deutsch, took forest walks, and baked, converting cups to grams via a phone app. The Tollhouse cookie cravings were real. But eventually, I needed to orchestrate additional comfort.

I wanted to hear my girlfriends’ voices, and I hoped they’d seize the day.

NextTribe takes small groups of women ages 45+ on transformational trips across America and around the world. Won’t you join us? Learn more here.

Lisa replied to my invitation instantly: Ahhhh . . . doesn’t that sound heavenly! Wish it was possible.

Patty, who’d just wrapped a months-long TV job and was looking at a break, gently bit.

Hmmmmmm. Where in Austria?

Meet Me on the Mountain

I sent Patty a proposal for the trip, including planes and trains at January’s favorable rates, an upscale spa resort in a tiny lake town flanked by two Tyrolean peaks, and downhill and cross-country skiing. (Plus: night snowshoeing!) The rendezvous date was close enough to give us both a rush.

Patty can be a reluctant traveler, fearful of long flights, and we were bummed that Lisa would be busy wrangling four-year-olds at her preschool job. But where Pat was concerned, I’d reached out on a perfect day. She’d been working like crazy and was anxious for a fling. This girl was a crackerjack in her middle-school Blizzards ski group back in Michigan, our home state. She was immediately hooked by the promise of a few days of screaming down snowy hills. Patty was in.

“A little escape,” she recalls thinking. “Just us gals.”

Over the next few days, we booked. She would travel 4,066 miles. Me? Around 60. Staying south of Munich’s center, I was hardly two hours away from the Germany-Austria border. After being roommates and then neighbors, forever, Patty and I hadn’t hung out in six long months. I couldn’t wait to hook up with her in this fluffy wonderland.

Last-Minute Ski Trip: Rendezvous in a Whiteout

The stretch leading up to departure was an absolute flurry. Not only was I, as a mom, and a working one at that, busy fastening down the proverbial fort. But the weather outside was frightful. It was a winter of record-breaking snowfall in Europe. Serious powder! I was dying to don chic goggles and summon my long-lost snowplow stop.

Avalanche concerns meant roads were closed—and our entire trip in jeopardy.

Then, 24 hours before I was to board a train in the direction of Salzberg and the Sound of Music-al hills beyond, I got an email from one of the hoteliers I’d contacted.

“I just received a phone call from the local firefighter station. They had to block the roads to Hinterthiersee,” he said of the remote ski town we were headed for. “You cannot reach us today, and maybe [not] even tomorrow.” Avalanche concerns meant buses and taxis couldn’t make the last stretch of the journey to this vest-pocket village. Patty, still stateside, was scheduled to land in Munich the next morning.

Would Weather Ruin Our Last-Minute Ski Trip?

Patty texted me from her window seat on the plane: Can I Über from the train station?

I guess I didn’t completely fill her in.

Seeing you was like, ‘Oh my god, made it,’ said my friend Patty with a laugh.

I was naïve, and she was clueless—which added up to undaunted. Long story short, snow boots, streams of texts, and a couple of death-defying taxi drives later, we checked into our four-star, all-inclusive spa hotel. Like Lisa predicted, heavenly. Somehow, the lights were on, and the chefs and massage therapists had made it to work. Now, we didn’t give two hoots what happened.

“Seeing you was like, Oh my god, made it,” Patty laughs, as she remembers the moment she arrived.

Read more: Six Siblings Recreate Family Magic on the Ski Slopes

Against All Odds, Nothing to Fear Here

What followed was a couple of invigorating and injury-free days of downhill skiing at Tirolina, the local mini-resort. I somehow called up my muscle-memoried, if awkward, chairlift dismount and didn’t even kill myself. “We were good!” Patty recalls.

We took a thousand smartphone shots, our cheeks pink, bodies strong. I thought about the first time we’d skied together in high school, me a beginner trying to keep up with Patty and Lisa as they zoomed among the moguls. As adults, we shredded in New York’s Catskills on a getaway we call the “Ladybug Weekend.” Our motel had a creepy infestation.

We took a thousand smartphone shots, our cheeks pink, bodies strong. I thought about the first time we’d skied together back in high school.

“No matter how old I get,” Patty says, “I want to be in shape to ski. It’s so fun and so free.” It truly is, and on these days together in Austria it certainly was. “You go so fast,” she adds. “I was ecstatic.”

Girls’ Week Out on the Slopes

In the evenings, we shared wonderful meals and sipped good wine. We didn’t talk to anyone—just each other. The hotel’s stunning soaking pool had a pass-under that took us outside. After dinner, we swam out into the night, the moon’s glow reflecting on white drifts. The only two people in the water, we laughed about old times as falling snowflakes landed on our lashes and wet heads.

Breakfasts were luxurious with chewy bread and chocolate croissants, passion fruits (Patty’s first!), and—customary in these lands—smokey hams and gooey cheeses. The coffee rocked. We devoted one day to relaxing, reading, and massages—thanks to a lovely masseur’s hands and my tired ski legs, I emerged the most rubbery I’ve ever been.

Looking at my friend of almost 30 years, I saw what I needed—someone who’d circle the world to eat Nutella-smeared bread with me.

Our last day in the tiny valley was brilliant with the sun. Snow had fallen hard on the rolling peaks the night before. We borrowed the hotel’s cross-country gear and laughed and squealed on a surprisingly tricky trek along a nearby ridge. Our blood pumping and hearts nearly bursting from pratfalls, we sat down in the glistening snow. Patty and I had close to 30 years of friendship between us. We didn’t need to speak.

“You were gone for a long time, and I didn’t see you,” Patty reminds me now. But she did see me then. On the way, I’d grown wiser from moving abroad. In my loneliness and love for her and every friend, I’ve held onto for years. Looking at her, I saw what I needed—someone who’d circle the world to eat Nutella-smeared bread with me.

We were so smart and so lucky to grab that moment—and live it to the hilt.