The Ski Club of International Journalists: 95 people, 23 Countries, & a Shared Love of the Snow.

This year we're headed to Kazakhstan. Are you a snow-loving journalist? Get in touch.

Below the Humber River roared, a quiet orchestra enveloping nearly 1800 feet of elevation. Above, a small mountain in Canada’s easternmost province played host to 95 journalists from 23 countries, of which I was one.

Each year the venue changes. We’ve darkened the hallowed hills of Austria, Bulgaria, Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Russia, Spain, Slovenia, Slovakia, Switzerland, Czechia, and the US repeatedly. Meanwhile, Andorra, Argentina, Finland, Britain, Japan, Morocco, Norway, Poland, Serbia, Sweden, and Turkey have also hosted us. This year we were at Marble Mountain in Newfoundland, a slice of paradise on a sparsely populated island.

When I first heard about the Ski Club of International Journalists (SCIJ), it sounded outlandish and bizarre. Journalists from around the world who get together and ski every year? Was this real? As I came to discover, it certainly was. In 1955, a Frenchman by the name of Gilles de la Rocque found himself at the Pink Palace in Paris for a press conference with foreign ministers from the Soviet Union, France, Britain, and the U.S. As geopolitical tensions ran high, la Rocque expected some heated exchange, or at a minimum some snide remarks from those on either side of the curtain. Instead, he found radio silence, no communication at all. The soviets spoke among themselves while the westerners did the same. No intercultural exchange. No free-flow ideas. No effort at humanizing the other. It was then that he cooked up a silly idea: what if they all went skiing together?

In 1955, after much diligent work that silly idea became a reality when Gilles de la Rocque and Marcel Pasche pulled together journalists from Yugoslavia, Austria, Belgium, France, Italy, Luxembourg, Switzerland, and West Germany. 68 years later, SCIJ lives on, boasting 31 member nations and over 1000 members. At my inaugural conference in March, I was one of the youngest and freshest participants. Almost everybody else had been there before, many for decades. They kept coming back. One gentleman—Michel—had been part of SCIJ for more than 50 years.

On day one, I marched alongside 22 others, each holding the flag of our motherland. The following evening, during “nations night,” the teams presented nourishment and libations from their home countries to the other delegations. Mixing Serbian Rakia with Italian wine, Canadian vodka, and Slovenian honey liqueur did inebriate me ever so slightly, but I’ll remember that glorious first nation’s night for years to come.

After the cross country race at Blow Me Down Trails, the Dutch team served Erwtensoep, their signature dish and a SCIJ tradition, to over 100 people. Meanwhile, a few days prior, the finish line of the Giant Slalom race was furnished by hot spiced wine and coffee. This, I thought to myself, was soft diplomacy.

I left Newfoundland with a Serbian Jersey, a Croatian ski mask, a Slovenian hat, and an Italian sweater. For one surreal, suspended week on an island somewhere in North America, borders and age gaps and ideological differences faded into a whipped cream wonderland of camaraderie, mutual understanding, and vibrant human connection, tied together by a shared love of the mountains and of skiing.  

If you’re a journalist who would like to join SCIJ, reach out to your national team’s captain. If you’re based in the US, reach out to me (snewman477@gmail.com). The registration deadline for our Khazakstan conference in March is 26 January. Don’t miss the boat :)

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