The giggling old ladies helped us with our tiny snowman, then one of them put it in a plastic bag and without a word of English waved and pointed at our car.
“They want us to take it home.” I said.
“No silly,” my wife replied. “It’s for our car. Locals drive down from the mountains with snowmen on the bonnet to show how high they’ve been.”
Everyone stared as we took the hairpins out of the village.