Loveletter: Aspen, Colorado

A decades-long love affair with the former mining town

By Patrick Janelle

My connection with Aspen goes back more than a decade. In 2004, I moved from my hometown of Fort Collins, Colorado to the tiny mining town-turned ski resort and landed a job at a fancy timeshare managed by the Ritz-Carlton. I would snowboard in the mornings, cruise to the base of the slopes in the afternoon, throw on my uniform—a pressed, white collared shirt and a tweed vest—and make my way to the concierge desk to wait on guests. To this day, it was one of the best jobs I’ve had.

The demands could be high: the kids could be cranky if they couldn’t use the pool after ski lessons or the dinner reservation was too late. The parents were crankier if the room wasn’t ready on time, the kids weren’t sent off to ski lessons, or the dinner reservations weren’t available at the hottest place in town. I would smile and do my best to resolve any issues (occasionally going shopping to send appropriate gifts of apology to guests). And no matter the issue that day, I would be out with my friends that night singing karaoke at the dive bar, and I would be shredding some fresh powder the next day. Life was good.

Since that time, I’ve been back to Aspen a handful of times. Each visit, it's like returning home. I get to catch up with my friends over dinner and visit the old haunts that still exist (be sure to check out my Aspen City Guide for both old haunts and new additions). And I smile when I pull out a five dollar bill to tip the concierge or the bell staff, wondering where they will spend their hard earned cash between sunset and sunrise when the day starts again, snowy and new.