I was living in a refugee camp in the Austrian Alps near Innsbruck. My cousin who was around 11 or 12 at the time made me a pair of skis with leather strap bindings. The camp was located at the base of a mountain and there were some sloped meadows that were skiable. We hiked up, and we skied down. That was in 1949 when I was three years old. Came to the USA in 1951.
Very cool. You have a story similar to my fathers, except he's got 10 years on you and wound up near Munich after fleeing the Russians from Breslau.