Alps Ice ice baby!
There's snow snow stopping Anna Maria Espsäter as she slides her way around the French Alps...
“So,” they asked me, “You’re an experienced skier then?” “Me? Oh yes!”, was my blissfully ignorant reply. Unfortunately, I’d failed to take into account the slight difference in ‘hill sizes’ in my native Sweden and the French Alps…
However, since pride comes before a fall into a large heap of snow, I felt quietly confident as I stood in the winding lift queue in the resort of Brides-les-Bains. Since my French is most definitely worse than my skiing skills, I was just wondering whether this might mean ‘Brides in the Bath’ and if so, where I could find said tub full of white-clad ladies, when I was rudely awoken from my revelry – my turn had come to make my way through the turnstile contraption and onto the ski-lift itself. Consequently I merrily held up the lift queue for what seemed like an eternity to all parties, having placed my ski pass in the wrong pocket. Things could only get better…
And they did! Up, up and away in the lift, and the largest skiing area in the world spread out before me. The Three Valleys are home to resorts such as Courchevel, Méribel and Val Thorens and – best of all – a weekly ski-pass gives you access to the whole area, linked together by pistes and lifts. From humble beginnings back in 1925, this part of France has developed into quite possibly the best place to ski anywhere on earth.
Opting to test my ski legs in Méribel first, I gingerly headed for the first, reasonably tame-looking, hill. The sun was shining from a bright blue sky, the temperature was a few degrees below zero, a light dusting of snow powdered the Christmas tree pines surrounding the pistes, and soon I was whizzing up and down the slopes like I’d never done anything else. Nothing better than a false sense of security on the first day… Exploring Courchevel the following day, I was really getting into the swing of things, having worked out that green and blue pistes were, “Gosh, I can really do this” runs, whereas red and black ones were of the, “Oh bloody hell, how do I turn around?” variety.
Finally, on the third morning, I decided to make a longer day of it and packed a rucksack full of trashy books and tasty nibbles to take with me. The gorgeous weather was staying put, so what better plan than to catch a few rays on the terrace of one of the many chalet-style restaurants? But did things seem ever so slightly wobblier? Too late I realised that the large rucksack on my back was playing havoc with my balance and as soon as I tried setting off gracefully, I promptly landed on my backside. Still, I had to make it down again somehow – preferably to the nearest source of glühwein. Sliding slowly downhill, my wayward skis refusing to obey me, I went straight into the nearest heap of snow and could not, for love nor money, manage to get myself upright again. As I lay there, a sprawled damsel in distress, another damsel took it upon herself to try and rescue me, but no matter how she tried, she couldn’t get me up either – so much for graceful. Both of us laughing uncontrollably, she finally managed to heave me off the ground with the aid of two ski poles. I didn’t quite find my bride in the bath, but this lady still put a smile on my face for the rest of my shaky journey down. Time for an après-ski aperitif – from piste to pissed in no time.
Useful info
Anna Maria travelled to France with Ramblers Worldwide Holidays. The eight-day trip starts from £1,189.00 and includes flights, with British Airways London-Lyon return, accommodation, meals and a ski pass for the Three Valleys. www.ramblersholidays.co.uk
