Ski holiday in Arc 1950

Margaret and I in Arc 1950 with a view of Mont Blanc between our heads

Just back from a week in Arc 1950 with Margaret, Sam, Lucy, Arthur and Saoirse. It should have been the week that Arthur learned to ski, but instead of digging in his edges, Arthur dug in his heels and was not in co-operative mood.

He’s only just turned three and perhaps he’s a wee bit young to be skiing. I’m sure he could have done it, but he decided he didn’t want to and, with Arthur, there’s not a lot of hope persuading him once he’s made up his mind.

Sam had bought him a ski jacket, salopettes, reins and goggles and we hired boots, skis and a helmet when we were out there.

He is quite interested in skiing, but it all started to go wrong when we put his salopettes on. He didn’t like the feel of the material on his leg and that was that! He wouldn’t have his ski jacket on, he wouldn’t put his boots on (let alone his skis) and you’d think his ski helmet was full of wasps. When it came to the safety reins, we might have been trying to strangle him.

During the course of the week, we did manage a few small victories. It was like negotiating with the DUP over Brexit, and we compromised to the extent that he didn’t have to have his ski jacket on in the chalet. It would be put on outside and zipped up only half-way.

The salopettes seemed acceptable if he had trousers on underneath and so couldn’t feel the shiny material.

The chalet hosts (Henry and Chelsee – yes spelt with a double ee) gave us some moral support and persuaded Arthur that he should try his skis on. After a couple of days, we got them on in the house and he’d also try them outside but wouldn’t wear his helmet or reins.

Gosh, it was hard work! We did manage to take him up to Arc 2000 where there’s a magic carpet and learner slope. Sam took him down a couple of times (holding him between his legs) and once we let him go and he skied around 10 metres on his own.

It was a shame that the skiing didn’t grab him, he could certainly have done it, but maybe next year.

In other respects, it was a great week. The snow was crisp and deep and the weather sunny. In midweek, it snowed heavily one day and added a good 12 inches to the cover.

Arthur had real fun playing in the snow. We built a snowman and then knocked it down before any other kids did so, we threw a few snowballs, Arthur did a snow angel CLICK HERE and he had great fun crawling around on all fours in the deep snow. 

My skiing was successful by my standards. I fell over three times, skied around 20 to 25 miles in a morning or afternoon (between child-care duties) and really enjoyed some of the cruisy blues in the bowl above 2000. Now I’m 65, I get a reduced ski pass and have to pay €215 instead of €269.

Here’s me having a very gentle ski in the bowl above Arc 2000 CLICK HERE. There’s a fantastic view of Mont Blanc. 

On the last day, I went out with Sam and we skied down to Villaroger. The classic run in Arc is the Aiguille Rouge, which starts at the peak of the Aiguille Rouge at 3226m and runs down to Villaroger at 1200m. It’s a length of 16km and a descent of 2000m.

I’d done some of it a couple of years ago when Sam and Lucy were staying at Villaret and it hadn’t gone well. I was skiing down from above Arc 2000 on a fairly busy section but keeping control quite well when I hit a chunk of ice deposited where the pisting machine had not quite matched up its previous course. It was a famous comedy fall because I overtook Sam on my back, like a 15-stone turtle, but I did break my glasses and when we stopped at a café a little further down, I managed to push the lenses back in, but mixed them up so I had wonky vision until I realised what had happened and managed to sort them out that evening.

I’m a bit more practised these days and my technique is a little better, so Sam was sure I could do it and, besides, it would be a bit of an adventure.

It is good to have a destination for your skiing. I’ve enjoyed it when we’ve been across to La Plagne on the Vanoise Express cable car or down to Peisey-Vallandry at the other side of the mountain. We joined the Aiguille Rouge from the Lanchettes lift in Arc 2000. It’s a mix of red and blue runs, but the blues seem as steep as the reds in places and the snow was quite mounded during the afternoon, so I was at the limit of my skills.

Lower down, there’s the option to take a longer ski road rather than the steeper red, so I could go into cruise mode. I was happily doing this when the road crossed the red and I spotted a lone skier coming down fairly gingerly. His body language suggested he was way out of his comfort zone, but I didn’t think any more of it. I was cruising down when, suddenly, my ski wouldn’t turn and I found myself falling forwards. There were only two of us on this piste (Sam had skied ahead) but the chap had managed to ski into the back of me! I was lying in the snow and he was standing there leaning back on one pole and windmilling his left arm to try to regain balance.

I offered him a pole which he grabbed and pulled himself upright, then he did the same for me. He apologised and I said he should go ahead of me, which he did. I didn’t see him again, so he either skied into the forest or jumped straight on the lift at the bottom.

At Villaroger, the last section to the lift was the option of a short, but very steep section (heavily rutted) or a loop of ski road. I took the ski road, but halfway down the snow ran out and I misjudged my stop in the slush and skied onto a gravelly patch. My ski stopped and I carried on – my second tumble of the day. Thankfully, there was no-one to witness this one.

I’m glad I did it. Villaroger was one of those fails that you need to put right (like Renard) and it’s something to be able to complete a long, single run with such as fall in altitude. Perhaps, one day, I’ll do the black at the top.

In between skiing, I was helping out Margaret with child-care duties for Arthur and Saoirse. Saoirse is developing so fast. She’s just four months, but is looking around at everything, has enough core strength to pull herself forward in your arms and can move her head to her will. She’s starting to get some hand and eye co-ordination so she’s starting to grab things and pull them towards her mouth.

She likes to sit on your knee watching everything that’s going on; even better, she likes to be carried facing forward to get a better view. Best of all is to be stood up on the floor when she locks her legs and thinks she’s a fully-fledged toddler.

Here’s Saoirse enjoying some time on her feet CLICK HERE. She thinks she’s dancing, and Arthur is doing a great job of entertaining her. 

Babies seem to develop so fast at this age that I’m sure we saw her come on in the week we were with her. On a couple of days, I carried her in the sling, so we could take Arthur out to play in the snow. She goes to sleep fairly quickly and seems to quite like it.

It’s not so good for the carrier – I have to worry about the sun in her eyes, on her face or scalp, snow blowing in, getting too hot or too cold and whether the straps are rubbing her face. She also feels quite heavy after a couple of hours and you don’t want to sit down for long in case she wakes up. So, while Margaret and Arthur were sitting in a café in the sun, I was strolling around Arc 1950 until I was absolutely sure that she was asleep.

Actually, it’s rather nice to be cuddled up with my granddaughter and she gets lots of admiring looks and comments, especially when she’s in her white, fluffy suit. Generally, it’s other grandmothers, but I did get chatted up by one yummy mummy who thought she looked like a little polar bear. I can’t decide if Saoirse will be a redhead or a blonde. She’s got a covering of fine hair which looked ginger last time I saw her, but now appears to be lightening to blonde. Sam was blond when he was a toddler, but it gradually darkened as he got older.

It was also good to spend time with Arthur. We bought him a jigsaw (four puzzles in one box) which I thought would be in separate compartments, but it turned out they were all mixed up together. One was four pieces, one six, one eight and one 10, so the pieces were a little different in size. The first time he did it, I helped by sorting out the pieces (which wasn’t as simple as it sounds) and after that, he wanted to go it alone. At the end of the week, he was able to do all four, unaided, in 10 or 15 minutes.

Arthur studying the safety instructions.

His games are very imaginative. He wouldn’t have the ski reins anywhere near him, but he enjoyed playing with them. They were a crane, an anchor and a rescue rope; also a fishing line where we caught Big Bad Barry, a very snappy fish. He gets very frustrated when a game doesn’t work, but also engrossed in one as well. The reins had kept falling off the chair back when he wanted them to stay and I suggested we tie a knot. Did Arthur want me to show him how to tie a knot? No, he didn’t! But it will stop it falling off, I told him. Arthur gets furious at the supposed interference and dances with rage – being three must be a nightmare sometimes.

He made us laugh on the plane back to Gatwick. He was desperate to hear what the captain was saying and to listen to the recording of the safety instructions and was getting irate that other people were talking. Margaret gave him the safety instructions and he spent 20 studying it intently (looking quite comical in his pyjamas with dummy and cuddly toy). He was particularly interested in the oxygen masks.

Three months - three holidays

Mt Tiede, Tenerife's volcano, from the
EasyJet window.

This is a first for me. I've never had a week's holiday in the sun during the middle of winter, normally I'm heading somewhere colder for skiing.

The holiday was Sam's idea, he arranged it and asked if we wanted to come along. Tenerife was chosen because you can fly directly from Jersey. We had an early flight from Gatwick (bag drop 6am), so we stayed overnight at the airport to avoid a miserable 3am start.

Tenerife is a popular winter destination for we Brits. I didn’t realise how popular until I mentioned I was going on holiday there. So many people seem to own property in the Canaries, or have mates who let them use properties or go there every year for a break from the gloomy British winter.

I was particularly looking forward to going to a Spanish-speaking destination, so I could practise my language skills and (perhaps) even show off. As it turned out I didn’t get much further than hello, good morning, please and thank you; although I did ask for a spoon once. The only place where I could have let rip, the waitress had gone to university in Cardiff and relished the chance to practise her English!

We stayed at the Roca Nivaria, part of the Adrian Hoteles group, at Costa Adeje. We didn’t book all-inclusive as we expected to get out and about a little (perhaps to the top of Mount Teide, the volcano that dominates the island). As it happened, we found everything we needed inside the hotel, so we emerged only to buy water, snacks for Arthur, wine and beach stuff. We  also found a small play area, which Arthur liked, Margaret and I went to a restaurant one evening and we had a short walk around the coast promenade. That was it.

The hotel has restaurants, pools, sports and games areas, shops, nursery, soft play, gardens, walks, putting green and a lift down to the beach. It was a bit like an upmarket Butlin’s (very upmarket, but the principle was the same).

Arthur tucking into breakfast

Food was great, staff were nice, decor was lovely, and the weather was pleasant (up in the low 20s). It was good to be able to spend some time with Arthur. He recognised Margaret straight away at the airport, which she was rightly pleased about. I was also to form more of a bond with him, which was great. Because of distance, Arthur knows us a lot less than Julia or Aureliano and so it’s good to have some quality time with him.

We’d taken some books along and Arthur had a new book each day. He loved Bear Hunt. Our routine soon settled into a pattern:

1.     Breakfast would be taken in turn so that Sam and Lucy got Arthur some food, then we went up for ours (help-yourself buffet). Arthur would soon be full or fed up and so I’d take him for a walk around the gardens and pools for 20 minutes or so while the others ate. There was a fish pond with some large fish and terrapins. That was out first port of call, then there was a wall to balance on, a cave bar/restaurant (that may have contained a bear) and a waterfall that you could walk behind. Back at the restaurant, Sam, Lucy and Margaret would be on the cava and their third coffee; so I’d tag Margaret to take Arthur to the soft-play area and I’d grab some cake, cava and coffee myself. Soft play was a life-saver!

2.    We’d then do the pool or football. Arthur doesn’t really like swimming pools, he isn’t confident, or particularly happy, in the water, but he does love football, throwing things and chasing around. There was a big five-a-side pitch, basketball court, volleyball court and giant chess and draughts games. We bought a ball and Arthur was in his element.

3.    He would normally have a sleep late morning or early afternoon, generally with Sam or Lucy, then we’d have time for pool or more play afterwards. We tended to snack for lunch and then have dinner quite early. Dinner would be similar to breakfast, with us working in relays to amuse Arthur and keep him provisioned. He does have a good arm for throwing and will hurl food, cutlery or crockery once he’s done with it. You have to watch him closely and soft play was again a facility that was very much appreciated.

I tried to teach Arthur buenos días, hola and gracias, but only ‘hola’ stuck and he shouted it loudly to staff and fellow guests, which was very cute.

Playing in the sand at the Volleyball court.

Tenerife was the second of three holidays I was taking in the first three months of the year – quite an impressive record. With grandparent duties for Aureliano and Julia, allotment and Thorney Post, it was a very busy start to the year.

My first holiday was skiing with Sam in January. We got a very cheap late deal at La Rosiere and ended up in a catered chalet with four firemen, a dad and his two sons, a couple from Worcester and a couple from Essex. It wasn’t a bad mix and our chalet host (a public schoolboy called Josh) was aimiable, if a little disorganised.

We went with Ski Beat for the second year running and it’s a flight to Lyon, then a pretty long coach transfer to the resort. Sam and I both stayed over in Gatwick the night before our outbound flight and so the early start was quite tolerable.

Very snowy - La Rosiere

There had been huge snowfalls in the Alps and we had more snow during our stay. Some resorts had closed due to avalanche threat and at La Rosiere, the link to Italy wasn’t open until the last day. I really enjoyed the skiing. I managed to persuade our resort rep to sell me an over-65 ski pass, which saved some cash, and then signed up for four days with the ski school. I had nice instructors and small groups and I was twice promoted to higher levels, which was good for my confidence.

One of the ski instructors lived in the village and worked as a golf pro and carpenter during the summer. I asked him whether he was busy and had classes in the afternoon and he said he was going to spend the rest of the day clearing snow from his chalet roof. All the roofs had a good three or four feet of snow on the top and I asked if they were designed to cope with that weight. He said this year was particularly thick and said he knew he had to move some snow off when they couldn’t open the windows upstairs. The weight of the snow bends the window lintels downwards and you can’t open them. He also showed us the golf clubhouse up on the slopes at La Rosiere. There’s a nine-hole golf course in the summer, but now the top of the roof of the clubhouse was just visible. That’s quite a thickness of snow.

On the last day, Sam and I skied across into Italy, which involves a couple of reds and two long drag lifts and I managed to survive all that. Quite a contrast to the year before at St Martin de Belleville, when I’d crashed hard a couple of times and was pretty sore by the end of the week. The end of my left thumb is still numb – nerve damage from one of the falls.

First job: buy a sledge!

My third holiday, a second ski holiday, was in March and this time we went to Arc 1950 with Sam, Lucy and Arthur. We had decided to drive, even though I was a little worried about whether the BMW (220,000 miles) would make it there and back. Sam was flying and we said we’d pick them up on Sunday morning from Chambery. It was a bit of a squeeze, but we managed it. Margaret was pleased to see Arthur and even sat in the back without complaining.

Sam and I had gone to Arc 1950 last year, and we thought it would be good for a family holiday. The car park (a massive underground construction) took some working out, but the BMW had performed effortlessly and we managed to unpack and get in our accommodation by late afternoon. I’d got a dozen bottles of wine stashed over the wheel well, plus gin and sherry, so we were well provisioned for booze. We’d also bought essentials from home and there was a Huit a 8 in the resort.

Like La Rosiere, there was plenty of snow and it snowed several times during the week. I was back on my old red skis and boots. My boots were hurting (surely my feet haven’t grown) and the skis were dragging. I got the skis waxed and hired some boots for the rest of the week.

Arthur got a sledge on the first day and enjoyed being dragged around the village in the snow. It must be a massive culture shock for a toddler to swap his regular St Helier nursery for mountains, cold and deep snow.

I am very familiar with Les Arcs resorts and it was good to be back on those slopes. Sam and Lucy tried to trick me by taking me back onto Renard. They thought if they brought me in a different way and didn’t say anything that I wouldn’t know where I was. There’s no forgetting Renard for me, I knew exactly where I was, but went along with the ruse. It was OK actually. It is a tough blue, but I’ve done worse.

They were waiting at the bottom cackling like a couple of old crones.

Skiing was good most days, but there was quite a lot of snow during the week and on a couple of days visibility was pretty poor. I struggle a bit when I can’t see the contour of the slope. I find myself speeding up when I expect to slow down. Sam says I need to relax and feel the slope. I think I might feel the slope with my bum.

On the final day, we all went out in the morning, but the visibility was so poor I packed it in on the first run and turned for home.

Apart from revisiting Renard, I did the Mont Blanc run, which I’ve not done for a couple of years. That’s probably a tougher blue than Renard, but the toughest blue of all is the last run in to Arc 1600. I always managed to fall on that and although I managed it OK several times, it did catch me out once.