Not another skiing holiday!

As if I wasn't battered enough after the last one. Sam had a week's holiday to get in and wanted more skiing. He asked all his mates and, finally, in desperation, he asked me. So here I am in Arc 1950 in a ski chalet with Sam, an Irish couple and an Irish chalet host. We got a cheap late deal, which you can do if there's just the two of you and you can be flexible.

I like 1950, I've skied through here a few times while staying with Sam and Lucy at Villaret sur la Rosiere, but I always thought it was really expensive – not so this week, thanks to that deal. We're with SkiBeat which Sam booked through Igloo.

There was, predictably, a late scare with the Jersey weather. This time it was a threatened force 9 gale which would ground all aircraft, so Sam wouldn't be able to fly out. As it happened, the weather was not so violent; he was able to get off (good old EasyJet) and we met at Gatwick on Friday evening, stayed overnight at a hotel by the terminal and made a 4am start for a 6.40am flight.

The flight was on time, but our coach transfer (quite a long one from Lyon) was held up waiting for just a couple of people from Manchester to arrive. Most people on the bus were heading for La Rosiere, so we were dropped off in Bourg-Saint-Maurice and had a taxi to take us up to 1950. We got here around 3pm.

View from our chalet window

There had been a big snowfall on the previous day and it was snowing slightly at 1950. The taxi took us into a massive underground car park below the village. This is a fantastic feat of engineering. The village was built as a one-off development (apparently in the style of Whistler in the US) and it's a real feat. I quite like the place, but of course, it's completely fake. At least it's pretty fake, unlike Arc 2000, 1800, Les Menuires and Val Thorens, which are monstrosities. You can also ski right through the village, which I also like very much. Just imagine being able to ski through Thorney – clip your skis on and cruise to Mo's for your paper or along to school for a meeting.

Our chalet host is an odd mix of earnest and chilled, very keen to be helpful and a very good cook. We thought he'd gone to work in the Alps for the season to forget a girl. We had a fantastic opening three-course dinner and a really high standard all week. For breakfast, he's fond of his porridge, which suits me very well.

There was heavy snow when we went to bed and we woke up to the sound of explosions from the piste workers using TNT to dislodge the snow banks threatening to avalanche. Lots of lifts and runs were closed and we couldn't get across to 1800 or 1600, so we were restricted to 1950 and 2000. Up in the bowl, it was quite hard to see – pretty much a white out – and the runs further down, with more trees about, were better, but have a really slow lift feeding them. I have never skied in deep powder before and it was different. It would have been better if it hadn't been so busy; lots of people were on the fewer runs open for business and there were lots of ski schools and lots of kids.

I did have one fall. No injuries, but it was spectacular. In the white blur, I missed the edge of the piste and shot off-piste into about three feet of soft powder. It was a nice comfortable landing, but I spent an awkward minute stuck on my back like a beetle kicking my legs. Luckily, my skis had stayed on, so I was able to get myself pointing in the right direction, then upright, then ski through the soft snow back onto the piste. I'd had enough after a couple of hours, so Sam went off to do some other runs (he's quite patient, but it's not much fun for him pootling around on blues). I had a chillax and then went to the spa, which is part of our deal, and had an open-air swim, sauna and steam room. The pool was fairly warm, but you did have to walk through snow in your bare feet to get in, so anything might have felt warm after that.

Rob cooked up another three-course meal in the evening (chicken in cream sauce for the main). I’d bought a bottle of Genépé and introduced Justin and Lizzie (an Irish couple and the other guests in the chalet) to it. We polished off the best part of a bottle of Genépé between us.

On Monday I decided to ski in the afternoon. Lifts were not open when Sam went out so he got the bus down to Arc 1600 and met three chaps who were from Knutsford on their annual ski holiday. He showed them the runs around 1600 and they offered to buy him dinner, but he had to come back to meet me. One of them goes to Jersey for his holidays each year and so Sam might get a bit of business out of him if he's taken ill while over there.

I was skiing like a plonker in the afternoon and had a few tumbles, but no pain. In the end, I found a nice gentle and quiet blue above 2000 called Marais; it was as good as Gollet. Sam let me do it twice, but then we had to do something a little more testing so we skied down Vallee de l'Arc to check out a restaurant that we might use for dinner on Wednesday night (Rob's night off). The run was really, really busy and, near the bottom, we ran into cloud, so you couldn't see more than 50 metres. The restaurant is only open in the afternoon and it wasn't open that afternoon, so despite our efforts, we'd have to find somewhere in 1950 for dinner.

I'd had enough skiing, so I caught the bus back up to 1950 and Sam went on a late tour above 1600 and 1800. He almost missed the last lift back.

On Tuesday, I was out good and early to ski across to Vallandry, which we did via Plan Bois, Foret (an old favourite) and Grizzly. We then took the Grizzly lift and skied down Foret (past the top of the infamous Renard) to 1800. Sam wondered if I'd like to do Renard as I was now a more experienced skier than my previous two attempts. I took the stance that Holly uses when she doesn't want a wash, I dug my front paws in and arched my back. The runs were getting busier and busier. It's the first of Paris ski fortnight, so just about the worst combination you could wish for – lots of people and lots of rude Parisians. Most of the locals don't like them, despite all the money they bring in – it makes you wonder what they say about us when we're gone.

The route from 1800 to 1600 is simple enough – Gollet all the way – but Sam took us up Vagere lift and then claimed he didn't know how to get to Gollet. I quite enjoyed the route we took (Arpette 1) which was a favourite of ski schools. After a drink in 1600, Sam went off to ski in La Plagne via the Vanoise Express and I caught the bus back to 1950. It was snowing when I arrived and it's been snowing steadily since. More snow is predicted for Wednesday.

Wednesday was a grey old day and we went across to ski above 1600 because the visibility was so poor. I was skiing like a novice, leaning back, I kept trying to snowplough and coming off the top of the Comborciere lift down the little ski road I couldn't do a skid stop at the end and went flying past Sam to stop 15 yards further on. I think he felt sorry for me because he said I could do Gollet. I said “OK, just for old time's sake.” Actually, Gollet was quite uneven and Sam almost fell over – what an embarrassment that would have been. We took the lift back up and I said I'd do Gollet again and then stop for the day as it was snowing hard. Sam came with me to do the black (see below for his evil plan) and Gollet was much easier this time as a couple of inches of powder snow had fallen. I said I'd get the bus back up to 1950 and Sam shot off to ski on his own for a bit. On the way down, I missed the edge of the piste and fell over. It was quite flat and I couldn't get up and struggled for a couple of minutes before I gave up and took off a ski.

Sam called later in the afternoon to say he'd finished and was going for a drink in 2000, so I got the bubble lift up to join him. He was in the restaurant just at the entrance to the village and when I got there he had a glass of Chablis and a dozen oysters – still a GTC – although he did give me a couple oysters and they were rather good. In the evening, it was the chalet host's night off so we went to La Vache Rouge restaurant for dinner. The exterior looks a little odd (there's a full-size model of a cow, painted red, for a start) but it's very good. We both had fillet steak with chips, followed by a local cheeseboard.

On Thursday, conditions were perfect, about as good as it gets, so we were out reasonably early, but so was everyone else; the lifts were really busy below 1950, so we skied down to Comborciere. We were almost the first people to ski the piste (Vallee de l'Arc). It's a nice run, but has been so busy at times this week that it's been a nightmare. Anyway, we went up the slow Comborciere and then down the ski road past Mont Blanc onto Belvedere. I was really concentrating hard on body position and kept control all the way down, even when someone had fallen in front and the ski instructor was taking up almost all the piste pulling them up. We went down to Arpette lift which takes you up onto a ridge where you can ski round back into the bowl above Arc 2000 and take a couple of nice blues back to the lifts. We did both Edelweiss and Plan. I remember Edelweiss from my ski-school days. It's a good run on which to practise your parallel turns and it was pretty quiet. We took the lift back onto the ridge and pootled about on the blues above 1800 and Vallandry before working back via Grizzly and Derby to the mid-station of the Trans Arc bubble. We finished the day with a run down Col de Chal and Vallee de l'Arc 2 and then down into 1950 to finish. I'd skied about 26 miles and it was the best I've skied this year, so I was very pleased with myself.

On Friday, I took the bus and the funicular down to Bourg-Saint-Maurice. It was sunny at 1950, but misty and freezing in the bottom of the valley. Nice to see Bourg again and also visit some favourite shops for mugs and Christmas tree ornaments. It was not nice to see the development going on in front of the church and war memorial. This was where the market was held, but now it's a huge hole and building site where they're putting up a development of apartments up to five storeys. It will spoil the aspect from the church and the little square that once existed.

Massive development in from of the church in Bourg-Saint-Maurice

There was some drama later in the day when the host of the SkiBeat chalet opposite, burned his hand cleaning the oven. He had to be treated in Vallandry and a reserve host (a lady, who looked to be about 45) skied in at a few hours notice to look after the guests. Our chalet host helped as much as he could, telling her where things are and lending missing implements, but she looked very capable. I wonder how a woman of that age comes to be doing chalet hosting. There must be a back story.

Our chalet host had recommended an app called Yuge at the start of the holiday; it's a ski app which will track how far you've skied during the day, average speed, top speed and descent. Sam put it on his phone and tried it the first day. It told him he was 150-something out of 600 users and Sam immediately set a goal to reach the top 10. Halfway through the week, I asked him if he didn't mind skiing all these boring old blues with me. He said he didn't, but it turns out that Yuge gives you points for skiing new runs. He even wanted to ski Gollet once to cross it off and again, so he could do the little black link. One day, he clocked up over 60 miles skiing and on the last day, he wanted to ski the Aguille Rouge from top to Villaroger in order to get a virtual badge. He clocked 87 kph on the run down – much too fast, said I.

Setting sun on Mont Blanc - lovely

On our last day, we went out about 5.30pm for a wander around the village and final drink. The sun was just setting on Mont Blanc and we had a nice view of Monty. What a magnificent sight.

It was a great holiday, nice to spend some time with Sam and I like the runs around Les Arc (there are so many). Arc 1950 is great, our chalet was good and SkiBeat did all they said they would. The transfer was a little long (to Lyon), but worked out OK. We were there for 3.30pm and I got home about the same time. I really like Aer Lingus (the carrier), who did a great job and even fed us a snack and free drink. I think I've got used to EastJet, so a wrap and a coke seemed like the good old days.

I might be getting a little old for this skiing lark

Just back from our skiing holiday in Saint-Martin-de-Belleville in the Three Valleys. It's a pretty village, transformed into a winter wonderland by fresh snowfall in the three days leading up to our holiday week, and we had a fantastic ski lodge, basically the penthouse apartment of a three-storey block just yards from the bottom of the cable car.

The holiday wasn't without its problems. For Sam, it was a nightmare journey of cancelled ferries, hastily arranged flights, hire cars and snow chains. For me it was a series of painful crashes that meant I came back from holiday with a few bruises and stiff limbs. Perhaps I am getting too old (or too unfit) for skiing?

The first problem was that Condor Ferries cancelled the Friday night sailing from St Helier to St Malo – the high wind and resultant sea conditions meant it was too extreme for the catamaran ferry that they run. The next sailing would be Sunday, which meant Sam would miss two days of his holiday. He cancelled the ferry, booked a flight to Geneva and hired a car for the week.

Condor seem a pretty useless bunch. The ferry from the UK was cancelled numerous times during the summer (mainly due to engine problems) and they really need to get some boats that are reliable and can cope with a bit of rough weather. After hearing of this, we were ready for a rough ride across the Channel on Saturday morning, but it was as smooth as silk. I know P&O run bigger ships with stabilisers, but even so ...

Our drive was 170 miles to Dover and then 600 miles in France. We do the autoroutes, which are fast but expensive, and we can do it in under nine hours with two stops. The BMW, for all its faults, is a great car for gobbling up the miles. You can set the cruise control at 80mph and it will cover 600 miles before it needs filling up.

The weather forecast said it would snow heavily the week before we were due, but Saturday would be sunny. It was actually snowing quite heavily in northern France and again just after Dijon, but we made good time until we came to the small road up the valley to Saint-Martin from Moutiers. Sam, who was a little ahead of us, had warned that he'd had to stop to put on his snow chains and lots of cars were struggling on the snow-covered, steep road. I was doing fine and I guessed that the cars pulled up at the side of the road fitting chains and snow socks were running standard tyres. There was a bus in front of me that was running without chains and I guessed my winter tyres would grip for longer than his. Margaret was very keen for me to stop and fit the snow socks, but my traction control hadn't kicked in once, so I was getting good grip. The biggest problem was traffic and those with chains on that were limited to 20mph. Once we reached Saint-Martin, we turned off the road and drove up through the village, where the snow was much thicker, but made it very picturesque. The BMW was fine; if everyone fitted winter tyres, we'd had few problems in the UK.

The chalet (Le Cochet) had underground parking where it was about -3C and -15C outside. There was a lift up to the third floor and we had three rooms en-suite, a mezzanine with other beds and a large kitchen, dining room and lounge – all open-plan.

Sam's hire car had standard tyres and snow chains for emergency. He'd had to fit them half-way up the hill from Moutiers and had a real struggle to get them on. His hands were freezing and he was glad that another chap had given him a hand.

On Sunday, Sam was out early to get the ski passes and then we set up the skis in the garage (I'd slackened the springs on the bindings during storage and they needed re-setting. I was using Lucy's old Rossignol skis and they needed adjusting for my bigger boot size.

On the ridge above Saint-Martin - that's Mont Blanc next to Sam

Saint-Martin is served by a gondola, which you can take up and enjoy a fairly easy blue down. There's just one run down into the village, but from the top of the gondola, you can take a chair lift which offers a blue/red back down to the top of the gondola or a run into Les Menuires (the next resort up the valley). If you take a third lift, you reach the ridge and can ski down into Meribel in the next valley or further up our valley to Val Thorens.

We got the gondola and I skied the blue down to get used to the skis. It was a bit steep (for me) in places but lovely fresh snow, really good conditions – cold, but beautifully sunny. Next we got the gondola back up, then the chair-lift (St Martin Express), then another chair lift (Granges). On way down a blue run called Grand Lac (which is very steep) I had a crash, caught an edge and face planted. I got bashed on the face, my goggles pushed the contact lens out of my right eye, I cut my nose and bashed my shoulder and arm. With Sam's help, I was able to fish out the contact lens from my lower lid and ski gingerly down with one eye shut. I had another crash on hard ice at the bottom and bashed my hip. I looked a bit of a mess, so called it a day for skiing and had a wander around town, found the supermarket and shops, plus a Huit a 8. I got some provisions and some sympathy from the lady in the supermarket.

Ouch! Feeling pretty sore.

On the second day, there was no way I'd get a contact lens into my right eye, which was half shut, so I got the cable car up and tried a test ski with goggles and insert. I'd tried this before and hadn't liked it, but this time it seemed OK. It took me a while to get my act together (and one small fall), but then we went up the second lift and skied across to Le Menuires via Gros Tougne, La Violette and Bettex. Les Menuires is not as pretty as Saint-Martin but you can ski both sides of the valley and there are lots of runs and lifts. It has a couple of the steepest greens I've ever seen. If I was in ski school trying to snowplough down those I would have been bricking it!

In the evening, we needed some provisions that we weren't able to get in Saint-Martin, so Sam and I went to the supermarket in Moutiers. It was bitter cold and freezing, but the road down was much better than Saturday night and there was no problem with grip. Moutiers is not an attractive town; it sits deep in a valley so that it always seems to be in the shade (certainly so in winter) and the town is dominated by its main road. Sam sort-of remembered where the supermarket was and we found it quite easily. It was as drab and cold as the rest of the town, but it had cheap bottled beer, boxes of wine, some other healthier provisions and logs for the fire. As we were walking around, I kept hearing a tweeting, like birds. Then I saw a small house sparrow hopping around the aisles. I thought he'd come in and become trapped, but then there was more tweeting and I spotted a whole flock of them. I guess they live in the supermarket and in cold, inhospitable Moutiers, it makes a lot of sense.

On the third day, we decided to ski the other side of the valley at Les Menuires. I felt a bit stiff from my fall on the first day and wasn't skiing well. We planned to reach the Pointe de la Masse at 2800m and took Masse 1 cable car and then skied down Vallons to Masse 2, but it was very busy and we bailed out to go back to Les Menuires. There was a steep blue (Les Enverses) and the snow was quite banked and uncompacted. I took another sharp fall and cracked my left arm, broke my goggles and lost my inserts. This one really hurt and I thought I'd broken my upper arm. I was quite looking forward to a ride down in the the Mountain Rescue Ski-Doo, but then I came to my senses, the pain cleared and I realised I wasn't in for a free ride. My goggles strap had snapped open, my inserts were gone and so it was with blurred eyes that I managed to get down to Les Menuires for a hot chocolate (medicinal). I wasn't up for skiing back and so I took the bus back to Saint-Martin with my tail between my legs.

I don't know why I'm skiing so badly this year. It's two years since I skied and I have new skis, but I suspect the problem is my age, but mainly my weight and lack of fitness. I have put on half a stone in weight over Christmas and I'm now 15st 6lbs (216lbs). Before next year, I need to cycle, ski and skip. If I was two stones lighter, I'd bounce better. As it is, I'm feeling pretty sore!

Arthur's first taste of apres ski

When I got home, Margaret, Arthur and I had a walk around town, popped into the supermarket for bread and sympathy from the nice French lady and then went for apres ski at Dahlia cafe. This was Arthur's first apres ski, but no gluhwein for him. He was very happy to have a look around though.

The next day, I felt so beaten up and sore that I stayed in the chalet with Margaret and Arthur. It was nice to spend time with them and see some more of Arthur. Margaret has been playing the part of chalet maid and (on account of the cold and snow) hasn't been out of the chalet apart from with me. She has been enjoying her time with Arthur and, despite having a cold and cough, he is a very accommodating child, happy and content to play on his own for a while with his toys. He can sit up and roll over, also crawl on his hands and knees, but prefers to have things brought to him. To wave, he clenches and unclenches his fist or rolls his fingers and this is also an indication that he's about to do something “naughty” like crawl over and play with the logs. Margaret has been teaching him to throw a ball, which is a game he loves, but now he throws anything he has in his hand. She may have created some trouble!

It was Sam's birthday and I don't think he's entirely happy being 34. They skied across to Courchevel in the morning to do a run called 'Indiens' which is Lucy's favourite and were back for lunch at 1.30 with Margaret, Arthur and me. That's pretty good going as Courchevel is the furthest of the three valleys, so it's a lot of lifts and runs. Lucy was pretty pooped, but we ate at L'Alp restaurant – nice, but with the most minimal menu I've ever seen. You could have burger or plat de jour and one choice of pudding. I had plat de jour (Chinese chicken and noodles) and it was good but not in the Savoyard tradition. Arthur was getting a bit fractious by the end so we took him home and then Margaret and I went down into town, did some souvenir shopping, ordered a rotisserie chicken for dinner and got another bag of logs (the fire uses a lot of logs!).

On Thursday, I still felt too beaten about to fancy skiing. I really worried about falling again. Sam and Lucy went out in the morning and had tried to ski along to Val Thorens, but the first piste had been rough with lots of moguls and they'd decided it was no fun. After skiing in Les Menuires, they'd headed home after lunch. I went out in the afternoon for a ski on some blues above Saint-Martin and then we skied across to Les Menuires (down those scary greens) and had a beer in the sun. Sam skied back, but I was happy not to have fallen, so I hopped in the free ski bus.

It's amazing how quickly the week goes by. It's our last day and we decided to drive up to Val Thorens and ski there for the day. At 2400m, Val Thorens is 1000m higher than Saint-Martin and it was much colder when out of the sun. The snow is thicker, but has been blown off the higher points, so off-piste skiing is still not really practicable. We had a good morning's skiing, but I kept to very easy slopes and then we stopped for lunch. In the afternoon, the wind had really picked up and had blown soft powder snow over the pistes. It was bitter cold. Sam and Lucy had decided to ski back as it was the last day and I drove down happy to have had two days without crashing.

Getting home is always a slog. For Sam and Lucy and Arthur, it was a very early start to get back to Geneva, drop off the hire car and catch a 12.30pm flight back to Jersey. We set off about 7am. It was cold – as low as -15C after Albertville and a little foggy. But we made good time and once the sun was up it was a lovely day (although it remained below freezing pretty much the whole journey). We caught an earlier ferry (which was full of rough Scots on a coach home and Romanians heading for work in the UK). We got home at 9.30pm, so a pretty good run all in all.

Sky holiday day 8 - ski holiday day 8 - journey home

We were a little nervous about the journey home as the trip down had taken considerably longer that we’d envisaged.

We decided on a 4.30am start and to ensure that the sat-nav didn’t try to take us through Paris as it had last year.

I did the first shift behind the wheel and it wasn’t a happy session to start with. Traffic was light, but we got stuck behind some slow French drivers (yes, such a thing exists) and then it was quite foggy in places which meant I had to keep a check on speed.

After Lyon, and with the sun coming up, the mist cleared and I was able to set the cruise control at 80mph and gain some time. Average speed rose quickly and we were well on the way by the time Sam took over. We managed to thwart the sat-nav’s evil plans for a trip around the Paris ring road and arrived in Calais over an hour ahead of our ferry check-in time.

There had been some mind games with the sat-nav. It was determined we should skirt Paris and when we ignored the first turning, it calculated a longer drive time and laid plans for us to turn off on the next. Ignoring that made it recalculate again, but it was determined that Paris was the best route and it recalculated an extended journey time based on us still heading through Paris. That caused us to have, at one stage, a journey time that meant we’d miss our ferry. We stuck to our guns and once the sat-nav was certain there was no chance of going via Paris, it chopped a couple of hours off the journey time. It was a seminal moment - I’d been right and it had been wrong. A humble apology would have been nice, but all I got was a grudging recalculation.

P&O Ferries got major future credit by letting us on an earlier ferry without additional payment, so we’d be home much earlier. It was an uneventful crossing, but the ferry was full of old people (very old people) who seemed to be having much difficulty in getting about. I was feeling quite gloomy about lots of things.

Tom and Hannah’s marriage break-up was obviously prime among these; I was worried about Tom and also upset for Hannah. Margaret had taken it badly (of course) and had also been disappointed not to come on the ski holiday because Gravel was poorly. On top of everything, she was still worried about Gravel who was now on medication for hyperthyroidism, but still not showing many signs of improvement. All-in-all, I couldn’t wait to be home.

There was one bit of bright news in all of this worry and that was that Max had been offered a job at Dulwich College, one of the UK’s top private schools. Every cloud ...

Ski holiday day 7 - not fallen off a ski lift all week

I must be becoming a more expert skier. I realised today that I have not fallen off a ski-lift all week.

People who do not ski should know that one of the most scary and difficult techniques for a new skier to master is getting off the chair-lift. It requires a certain body position, sitting well forward and a good shove of the hand to get you out of the seat and on your skis. The next trick is not to ski into anyone and not to go careering off out of control.

Falling out of a ski lift will bring upon you the scorn of your fellow skiers. Everyone is nervous of an uncontrolled skier, but also someone lying in a heap at the top of the lift or, worse, in a pile of bodies created by your ineptitude, will cause the ski-lift to be stopped.

You’ll note that I haven’t mentioned drag lifts - this is a whole different nightmare for some and the cause of much hilarity for others. On this particular holiday, Lucy had the nightmare and Sam the laughs, but drag lifts are an unpredictable mistress.

Well, I survived the week with deft disembarkation from the lift even when I was given a small French child to look after (which was just about every time I went on a lift). Because this was French holidays, the resort was packed with children. They aren’t allowed on the lifts unless they have an adult with them so you are invariably allocated a child when you get on board.

Sam and Lucy had some naughty children during the week, including one who was wriggling so much that Sam grabbed his collar to be sure he didn’t fall out. Lucy also told off some youngsters who were throwing ice.

My charges were much better behaved. Normally I wished them “bonjour, comment allez vous”, they realised I was foreign and sat there terrified the whole time. A child frozen with fear is not going to fall out of a chair-lift.

Once I encountered a small English boy who was on holiday with his parents. They’d put him in ski school and he was the only English child in a pack of Parisian brats. It’s enough to scar a child for life - and probably has.

My skiing has improved considerably during the week, but I start off each morning with some aches and pains which disappear (a little) as I warm up. My final day was no exception and it was also the worst day of the holiday weather-wise with a cold wind, rain at 1600 and snow higher up. I did one run, but was getting cold and wet, so I thanked Loic for his help and bade him au revoir. He asked me if I had enjoyed my class and if my skiing had improved. I said I had and it had, but I was a little disappointed that the improvement hadn’t been more obvious to Loic!

In Arc 1600, I treated myself to a nice breakfast - orange, tea, croissant and roll with butter and jam, then took the funicular down to Bourg. It was quite sad being on my last journey. Down in Bourg, I got a message from Sam and Lucy - they were also calling it quits for the day. It was snowing quite hard and visibility wasn’t great, so we arranged to meet back in Bourg.

I had a small amount of shopping to do - some presents for Margaret, a Christmas tree decoration to go with the realistic resin hedgehog I’d bought earlier in the week; some postcards for Laura; some chocolate Orios for Davina and some biscuits for the office.

We walked across the footbridge over Bourg station into the town and had a little amble down the main street to buy some bits and pieces. The Christmas shop which I’d visited last year to buy a very tasteful white fluffy bird for the tree, seems to have had a change of policy. The Christmas merchandise is now much restricted, his range of cuckoo clocks reduced and the space filled with fantasy figurines consisting of very shapely young women in skimpy costumes often accompanied by tigers or mythical creatures. I’m surprised there’s a large enough market for that kind of thing in Bourg, but clearly there’s more to the town than meets the eye.

For lunch, we settled on a restaurant in the main street called La Refuge. It had an interesting line in decor - literally a washing line of baggy underpants strung across one wall. Here’s another aspect of Bourg which I had previously not seen. We settled on the €18 menu, which delivered three courses and our meal was accompanied by a bottle of Savoyard cider which was very nice. I had chicken with gingerbread for my main, which sounded intriguing. It was chicken strips in a sweet sauce and tiny gingerbread croutons.

It was then a final visit to Super U to full up with diesel at €1.39 per litre (it’s £1.46 at home).

Back at the chalet, Sam took a telephone call from Tom to say that he was leaving Hannah. Talk about bombshells!

Ski holiday day 6 - Arc 1950

It was a bit dull with snow higher up the mountain today, but we had a really good day in ski school. We did a similar route to yesterday, down the long blue, but instead of skiing past Arc 1950, we took a little chair-lift up above it and then skied down into the resort.

Arc 1600, 1800 and 2000 are all in a similar style - tower-block hotels (completely out of keeping with the traditional architecture) plonked on the side of the mountain and they stand out like a sore thumb.

Arc 1950 was built much later (in the past decade) and was funded by the same group that developed Whistler in north America. It was quite controversial, I don’t think Arc 2000 was best pleased and there were allegations of over-development. Actually, the resort is really nice. It’s built in what appears to be a more traditional Alpine style and it has a village feel to it with a central square, clock tower and narrow, winding streets.

We stopped for vin chaud in a cafe in 1950 and then skied through the streets and down to the chair-lift that we would have taken the day before had it not been shut. I told Loic I thought 1950 was much nicer than the other resorts. He agreed, but said it was very expensive to stay there.

The chair-lift took us back up to the ridge but instead of coming off on the left and down into the bowl, we headed right down a steep blue. I managed to fall over when I hit a ridge of deep snow kicked up on the edge of the piste and by the time I’d got going again, the group had disappeared. Ahead there was a fork in the route - should I go right or left? I decided to go left, but when I skidded to a halt after the turn, I spotted Loic above helpfully pointing out that I’d gone the wrong way. It would have been more helpful if he’d waited by the junction, but never mind. He told me to stick to the blue, keep right and wait for them at the ski-lift. The next ski-lift was actually a drag lift so I don’t think he meant that and I couldn’t see a join in the pistes, so I carried on down, joined the main piste and waited at the next lift for about 10 minutes, but there was no sign of our group.

There was nothing for it but to set off on my own, so I skied down towards Arc 1800 and then joined the long blue back towards 1600. This is a narrow but very gentle run with just a couple of steep bits where it stops contouring and takes a step down. I got back about lunchtime and found Sam and Lucy in a bar, so we had some food, a drink and headed down to Bourg.

When Sam and I had taken the rubbish down to the bins in Villaret the day before, we’d spotted a sign showing a footpath down to Bourg. We’d previously assumed the path was further along as we’d seen a chap hop off the road on one of the hairpin bends and then (by the time we’d driven down) he’d popped out onto the road below.

This path went from the centre of the village towards the centre of Bourg and it seemed much better defined. So today, which had turned into a lovely sunny afternoon, we decided to explore. The first section was steep zig-zags with deep snow. I don’t think anyone had used it for some time and the biggest problem was not the snow, but the dog poo. The owner of the cottage at the top of the path has a couple of border collies and she appears to let them out to do their business on the path. The first 50 metres was like picking your way through a minefield.

The French have a really bipolar attitude to dog poo. In Bourg and other places, including Arc 1600, it’s not unusual to see dog poo on the verge. Where the snow has melted in verges in Bourg, there are often piles of decomposing dog poo that’s been deposited on snow and is now lying, months later, of brown grass. In contrast, there are free poo bag dispensers all around the town centre and signs urging you to clean up after your dog. There’s no dog poo in the centre at all.

Once we’d got through the dog-poo section, the going was fairly easy, you just had to keep to the crusty snow. If you stepped off, you could sink up to your knee, which I did a couple of times. If you were doing the route in winter, you’d want either snow-shoes or crampons, depending upon the snow conditions. After a couple of hundred metres, the path evened out, the snow had melted and we came to a small stream and a road with houses. This was La Rosiere, a district of Bourg. Our village is called La Villaret sur la Rosiere, which is exactly what it is. The road is fairly steep and zig-zags down into Bourg. On foot, you can cut off the zig-zags in exchange for a steeper path and we cut down past the cemetery and hospital (situated conveniently side by side) to come out above the main square and by the central church.

We had a look inside the church, which was built about 130 years ago; it’s quite grand, has a separate bell/clock tower alongside and inside there’s a series of paintings hanging on the walls showing Christ on his way to be crucified. They are particularly interested when he stumbles and have a special painting for each of those incidents.

We than sat outside a bar in the square having a drink in the warm sun. In fact the sun was so strong, we retreated around the corner to sit in the shade. The walk back up was not too bad (quite a good work-out) and then it was tuna salad for dinner. Lucy had spent a long time in the supermarket finding line-and-pole caught tuna.

Ski holiday day 5 - rescued by a bus

Sam’s regular monitoring of all available sources of weather data had suggested that our fifth day in France might not be quite as nice as the first four and so it proved.

The day was decidedly windy, so it was glasses off and goggles on and time to pull the neck-warmer up around the chin.

We took a higher ski-lift than previously which led to a high ridge that I’d been on the first day with Jo. There was a good blue which led off the ridge down into a huge bowl. It was not too steep a run, but narrowish and with a pretty steep drop to the left. As is descended into the bowl, other runs joined it and a blue ran off to the left down past Arc 1950.

The high wind which had been kicking up spindrifts of snow as we sat on the sk- lift and had been ripping across the ridge, was now left high above and it was a great day. The new blue was steep in places, but nice and wide and not too busy so we could practise our parallel turns, which were coming easier and easier to me. I’m still snowploughing into the turn and left turns are better than right, but if I lose control, I can generally regain it quite quickly.

We skied down past 1950 and to the foot of a couple of chair-lifts where there were massive queues. Although we were nicely sheltered, it turns out that the wind higher up was stopping the leifts from operating, so it was skis off and Loic led us out onto the road where we waited for the courtesy bus to take us back down to Arc 1600.

By the time we got back, there was just time for a quick 20 minutes ski on one of the lower lifts that was still working and then it was lesson over.

I’d decided that my long hair really needed sorting out, so I headed down to Bourg, parked my gear in the car and headed for the hairdresser. I got there just after 1pm and, guess what, it was shut! French hairdressers open at 9am, shut at 12 noon, open again at 2pm and shut at 5pm. It’s not exactly an onerous working day! They do stay open all day Saturday, which is clearly haircut day, but get Monday off in compensation.

I was just getting grumpy about it (and considering my next move) when Sam texted me to say he and Lucy were heading down, so I walked back to the car to meet them at the bottom of the funicular. It turned out that someone (clearly a Parisian) had skied into Lucy at a chairlift, she’d hurt her knee and also broken a part on her ski binding.

The grumpy Scottish man at Polaire was needed, but this being France and this being lunchtime, he was also shut. Sam decided to give InterSport a chance and so we drove there (it’s just next to the Super U supermarket and we’d been there last year for a look around). Inter really came good, the ski workshop was open and the guy spent ages looking through his boxes of bits for a spare part and then sorted it out in no time. he didn’t even want paying, just a donation in the tips box.

With our gas sorted out, Sam was able to resume his cassoulet plans and it was very good, worth waiting for. Our evenings are spent doing crosswords, drinking and stoking the fire and by 9.30pm, I’m ready for bed. Lucy keeps reminding me that it’s only 8.30pm UK time.

Ski holiday day 4 - Loic in charge

After two days of afternoon ski school, it was a bit of a shock to have to be up at Arc 1600 for a 9am start.

We caught the 8.30am funicular and it was the third really warm sunny day. Getting the early train meant that it was a little more quiet, but really filled up at the middle station called Les Granges, where lots of families seem to be staying. The carriages fill up with French parents and little children all decked out in their ski gear.

When the funicular pulls into Arc 1600, the children sing “nous sont arriver, nous sont arriver”. The carriage slows down as the cable pulls it into the finish position and the children’s song slows to a crawl as well. Lucy loves to sing along.

Sam and Lucy (mainly Sam) had a couple of things they wanted to do on this holiday. One was to ski down from the Aguille Rouge - high point in the Les Arcs ski area and black run along the top/side of a ridge. They had looked to do it last year, but the wind had been too strong, so they managed it on Sunday when the weather was absolutely beautiful. Sam said it wasn’t too bad, it was really a red run, not a black, but they’d probably classed it as more difficult because of the exposure and to discourage too many people from trying it.

Their second objective was to have a day in the La Plagne resort, which sits alongside Les Arcs, but is separated by a long, narrow valley. They’d bought a one-day extension on their ski pass and to get across there, you take resort, which sits alongside Les Arcs, but is separated by a long, narrow valley. They’d bought a one-day extension on their ski pass and to get across there, you take the Vanoise Express cable-car. This is a massive contraption, a double-decker cable-car that shoots across the valley in super-quick time.

I met Loic as suggested. Of course, Jo hadn’t mentioned our arrangement to him, but he seemed quite pleased to have someone else in his group. The standard wasn’t massively different, but Loic didn’t seem to have the same obsession with left-foot side-slipping which was a blessed relief.

There were six French in our group and two English people, myself and a chap called Dave, who was the polar opposite of Meg. He was there with his wife, who was a much better skier than he was and he was having lessons in a lower group, hoping to improve enough to ski with her. He was a nice chap, but he was no Meg. He was having only one lesson per day and he was a careful, steady bloke who didn’t want to break anything. Among the French was a woman with her teenage son and daughter. It was quite touching that the son, who was the better skier, was always looking after his mum. He’d hang around at the back with her to make sure she was OK and help her up if she fell.

View of Bourg-Saint-Maurice from Arc 1600. Villaret, where we are staying is more or less in the centre
of the photograph. Mont Blanc is in the centre of the ridge. It looks like part of the ridge but is actually
20 miles or so behind the other mountains (and much higher of course).

Loic’s lesson was more laid-back than Jo. He had a good sense of humour and after half an hour skiing, he decided we all needed to visit a cafe at the side of the piste. When I ordered a vin chaud, he joined me in a flash. It was a lovely clear day with great views across the Mont Blanc massif. We skied down into Arc 1800, the sister resort to 1600 (but 200 metres higher, as the name suggests). Neither resort has much to commend it. In the 1960s, when the ski boom was starting, Les Arcs was a small collection of farms. The land was bought up, runs constructed, lifts installed and several large, multi-storey hotels were plonked on the side of the mountain. The architecture is high-rise flats and there’s precious little character or anything to do except ski, eat and drink (which is fair enough because that’s exactly why people go there).

So Arc 1800 was built a few years after 1600 and is pretty much a carbon copy. I learnt a few new blue runs and it was a really good day’s skiing. The icing on the cake was that I hadn’t fallen over once and I was also starting to get the hang of the parallel turn, so that steeper slopes could be traversed in more safety.

Some of the blues were quite busy in places, but you just had to keep an eye out for folk. On the ski lift up from Arc 1800 I was sat next to a Frenchman and his young daughter (five or six years old). It was a beautiful day and the little girl was singing away to herself. I remarked that the scenery was so beautiful that it made you want to sing, at which point she shut up like a clam, but dad was very keen to have a chat. Where was I from? Was there snow in England? I said there wasn’t and we didn’t have mountains like this. What about Scotland? he said. I said that my bed this week was higher than the highest mountain in England and that Scotland had got nothing on the Alps - he was very lucky. he lived in Grenoble, which is very close by and he loved the mountains. He advised me to come a week later next year to avoid the French holidays (he hated the Parisians). We parted old friends.

Thanks to Laura at work and Michel Thomas, I have learned a few useful French phrases and Laura has also taught me a few things about French manners, which definitely makes a difference. Always says hello and goodbye when using a shop, for example. Certain manners are important to the French; they think nothing of pushing in front of you at the ski lift, but it’s really bad form to enter a shop and not give a hearty greeting to the assistant.

I’ve been je voudrais this, that and the other; I’ve nailed meme chose pour moi si vous plait and pas pour moi comes in handy when waiters are keen to fill your glass with water. Indeed my French is so good that I’m now often mistaken for a native and have to explain to an astonished Frenchman that je suis anglais and je parle pas francais tres bon.

I guess I was riding for a fall and after my ski lesson I stopped off in the main square for a drink and a noon snack. I wanted my usual lemon tea, honey and almond crepe and a Ricard. I’m not sure what went wrong; I think I caught the waitress on a fag break and her mind wasn’t really on the job, but I ended up with tea, an espresso coffee and a crepe. I decided two out of three wasn’t too bad!

Ski holiday day 3 - thrown out of ski school

Day 3, Monday: another absolutely glorious day with bright blue sky and lovely warm sunshine. How long will this last - well until Wednesday according to WeatherPro, when we are forecast wind and rain at low altitude and snow higher up.

I wasn’t due at ski school until 2pm, but I went down to the funicular with Sam and Lucy in the morning and, while they went up to Arc 1600, I walked across the footbridge into Bourg.

I’d taken my ski helmet off yesterday and I had a really bad case of helmet hair - I looked like a mi-ki dog - so this morning I decided to get a French haircut. There was some speculation as to what I would look like after being coiffured (and I was a bit grumpy about spending €20 on a haircut - that’s London prices) but it would be an adventure.

Well, it would have been, but Lundi is Bourg’s day off - very little was open and the hairdressers were not. I had a little wander around, read The Times on my Kindle in a cafe and I was wondering what to do by 11.30am. I walked back to the car and ate my lunch - a Savoyarde Sam special sandwich (ham, cheese and mustard) plus a piece of flapjack. I’d made a tray before we left thinking that it would work well for packed lunches and it was quite useful. I sat in the car going through Total French (disc 1) by Michel Thomas (which is a very good course) but the dozy woman student gets so annoying that I want to punch her.

I could now engage my fellow ski school students (most of whom are French) with such banter as “what opinion do you have regarding the economic and political situation in France at the present time?” I might try that on Jo if he starts banging on about my big skis again. By the way, I asked Sam if he thought I should hire some shorter skis and he very definitely thought that I shouldn’t.

I was at ski school bright and early at 2pm. Colin had been promoted to a better group and Tom had fallen over and hurt his leg. There was no more skiing for him - hopefully Mrs Colin’s evil plan was not coming to fruition. Meg was also on the up. She’d been skiing in the morning again and was now heading into a higher group - watch out Mr Meg, she’s catching you up.

I asked Jo about going in a lower group and he said I was too good for the lower group and that I should stay with him. He headed up the small ski lift and then up the longer one to above Arc 1800. I’d survived some left-foot side-slipping and a steepish slope when Jo pulled me over and said I was too slow and would hold up the others. He advised me to go to the ski school and trade in my group lessons for some personal tuition which would be better for me. I said I didn’t want to pay for personal tuition and was there a group in the morning that would be better suited to my skill level? He was quite surprised (as if English people didn’t function in the morning) but said that if I wanted to I could do that and I should rock up at 9am and ask for Loic.

With that helpful advice Jo was off, advising me to stick to this slope and I’d find my way down. I was at the top of quite a steep section of blue, but it was nice and wide, so I traversed back and to, going at my own pace and came back down into Arc 1600 in about 30 minutes. I was a bit grumpy about being left halfway up a mountain and told to find my own way back, but that’s the French for you! I consoled myself with a lemon tea, honey and almond crepe and a glass of Ricard. Actually, eating and drinking in the sun was a much nicer way to spend an afternoon that falling over a dozen times.



Sam and Lucy were not too late and we popped into the supermarket for fresh supplies - logs for the fire, beer, cheese and a few extras such as a bottle of limoncello!

The logs were about €4 a bag, but they were good hard wood, nicely dry and seasoned and they burned really hot in the stove. If you light that, it gets the whole chalet warmed through. I also bought some Beaufort cheese - with the summer (ete) cheese you’re supposed to be able to taste the grass and it did have a lovely earthy taste. Sam made a tartiflette for dinner because the gas bottle had run out on the hob and we hadn’t been able to find Luc (the ski instructor cum handyman, who looks after the place). The oven runs on electric, so we could use that and leave the half-finished cassoulet on the hob.

Ski holiday day 2 - I am cream-crackered!

Day 2 (Sunday) and the weather is absolutely amazing. It’s bright, strong sunshine and very warm in the sun, as high as 15 deg C, according to the forecast and I can believe it.

After a decent night’s sleep, we were all ready to get cracking. I had a ski lesson planned for the afternoon, but needed to go up to Arc 1600 to book my lessons for the week. We drove down to the funicular for a fairly early start and it was like the Victoria Line. That’s Paris holiday week for you!

Your ski pass is a little like an Oyster card, as you approach the funicular gates, they open to let you through and it’s the same for the chair lifts. Last year, I’d skied in the morning before my lesson and managed to hurt my leg quite badly, so this year I decided I’d play it safe and have no skiing until my lesson which was arranged 2-5pm for the next six days.

That done, I popped back down to Bourg-Saint-Maurice to collect my skis and then had a wander around town for a couple of hours, doing some window shopping and getting my bearings. Bourg isn’t a large town, but it is a proper town rather than a ski resort, so there are a decent range of shops and bars which cater for French residents rather than tourists. Lots of people who are skiing stay in the town, of course, but it’s a nice mix.

St Maurice was a Roman soldier, commander of the Christian Theban legion before Christianity was the official religion of the empire. They were ordered from Egypt to Gaul to help the emperor Maximian to defeat and uprising and were to clear what is now the Little St Bernard pass, which is a route from Italy to France. The Legion was ordered to take some reprisals against Christians in the area, but refused and Maximian ordered the legion to be decimated (every 10th soldier was killed). They still refused to carry out the order, so Maximian ordered another decimation and when they still refused, he had the whole legion, including Maurice, executed - a total of 6,500 men. You don't mess with the Romans.

After a light lunch, it was time for ski school, back up the funicular, this time wearing heavy ski boots and lugging my newly refurbished skis. A small group of us was gathered in the ‘improvers’ section and they were mainly French. There was one English girl called Meg, who was there with her husband. He was a good skier and she was having lessons twice a day so she could improve and keep up with him. She seemed just a little too competitive for my liking (perhaps Mr Meg quite liked a little Meg-free time, but his time was clearly going to be limited).

Also in the group was Colin and Tom from Suffolk. Colin was about 55 and Tom (his dad) was 83. Apparently Tom had been an accomplished skier in his day, but he hadn’t skied for 13 years - since he was 70 - and he looked as if he should be holding a walking frame, not a pair of ski poles. Age had given him a permanently bent back, so that he was always in a racing crouch.

Colin told me that he had arranged to come skiing with his son, but his son had to drop out due to work commitments, so his wife (who had been worried about him coming on his own) had persuaded Tom to come in place of his grandson. I wondered if this was Mrs Colin's evil plan to cash in on her inheritance, but I have to say, I admired Tom's pluck and he’d come into the learner group to see how he got along after not skiing for 13 years. 

Our instructor Jo took one look at Tom and got on his radio. It’s very rare the French let health and safety get in the way of a good time, but Jo could spot a lame duck and he arranged for Tom to go in the beginners’ group. That was a bit of a shame because it’s quite hard work for beginners at Arc 1600 - there’s no lift and only a small nursery slope, so they have to toil up and down this little space in front of the ski lift (side-stepping up and snow-ploughing down).

We headed up the small chairlift and down a bit of green and blue so Jo could see how we got on. He asked me how long my skis were and, of course, I had no idea.

“Size isn’t everything, Jo,” I told him, but he didn’t understand smutty English humour and told me my skis were too long, I should have no more than 150cm skis, otherwise it would be hard for me to learn. That’s just what I needed to boost my confidence.

It was a good afternoon, we did lots of blues and some steep sections where we could practise Jo’s favourite activity - side-slipping. My legs, especially my left leg, were taking a pounding and as I got tired I fell over more and more. I must have fallen half a dozen times and I was absolutely exhausted by the time we were finished.

It was good to be done and I said to Jo at the end of the lesson that I might be better in a lower group. There were a couple of other fallers in his section, but I think the overall standard was a little high for me, so that I was struggling to keep up.

It had been a perfect day for skiing with brilliant warm sun, clear views across the alps with Mont Blanc standing high in the north. It was good to enjoy a beer in the last of the evening sun and nice to see the collie dog who last year I’d christened Meribel. She came for a fuss, but there was no sign of her partner from 2012, Maurice. She stayed until we got tired of stroking her, she’s skin and bone and has big mats of fur behind her ears, but her teeth are brilliant white. This was the only time that we saw Meribel, perhaps there had been complaints about them running loose, or perhaps they were busy on the farm?