La Dolce Vita

We left Portes du Soleil in another snow storm and the journey back to the motorway took an age. Old Gits, or more accurately, MOG was suffering from a self afflicted headache after an excellent night with our landlords. Firstly I must apologise to Mercedes. A good friend of mine, who is a much better driver than I, told me to disenable the ESP system. I have no idea what this is, or what it does, but I did find the button and the car behaved very differently and responded well to the conditions. We only just made the Mont Blanc tunnel by the skin of our teeth as the motorway was becoming snow bound and at one point being coned off, but €33 later we found ourselves in Italy. The cloud cover was so dense we could not call in to Courmayeur as it would have been pointless and MOG was becoming anxious as he had heard snow was falling at our destination point of Alagna.

We did call into a large ‘supermercato’ well before we ascended into the Monterosa area. The displays of fresh fruit, vegetables, meats and fish sent the Old Gits into a buying frenzy. Why we bought enough food to feed a battalion of troops is still a mystery to the both of us, but we did. Alagna is a good hour’s drive and although the roads were clear the snow was piled up so high that at times it felt as if you were driving on a bob-sleigh run. The family with whom we were staying had for many years bemoaned the lack of snow, well God must have heard the Old Gits were coming and made sure snow was aplenty.

The hospitality on arrival was typical of our hosts and soon we found ourselves with ski passes in hand and settling in for a few days ‘serious’ skiing. The first night we frequented a local bar with our friends and the first people we met came from a village only a few miles away from our home in Cheshire. It is a small world… We had an early night as we knew the next day would test our new found skiing skills, especially as the family who would guide us around had now informed us they had all been skiing since the age of four.

The next day brought bright sunshine and powder snow. We ‘warmed up’ on a couple of long reds and then took the cable car right up to Passa Salati, at nearly 3,000 metres.

FOG and stunning backdrop

FOG and hosts start a day’s skiing

The views were breathtaking and this was a factual experience as well as descriptive as both the Old Gits were totally out of breath. It wasn’t only the altitude but the long walks between pistes and cable cars swathed in layers of thermals... We skied into the next valley of Gressoney, and it must be said here, before the post lunch disaster, that it was not only the most beautiful scenery we had encountered but the best skiing we had ever experienced.

Lunch was taken at a restaurant, which I have to confess I forgot to obtain its name…I was too shattered when we arrived! Any way it is on Col d’Olen, right on top of the mountain and the one right at the edge of a steep drop! The only way to this restaurant is via a tiny and very uneven ‘ski-path’ which to the Old Gits was effectively ‘off-piste’ skiing.

The route to the restaurant

This ‘path’ may not look much but MOG managed to fall over and as the snow was possibly 5-10 metres thick I was up to my waist before I knew it. Fortunately a friend of the family, who is one of the top mountaineers in the world, waited just in case I ‘dug myself into a hole’. The things MOG does for a beer.

The view from the balcony of the restaurant:

Customer escaping ‘il conto’

The lunch was excellent but maybe the grappa to finish with didn’t turn out to be one of MOG’s best ideas. The runs in Alagna are very long (the vertical drop alone is 2,000 metres), and we had to tackle a black to reach the village…there was no choice. Unfortunately everyone else was now heading home, and with the sun warming the snow the run had turned to moguls. It was a steep, narrow black teeming with skiers and the result was predictable…MOG went ‘arse over tit’ on more than one occasion. All the training evaporated as did the confidence. FOG helped by shouting that I shouldn’t have had the beers and Grappa; very useful advice as MOG dragged himself out from yet another snow drift… We did make it home but not without the aide of our hosts who looked a touch bemused at the level of deterioration of MOG’s skiing.

A hot shower revived the damaged pride and as our hosts left for their home we were left to fend for ourselves. Fending is however hardly a word I would use. The apartment is right in the centre of the village and with 5 bedrooms and fully equipped with everything you would ever need, we felt rather pampered. MOG decided that a walk around the village in the remaining evening light would be beneficial. FOG knew the real reason and she was right we fell into the first bar; An Bancher Win Bar…excellent. Try the Miacci, a thin pancake with cheese…too die for. Two things struck us. First was the village itself was not only charming and attractive but the bars and restaurants were of a very high standard and excellent atmosphere. Secondly the prices were half of Les Gets / Morzine and the quality twice as good. I will refrain from any further comment as France has already been given a tough grilling by the Welsh Rugby team…my heart bleeds!

The next day saw more sun and the Old Gits ventured up the mountain. Our first run was the notorious black from the previous afternoon, and to our surprise it had been pisted and we sped down with our confidence increasing with every turn. Then we also skied into the next valley despite the wind starting to increase…only to return to see our run home roped off due to high winds! It transpired that this was to prevent people going down to Alagna and wanting to return as the cable car had now had to cease. Although the run home may not have had the moguls and was all but empty, we had to contend with some biting winds. FOG fell this time while MOG continued obliviously unaware whilst struggling with the blinding conditions caused by the snow being whipped up in the ever increasing winds. FOG’s comments on this MOG's indiscretion were, again, unprintable…

That night we cooked a huge chicken, (we don’t know why we decided to do this, especially as we were in Italy!), and although very tasty, it did leave a scent of roasted chicken through out the apartment; FOG urgently trying to dispel the unfamiliar aroma… The English have arrived!