Ski season in Switzerland
It's winter, baby
My dad was 36 years old when he learnt to ski. For a man born on a marshy region on the banks of the Thames, going down a mountain with two planks of wood on his feet was not in his natural disposition. Yet marry a Swiss woman and you’re given no choice.
He put his thermals on, got in a chair lift, locked his knees into a pizza slice and paid for the privilege. Annually. And then paid for us to do it too.
We had third-generation, second-hand one-pieces and thin fluorescent skis. He would stuff all of them and us into a car, overheating with cramp from the angles we’d have to sit at. Then my grandmother would realise she’d forgotten something vital, usually a glove. Then later, someone would drop something from a height, either a pole or another glove, and it would be up to him to retrieve it. The second he caught up with us, red-faced and breathless, we’d all shoot off again.
Once someone clipped him off the side of the piste and he sank in powder up to his shoulders, only his head visible. Another time, a man going too fast wiped out my nine-year-old self and dad almost wiped him out too, rolling around with him in the snow. On both occasions, swearwords fit for an Essex pub reverberated off the alps.
“I kind of had fun in my own way,” he said, when I asked him about it.
I don’t know how he had the courage. I also don’t know how he paid for it, ferrying us over from England. “I used to pass over my credit card with my hand over my eyes,” he said, “it was better if I didn’t look, we didn’t have the money at the time.”
That meant that daily ski school was off the cards. It was my mother who taught us, my legs two elastic bands between hers. She made us do drills with our poles in the air and yelled at us as we made elongated S-shapes.
“Bend your knees! Bend them! Like you’re sitting on the toilet!”
After I became more confident, there was no bending, nor stopping me. I used to thunder down the piste straight, earning the nickname ‘Bombhead’ from my brother. My grandmother would make us follow her into the woods without looking back, hurtling over endless jumps that would rattle our joints. Nobody wore helmets in the 90s but for us it was obligatory.
It’s only as an adult that I appreciate what a gift this was. As the days darken and everyone nestles deeper into their blankets, I itch for entire days spent outside. I can’t wait for ruddy cheeks and a ridiculous goggle tan. For the rush of adrenaline. For drinks in wooden apres-ski bars that are dank with yesterday’s alcohol. For the unparalleled feeling of liberating a foot from a ski boot after a day of exertion.
My mum and I still ski together and when we do it’s precious, absorbing the vitamin D and each other’s company like sponges. Friends who are generous with ski apartments pile up to six of us into one, sharing breakfasts in pyjamas, sharing chores and sharing shots as if we were in Ibiza.
And I’ve made new friends at altitude too. The mountains are an equaliser in Switzerland, cracking open a population that is generally quite reserved. If you hear complaints about how it’s hard to meet people in this country, you usually need to drink a little higher.
There’s also an acute awareness that we won’t be able to do this forever. Seasons are getting shorter, snow is more precious, and it’s all the more ironic that this sport and the energy it requires are contributing to its decline. If you live far from the alps, being able to visit in winter signals enormous privilege. For most close-by, they consider it a right. My grandma prays for the glaciers she thinks of as hers. My grandad’s wooden skis, a person I never met, hang proudly on the walls of my family home.
It’s partly why I live here. For now, winter makes the distances and the goodbyes endurable. And when I lug my skis five hours across the country, I still wish my dad could carry them for me.
Stamps of approval
My run down of the best places to ski, with Swiss quality guaranteed.
Les 4 Vallées
Verbier is very well known but consider staying in Haute Nendaz. It’s slightly cheaper with lots of fun to be had.Zermatt
Unforgettable. The very best. I have also written about this Disney-for-adults here.Arosa
For incredible après-ski.Adelboden
For a hyper local experience. I am yet to spot a tourist at this station. Try not to get jealous of the children under 10 skiing at Olympic level and you can sleep over in Lenk.Samnaun
I’m cheating with this one because it’s on the other side of Ischgl, in Austria (a Postcard for another time), but don’t miss the Swiss side if you go.
On the wish list
Davos
Known as the unassuming town that hosts the World Economic Forum, but there’s a great night scene here in winter too.Grindelwald- Wengen
At the foot of the Jungfrau summit, this station is supposed to be sublime.Crans Montana
This name gets thrown around so much in French-speaking Switzerland and I still haven’t made it.