Day 1 - I've been here before...

05:00
What’s the opposite of bushy-tailed? That. I’m definitely that. I can’t quite remember the last time I had a flight leaving so early. Montenegro earlier this year felt pretty damn early, but checking back now - I see that the flight actually left at 08:45, a full 2h15m later than my 06:30 departure today. You’d have been proud of me. Valuing an extra bit of sleep over time at the airport (SO not my jam), I jumped in a cab at 03:30, ‘only’ 3 hours before my flight’s departure time. Sadly, my planning has fallen at the first stern test. I wake at 01:00, coughing and spluttering. I’ve had a cold/bug type thing for the past week, and am struggling to shake it. Basically, as soon as I lie down, liquid starts pooling in my chest, and rattling around. It’s deeply unpleasant, and causes me to cough, waking me up etc etc. I try to get back to sleep, but it’s not happening. I choose instead to get up and hang out with Scout and Gizmo for a while before my cab arrives.

‘Here’ this time is my tried and tested route through Gatwick North terminal, ending up at Brewdog. This is likely to be my last visit for quite some time. For India in a few weeks, I’m flying out of Heathrow, and we don’t (whisper it) have any additional holiday plans at the moment. We might do a couple of music festivals around Europe next year, but nothing firm planned yet after we get back from India. NO! LIES! We’ve got a trip to New York for Ali’s 50th in June. Phew!

I’m ultra excited to be spending Christmas in the mountains, but am equally a little torn. This is Vicki and my first ever Christmas apart. An artefact of circumstance, and an outcome of opportunity. Vicki’s not dead keen on a snowy Christmas, so I figured that this year of all years, I’d grab the chance to fulfil what’s been a pretty lifelong aspiration. I’ve a ski pass for 6 days, but am realistic - I’ll likely ski 3-4 days in total, and spend a couple of days mooching around town, visiting some nearby attractions, and doing Alpine Christmas type shiz.

People have asked me whether I’ll feel lonely spending Christmas alone, to which my response is that I won’t be alone. I’ve solo skied a bunch of times before, and never felt at all isolated. The slopes anytime of Winter are amongst the friendliest places I can imagine, and I have a suspicion that will count even moreso over the Christmas holiday.

I’ve also mindfully chosen Mayrhofen as my destination. Known as a party resort, there are some world famous après-ski spots in town, as well as a couple on the mountain. Vicki and I visited in 2019 for a a Winter music festival called Snowbombing, and the town has much the same atmosphere throughout the season. There’s even an ice bar/igloo on one of the mountains, which we visited for an afternoon rave while we were in town. V cool (literally / figuratively in equal measures). There’s a butcher’s shop on the high street that hosts afternoon DJs, knocking out awesome schnitzel and knodel while the tunes kick out.

Add to that, the place I’m staying has a big, communal dining set up for breakfast and dinner, and I’m confident it’ll be a fairly collegiate and raucous affair.

There’ll also be times that I seek out time to myself. I adore skiing alone - able to keep to my own path and schedule. The Alps are so beautiful, that I regularly sit to catch my breath, and world watch for a while. On at least one day, I’ll head out without a piste map, and just see where I end up. The Zillertal ski area, of which Mayrhofen is a part, is HUGE. There are trains and buses connecting the different resorts that are part of the ski system, and wherever I end up, I know I’ll be able to get back to Mayrhofen, even if it means bus and train jumping a little.

There was a time a few years ago that I wasn’t sure I’d ever ski again. I felt I’d had a decent run. My first trip was aged 10, and I’d made it to 43 before arthritis decided my time was up. The past 18 months though, I’ve been taking a new medication (to me, at least) called Humira, but I prefer its pharmaceutical name, Adalimumab. It’s been transformative to my quality of life. I have arthritic episodes a handful of times per year rather than a couple of times per week, and I certainly don’t fear getting into some ski boots, and banging down the mountain. My body’s sure to tell me to stop at some point, but I’m going to make the most of the unexpected window of opportunity, while it’s open…

13:00
Flight’s on time, so we’re piling onto the aircraft while it’s still dark out. I get very confused when I have a message from Vicks wishing me a safe journey. It’s barely 06:00, and she should by all rights be fast asleep. I somehow conspire to be the first passenger onto the aircraft. Literally the first. I suspect I may have pushed in front of the ‘people who need assistance, and those travelling with children’ but no-one shouts at me. The plane’s pretty full, but I have an empty row. I have an extra legroom seat, so I guess there weren’t enough takers for the modest upgrade price. I stretch out luxuriously.

I spend longer than I probably should have watching other people board the plane. There are some proper ditherers. One couple in particular makes me chuckle. They hold up all the other passengers for what feels like minutes, while they faff around trying to make sure they’ve got every possible item they might need from their hand luggage before they’re seated. Hilariously, while they’re pissing about, someone from the row in front of them steals the last bit of overhead bin space. As a result, the dude of the organisation has to take their bags about 5 rows back to get them stored. Even more hilariously, his other half then decides there’s YET another thing that she needs, so he has to fight his way back to her bag, extract the correct item (with shouting and hand gestures from her) and get back to their seats, all against the flow of boarding passengers. He’s soon gonna be getting hand gestures and shouting from the rest of us..

The flight itself is quick - around 90 minutes. Landing into Innsbruck is a hoot. Innsbruck is in the middle of a valley between two lines of Alpine mountains. As a result, aircraft fly down the valley on landing approach. This is super fun, because:

1) Initially, it feels like the plane is landing in the mountains. Then the mountain peaks are actually above the aircraft. It becomes really tricky to figure out how much further we need to descend. It feels like we should be landing, because I can see the sides of the mountains out of the window, and it ain’t that far down. Pretty suddenly, we’re flying a few hundred feet over the centre of Innsbruck, and moments later, hitting the tarmac.
2) The valley’s not straight. I mean, it’s ‘broadly’ straight, but still meanders from side to side. As a result, the pilot is constantly having to course correct. Now, I’m not suggesting we’re weaving all over the place, but we’re definitely tracking the contours of the valley. It’s very cool. It’s kind of like the canyon run in Top Gun : Maverick - but a bit slower, and with fewer explosives.

Vicki and I flew into Innsbruck in 2019, when we visited Mayrhofen for Snowbombing. It’s inconceivable to me that neither of us would remember this pretty weird and wacky landing experience. Unless we were somewhat refreshed. When questioned, Vicks remembers not getting a huge amount of sleep the night before we flew, and suspects she was asleep when we were landing.

The ground service is efficient, and I get another EU stamp for my passport. I’ve got three years left on this passport, and it’s the first time I’ve ever been in danger of running out of stamp space. I grab my bag, and head to my coach to Mayrhofen. It’s cold in Innsbruck. -4C when we land, and feels it when I get outside. I’m only wearing thin travelling combats, and the temperature is palpable. I’m one of the first onto the coach, so spend a few minutes wandering around. The airport is a small, provincial affair. It’s properly surrounded by mountains on all sides. Beautiful. It’s a big change from some of my more recent ski trips, where I’ve either flown into Geneva / Chambery, and got a long coach up to the mountains, or taken the train into Moutiers / Bourg Saint Maurice. The journey to Mayrhofen is maybe 90 minutes. As I’ve not had a skinful (genuinely - 1 token airport beer, then water/coffee on the plane), I don’t need to worry about a bathroom or anything like that.

As we arrive into Mayrhofen, memories start to appear. There’s a definite sense of familiarity. I can even remember some of the drop-off stops we make along the way, as we stopped at them on our way into the downtown area of Mayrhofen in 2019. My hotel is bang in the middle of town. There’s a big supermarket across the road, the awesome Hans the Butcher about 20m down the road. My room’s not ready for a couple of hours, so I take a quick stroll up and down the high street, and more memories surface. There’s a cool little café opposite Hans’ place which I remember us hanging out in last time. Eine Weissbier bitte, Fraulein…

16:45
It’s significantly colder than the last time I was in Mayrhofen. To be fair, that was mid-April, right at the end of the Season. December/January can often be bitterly cold in the Alps generally, and in this part of the Alps specifically. Innsbruck is around 500m above sea level, and we’ve got another 200m on that in Mayrhofen itself. Although it’s *warmed* a little since my flight landed, it’s -2C in town. Lots of the bars and restaurants have covered outdoor areas, often with fur (fake) lined seats to keep punters warm. I’m not dressed for it today though.

I’m also finding prices are cheaper than my last visit. Granted, a small sample size, but I suspect there’s a fair bit of price gouging when Snowbombing is in town. I’m part surprised / part delighted that my pint of Weissbier comes in at €5. It’s such good value that I order a second. Two’s my limit for now though, as I’ve got shit to do, and time’s pushing on. I have no idea how long I’ll last before I collapse in a heap, but I suspect not long…

I stop in at Mo’s - a pub that Vicks and I ate at a few times back in 2019. Halfway through my pint, 2 guys sit down at the table next to me. I’d guess they’re n their 50s. They’re here on a buddies' week away together for Christmas. I’m much minded of Ali and my amazing week together in Tignes Les Brevieres, back in, oooh February 2007 I think? Anyways, within moments, I’m embroiled in their conversation, and we natter away contentedly for an hour or so. Soon enough, it’s 15:00, and time for me to pick up my skis and get checked in to my room. I make no firm plans to see Steve and Bryan again this week, but I’m sure we’ll bump into each other along the way.

Checked into my hotel, I feel a nap coming on. I suspect it’s a sleep, and not a nap, but only time will tell…

22:30
I lay down around 17:00, and definitely set an alarm for 18:45, so that I’ll wake up for dinner. Well, I don’t. I think I vaguely remember turning it off, but I can’t be certain. Instead, I wake up at 20:30, feeling much refreshed, pretty damn hungry, and more than a little confused.

There’s a big Spar across the road, so I pop over to grab some room picnic supplies - some local cheeses and meats, bread, a bottle of local wine. That kinda stuff. There’s no fridge in my room, but I have a lovely little balcony, and the temperatures gonna be close to freezing for the next few days…

Couple of glasses of wine, and some food, and I’m fixing for bed. As travel days go, it’s been a largely relaxing and stress-free one. I’m still knackered though, after the ridiculously early start, and way too short a sleep. Just hoping my chest plays ball, and I can bank a decent night's kip.Read more