Day 2 - No new knees required

17:30
I sleep for almost 10 hours, and that’s always a good thing. I’m awake by 06:30, and have a coffee and a mooch while I wait to hear about our plans for the day. We agree to meet at 08:30, as all of my travelling compadres have a ski lesson this morning. I always forget how long it takes to get ready on day 1 of a ski trip. Easily an hour. There’s a lot of equipment (i.e. crap) that needs packing. Multiple pairs of glasses and/or goggles; in my case and on this trip, multiple knee braces should things go to shit (more of which later…); A hat, a bandanna, at least one pair of gloves. It may not sound like much, but trust me - it takes a while.

So - the knee. I’ve had arthritis my entire adult life. In its most recent incarnation, this pernicious little fuckwit has taken over my right knee. It’s by no means the worst arthritic pain I’ve experienced, but it’s there, always there. I’ve been getting some physio treatment recently, and while it’s improving, it’s not all the way there yet. I’d wondered about just coming to the mountains for a week away in the crisp Alpine air, but decided instead to risk it, because no one ever got fired for buying IBM.

There’s a further wrinkle to my morning, which is that I’ve got a brand new pair of ski boots to break in. It usually takes a few days, and I’m ready for it, but by the power of Grayskull, new boots feel like your feet are in a vice for a while. I leave my colleagues at the ski school, and head off to the nearest chairlift. It’s 08:50, and I’m disheartened to find that the lift doesn’t open until 09:15. This is later than the very vast majority of Alpine resorts in which I’ve skied. The ensuing 25 minutes are not fun. My vice enwrapped feet are screaming by the time we actually get onto the chairlift.

Now, this is going to sound counterintuitive, but when you’re in new ski boots, you want to be moving, and ideally skiing. For some physiological reason that I won’t try and explain, the movement alleviates the vice’s pressure.

Finally, FINALLY at the top of the mountain, I head off at a decent lick. Remarkably, the amount of attention I’m focusing on my feet means that I have no mental capacity to care about neither the quality of my skiing, nor the state of my knee. As a result, both are going remarkably well. It usually takes me a couple of hours to get back into the skiing groove, but after 20 minutes today, I felt locked in. My knee? What knee…

After a couple of long runs up and down the mountain, I take a break, and grab a coffee and some water at a café that overlooks the slopes. My enviced feet thank me for the opportunity to breathe.

I meet the others at the end of their ski lesson, and we head up the mountain together. The conditions underfoot are good. There’s not been any fresh snow for a few days, but the pistes have been well groomed overnight. They’ll doubtless be a little slushy later, but right now, they’re in great condition. A couple of runs later, we’re ready for a break and some food, and stop at a piste-side restaurant. I’m very pleasantly surprised by the prices, which are a lot more reasonable than an equivalent venue in Courchevel or Val D’Isere. I treat myself to a plate of Tartiflette (potatoes, cheese, bacon - look it up, it’s great) and Simon and I share a carafe of red wine. I remark to the team that the slopes, restaurants, ski lifts all seem very busy today. It transpires that last week was the French schools’ half term, and this weekend has been a public holiday. It should be a LOT better tomorrow.

Sated, we head back up the mountain, and have a couple of great runs down the Montgenevre valley. It’s a staggeringly pretty place - lots of tree lined ski runs, deep, rocky valleys and blazing sunshine. by 14:30, a few of us are flagging. The pistes are starting to become slushy, and that’s never any fun. I am STUNNED that my knee has held up as well as it has, without any additional support. I’m not counting chickens yet, but it’s a really good sign…

We park up at a cute little bar over the road from the main chairlifts, and spend a fab hour or two chatting shit. We could put roots down, but instead do the grown up thing, and head back to our apartments to get changed. Oh, but via a little cabin in the snow that bangs out decent vin chaud, and surprisingly also decent house music.

22:20
I pop up to SS and JW’s apartment for a quick vino ahead of dinner. Their place is great, and has stunning views across the valley. As the sky darkens, we can see and hear the snow ploughs heading up the mountain. It’s quietly ethereal.

Dinner is at an Italian restaurant called Isabel. It’s a couple of shades smarter than we were perhaps aiming for, but we bravely plough ahead. I have a fantastic veal dish with a Gorgonzola sauce. Jamie has an awesome steak tartare, made tableside to add some delightful theatre to proceedings. There’s some pasta, some pizza, some pork. All very lovely. To top it off, the bill is not life threatening. Montgenevre is not quite as eye wateringly expensive as many of the other French ski resorts I’ve visited over the years. Courchevel and Val D’Isere are perhaps that worst offenders, where one is strongly encouraged to remortgage the house to buy a beer.

We’re all pretty jaded (and approaching refreshed) after a busy day. There’s a very brief mention of another drink somewhere, but we collectively decide that bed is calling.Læs mere