Day 1 - I've been here before...
7. marts, England ⋅ ☁️ 9 °C
16:00
My cab is at a fairly startling 05:00. Thankfully (depending on your perspective), my brain woke me up at 02:30, and wouldn’t allow any more sleep - so I’m up and ready with literal hours to spare.
The airport’s pretty empty, and I’m settled in and ordering a pint a little before 06:00.
I’ve actually not been here THAT often before. Here is the departure lounge at Gatwick South terminal, and here is the venerable Flying Horse Wetherspoons. I think my last visit was on the way to Croatia in 2015, with a motley crew of maybe 10 of us.
This trip is likely to be a little more circumspect than that journey into the abyss.
An obligatory pint of Guinness and a breakfast sandwich grease (literally in the case of the sandwich) the skids. I meet with my travelling companions - Simon and Shenda (who regular readers of this travelog will recognise from our recent trip to Sri Lanka), plus Jamie and Wendy - wonderful friends of many, many years.
Our flight is a touch late departing due to a technical fault, but we’re on our way in decent enough time, and the Captain reckons we should only be about 10 minutes landing into Torino.
I’ve not skied in Montgenevre before, but am looking forward to exploring a new ski area. Montgenevre is part of the Milky Way ski system, and has the fabulous feature of being able to ski internationally. Montgenevre is about 1km inside France, and the other side of the mountain is in Italy. The resort promises plenty of decent places to eat and grab a much deserved post-slope beer, and has the advantage of a quick and easy transfer from Turin airport to our base for the next week.
Now, the EU has introduced a new entry/exit system recently - October 2025 I think. This is for any visitors from outside of the European Union, including (obviously) the UK. The border check on arrival into Turin is carnage and chaos. Carnos - if you will. There are somewhere between 4 and 5 separate lines, with subtle differences in requirements between each. One is clearly for EU citizens. It moves quickly and happily. One signals that it is for holders of biometric passports from a variety of countries, including the UK. I join this queue. It moves reasonably well, and after perhaps 10 minutes I’m at the automated arrival gate. I pop my passport in, it’s scanned, and NO GO. I’m directed to the ‘manual check’ queue, which is both high in volume and low in progress. I point at the poster that says UK biometric passports can use this queue, and receive an incredibly Italian shrug, accompanied by advice that the poster is out of date.
Wendy, by this stage, has zoomed through the border with her Irish passport, and I seethe with jealousy.
The remainder of the party are directed to a different queue altogether, for some kind of registration for the new system. Passport check, facial recog, and fingerprints - that sort of thing. Honestly, these border requirements are making it increasingly difficult to get away with the petty crime that is a feature of so many of our travels…
Having successfully navigated this registration process, we’re given a blue sticker for our passport, and I’m directed back to the biometric queue. I’m suspicious. For reasons I don’t entirely understand, Si, Shenda and Jamie are in the manual check queue. I cross my fingers and hold my breath as I approach the automatic gate, and… SUCCESS! I skip through the border control gate and join Wendy, who has used her time efficiently to track down everyone’s bags. It’s approaching midday, and our transfer allegedly leaves at 12:15. Wendy and I separate. She stays with the bags while I go and find our transfer company to let them know of the delay. They’re terribly sanguine, they’ve been dealing with these delays all season as the new system gets up to speed.
The others FINALLY emerge a little before 13:00. The next time any of us crosses the EU border will be better, as we’re now recorded into the system. I suspect arriving into any other Alpine airport would have had similar challenges, but the set-up at Turin is particularly woeful.
The transfer is a breeze. The bus is pretty full, so we’re spread out around it. Wendy and I sit next to each other and natter contentedly for the 90 minute journey. Given many transfers into the mountains rise above 3 hours, the brevity of this one is a blessing.
20:30
On arrival, we separate. I’m staying in a small studio in a building adjacent to the apartment block the others are in. My AirBnB host, Federico, runs a small pasta shop in the town centre, and I need to pick up a key from him. The apartment is up the hill from there, and dragging my large and weighty duffel bag behind me is quite the workout.
My studio is great. Everything I need, nothing I don’t. It allegedly sleeps up to 4 - 2 on a double sofa bed, and two on Murphy style bunk beds. For 1, it’s perfect. It would be shareable for 2. I would not fancy squeezing more in.
We quickly meet up to do some admin. Ski passes, hired skis, ski lockers and the like. This is largely completed without incident, except Shenda has somehow ended up with skis the same length as me. Now, Shenda’s fairly tall, but she’s a good 15cm shorter than me, so this doesn’t really make sense. She and Si head off to get them swapped, while the remaining contingent head off to get ourselves wine.
We park up at Le Graal, a big cafe/restaurant/bar type place in the heart of the town. They have reasonably priced drinks, a big outdoor terrace, and crucially a big TV screen showing the Scotland vs France Six Nations game. Despite living in Surrey for the past 25 years, Jamie is a dedicated Scot, and particularly enjoys the sweet irony of Scotland beating France while he’s in France, by a frankly ridiculous score of 50-40.
Around 18:00, we separate again. I’m off to the supermarket to grab some groceries - wine, water, bread, cheese, saucisson. These are the 5 apartment essentials.
I’m hungry, so make myself a sandwich, have a glass of wine, and watch an England performance almost as dismal as the display I experienced at Twickenham against Ireland a few weeks ago. England deservedly lose, giving Italy their first ever victory against them.
I’m suddenly narcoleptically tired. I was planning to head over to catch up with the gang, but decide to just have a little rest of the eyes before I jump into action.
Uh-oh.Læs mere
Day 2 - No new knees required
8. marts, Frankrig ⋅ ☀️ 3 °C
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
Day 3 - Quite a lot of ouch.
9. marts, Frankrig ⋅ ☁️ 3 °C
14:30
Today’s been quite tough going. I’m awake by 06:30 having slept pretty well, but have a touch of grogginess about the noggin. My health tracker ring asks me whether I’m feeling feverish, as my temperature has been a little high all night. I decide that that’s probably what’s caused the foggy head, rather than the combo of rosé and red wine last night.
I meet up with Team Helmet at 09:00, having learnt our lesson yesterday that the ski lifts don’t open until 09:15. We have something approaching a plan, to head over to the other side of the Montgenevre valley this morning. There’s some consternation up the mountain when we can’t find the ski run we need to take us down to the lift that will take us over to the other side. We manage to find it, and head on down.
The chairlift over to the other side of the valley features some staggering views. This whole ski system is one of the prettiest I’ve visited. I’ve always thought Le Fornet in Val D’Isere was the most beautiful ski valley I’d visited, but this is right up there.
We meander down a few runs, but Jamie and I can both feel our thighs starting to burn. This is pretty typical day 2 behaviour, so we stop at a slopeside café with more mesmerising views. Soft drinks only - as it’s still before 11.
Back on the slopes, we head down towards the centre of Montgenevre. The snow here is super slushy. It’s South facing, and it’s actually pretty warm today - 13C according to the thermometers at the ski lifts. As a result, sticky, bumpy, slushy snow. Not a ton of fun. We decide to head back over the valley, and find the most beautiful run from the top of the mountain. Just perfect. Steep, but wide, and super powdery. My very favourite kind of ski run. At the bottom of it is the restaurant we lunched at yesterday, so park up.
My pichet of rosé hits the spot, as does the smoked mountain sausage upon which I feast. We bravely head back up the mountain for one more run down into the resort. Even on this side of the valley, the snow is breaking up into slush. It feels the right time to call it a day. S+S, J+W are planning to head up to the terrace bar on foot (well, in a bubble car) for some champers, but I can feel a nap in my near future, followed by a super hot shower. I’d love a bath, but sadly my little studio doesn’t have one. C’est la vie…
22:00
My nap was super deluxe. An hour or so, and quite a deep sleep. My head is a bit stuffy, and I just hope it’s not the onset of a cold. Instead, I blame the ups and downs of temperature over the past couple of days.
My shower is also super deluxe. I discover an uber power button, which turns the steaming hot stream of water into something approaching a deep tissue massage. I’m still a little achey in my joints, but it’s unclear to me whether this is my creaky, ageing body complaining about skiing, or that aforementioned potential cold.
Dinner tonight is a picnic at SSJW’s apartment. Bread, cheese, rillettes, ham, salami. Delish. I grabbed a bottle of Gewürztraminer to take with me, but barely finish the glass of rosé that Wendy pours me when I arrive. Uh-oh. These are bad signs.
I head back to my around 19:30, and spend a couple of hours being unsure whether I’m hot or cold. Merde.Læs mere
Day 4 - Lurgy
10. marts, Frankrig ⋅ ❄️ 1 °C
07:00
I sleep fitfully. I wake a couple of times sweating from every pore of my body. I wake at others shivering under my duvet. My throat is inflamed, and my nose is blocked. I’m now willing to declare a state of lurgy. I’ll head out later to try and procure some cold and flu type drugs, but for right now, I’m sitting on my sofa, under my duvet. I ping Team Helmet to let them know of my current malaise. Hopefully, I’ll be up to a bit of an excursion later, but my priority is getting sufficiently well to be back on the mountain tomorrow.
WISH ME LUCK.
16:00
An awful lot of not very much has happened today. I have a stellar nap around 08:00 for a good couple of hours. It does not improve how I feel, but tops up the very little sleep I got last night, and also passes the otherwise pretty dull time = WIN.
I binge some TV. Since you ask, Berlin Station - an espionage thriller from around 10 years ago. Very good. If you like Homeland, The Night Manager and their ilk, this will be right up your strasse.
Around 14:00 I venture out for supplies and drugs. There’s a small pharmacy at the other end of town who kit me out with some decent sounding cold/flu remedies. My visit to Sherpa yields some groceries to make dinner tonight. We’d been due to have a Raclette at SSJW’s apartment - I neither feel up to it, nor wish to pass on whatever germs are inside of me to my travelling companions. The Sherpa has a marginally better selection than other mountain supermarkets I’ve used in the past, including other outposts of the Sherpa chain. There’s a pretty decent butcher’s counter, a deli section with local cheeses and charcuterie, and a pretty decent fruit + veg selection. A simple pasta for me this evening.
The walking and shopping activities all but wipe me out. I have another little nap to make up for it.
22:00
I wouldn’t describe today as having been much ‘fun’ but I’m feeling better at the end of it than I did at the beginning. I suspect I’d have felt ruined had I tried to ski today, and it sounds like the conditions on the mountain haven’t been great. Maybe 7-10cm of fresh snow have fallen, which is great, but it’s meant visibility has been variable, which is always tricky.
Here’s hoping Wednesday is an improvement on all fronts.Læs mere
Day 5 - Wednesday > Tuesday
11. marts, Frankrig ⋅ ☁️ 1 °C
17:30
I sleep badly, again. My health tracker reckons I’ve had around 4 hours. I think that’s slightly undercooked, but it’s not a good and long sleep, by any stretch. I woke up a few times bunged up and mouth breathing. I give up around 05:00, and get up for some cold and flu tablets, and in the hope that sitting upright might help me breathe better. Things aren’t looking great.
I ping my team-mates to check on plans, and decide to give the mountain a go, even if it’s short lived. I’ve a few days left of my trip, but I know I’ll regret it if I don’t make the most of it.
It’s cloudy out, and colder than the past few days. On the first chairlift, I wonder if I’ve made a stupid mistake. My eyes are streaming a little, as is my nose. I feel I’ve pushed through the fever, but am still living in Cold Town.
Heading down the first run of the day, something changes. I’ve known a day on the slopes to do wondrous things to a hangover, but it transpires it can have the same crippling effect on a cold. For the next couple of hours, I barely think about how I’m feeling. It’s not that I’m distracted by skiing - but more that the freshness of the air, the speed down the mountain just make the cold irrelevant. I don’t really feel any symptoms until we stop for lunch. It’s been a good morning.
Post lunch, we hit a few more runs. I’m feeling it by 14:00. SSJW are heading home tomorrow, so have an appetite for more. I have a couple of days left, so feel less urgency to wring every possible moment out of the day. I head down a super steep and bumpy red run back into resort. I pause a couple of times - ostensibly to take photos, but really to take a breath. I mean - the photos are pretty, but who am I kidding?
Back at my apartment, I kind of expect to collapse in a heap, but don’t. I’m surprised that I quite fancy a glass of wine.
Around 15:00, Team Helmet are also done, and we meet at one of our favourite village bars - Bistrot Montagnard. Several pichets of wine later, we head in our different directions. I’m off for the hottest shower known to man, whilst the others are heading for a vin chaud. We’re meeting for dinner at 19:00. I feel approximately a million percent better than I did at this time yesterday. Boyackashack.
22:00
Dinner is at Transalpin, an Italian place that SSJW have been to a few times. I’m ready a little ahead of our 19:00 booking, so head out for a walk. I’m kinda looking for a bar to saunter into, and from which to stagger out. I’m quite disappointed in this regard. The lower end of town has a ton of cool little bars, but I’ve headed up town, where there are none. I hear some music playing nearby, and realise I’m close to the wine shack we visited a couple of days ago. After a short but strenuous cross country walk (my fault - I ignored the very straightforward way to get there), I arrive, and order a vin chaud. The lovely person working behind the bar explains to me that there are options - involving Jagermeister, Genepi, and some other local firewater, the name of which I don’t quite get. I opt for the plain old vin chaud, and it tastes like it’s got Jager in it. It’s very nice though. The DJ is spinning some questionable house music, there are a couple of fires roaring away, the scenery in the background is beyond breathtaking - it’s a pretty cool place to be. I manage a second vin chaud, and feel well.
I bump into SSJW heading down to the restaurant. Transalpin has a stellar reputation for their food, and I’m very excited to try it. We order carafes of wine that are 1 litre - one of rosé, one of red. We order food. Lots of it. My starter is a brilliant octopus and potato salad. I love octopus. When it’s done properly, I think it’s the equal of any seafood out there. I’d take it over lobster any day of the week. It’s a brilliant dish, garnished with some interesting ‘blobs’ of sauce - one of which Jamie declares to be octopus sperm. Irrespective, it’s delicious. I think it’s a high-end tarama myself, but what do I know?
My main is a wild boar ragout with some sensational house-made tagliatelle. All kinds of amazing. The boar is perfectly braised into a rich tomato and wine laden sauce. Buckets of yum. Everyone else seems to enjoy their food. And their wine. Jamie in particular - who is verging on narcoleptic by the end of our meal. Bless - he’s had a big day…
Simon is full, and acquiesces on his share of the red wine. I’m slightly intimidated by the task that is in front of me - but happily, my colleagues step in to help. The bill is reasonable, and the dining experience has been excellent. Not an everyday meal while skiing, but an awesome once per trip treat while we’re here.
While we’re eating, we discuss ski plans for next year. This is my first trip to Montgenevre, but about number 4 or 5 for SSJW. They’ll come back, and I’ll happily join them. We all agree that we need to sell it to Vicki. We think she’d love it here, even though it’s a quieter resort than the likes of Courchevel or Val D’Isere. There’s plenty of fun to be had. Oh, for sure…
I’m conscious that my cold is still lurking. I’m not super tired, but don’t fancy the idea of another glass of wine. I head back to my apartment to chill, and contemplate what might hopefully be a better sleep.Læs mere
Day 6 - I appear to have angered it.
12. marts, Frankrig ⋅ ☀️ 5 °C
22:00
Bleurgh. The very briefest of updates today. My sleep overnight is terrible. My health tracker provides a score on a scale of 1-100. I average somewhere around 75. Last night's score was 28, and I slept for a total of about 3 hours. Not good. I was very wakeful, coughing and spluttering my way through the night. I'm rapidly running out of tissues, so frequently have I had to blow my nose.
Conscious I only have 2 days left, I attempt to get my ski gear on around 09:00, but this merest of activities knocks me sideways. Duvet day for me. I watch some TV, and a movie, read by book for a while. I doze intermittently. My only activity is a quick trip down to Sherpa to grab some supplies. The walk back up the hill to my apartment nearly finishes me off. I'm disappointed more than anything else. There was some fresh snow overnight, but it's a beautifully bright and sunny day. Conditions on the mountain would have been sensational today.
Sounds like SSJW had a straightforward journey home. Quick transfer down the mountain, a MUCH easier departure from Torino airport than our arrival into it, and the quickest of journeys home from Gatwick, given they live all of, ooh - 2 miles away from the airport.
My dinner is a simple pasta dish, the cooking of which is a draining task. I have a super hot shower, and head to bed in decent time, hopeful of a better sleep, and a much better day tomorrow.Læs mere
Day 7 - The last hurrah.
13. marts, Frankrig ⋅ ☁️ 4 °C
16:00
Guess what! Awake at 04:00. AGAIN. I think it’s the cold bug more than anything else. Will be glad to see the back of the little fucker. I’m not going to be put off by mere physical limitations though. I’m on the chairlift up the mountain by 09:15, and am determined to make the most of what is a stunningly sunny day.
It’s been COLD overnight. Weather app reckons down to around -8C. As a result, the groomed pistes are hard frozen at the start of the day. When pistes are icy, you have to work that bit harder as the edge of your skis doesn’t cut into the surface as easily when you turn. The first couple of runs are a little sketchy. I head over to the other side of the valley, which has been basking in sunshine for the a couple of hours, and find absolutely perfect conditions. The surface ice has broken, and there’s a light, powdery texture to the snow. I spend an amazing hour criss-crossing the valley on a range of different runs.
Around 11:00, I head back to the southern (i.e. North facing) side of the valley, and find that the ice has softened, and conditions are nigh on perfect. I’m actually a little disappointed to stop for lunch, as I could go on (and on, and on…)
Lunch is a Tartiflette - that sensational combination of bacon, cream, cheese and potato that I had on my first day on the slopes. I’ve not really been breakfasting while we’ve been here, so a massive lump of carby stodge around lunchtime is not just fun, it’s a necessity.
I’m back on the slopes as quickly as possible. It’s a warm day - as high as 15C on the mountain, and the snow surface is starting to cut up quite a bit. Staying high is my best bet, so I head to the very top of the mountain, and spend a sublime hour running down some fairly fast and steep runs. My knee has held up brilliantly all week, so I’m taking this one last opportunity to try and knacker it before I head home tomorrow. It stands firm.
By 14:00, even the higher runs are starting to turn a little slushy, and very bumpy. Rather than force myself to ski more for the sake of it, I decide to call it a day, having had a fabulous day’s skiing. I reward myself with a pichet (literally translated as a pitcher, but they’re a lot smaller than a beer pitcher) of rosé at Bistrot Montagnard, opposite the slopes, and which I think has qualified as my favourite bar in Montgenevre.
All week, we’ve seen a group of young skiers, all wearing the same blue jackets. We’ve hypothesised that they might be a student skiing society, members of the armed forces etc etc. They’re not great skiers - we’ve had to work our way past them on numerous occasions as they snowplough down the pistes. As I tuck into my rosé, a pair of them sit down at the table next to me. Now, I’m not eavesdropping on them, per se - but:
1) They're Bristol University ski club
2) This is the beginners trip for the club. An intermediate / advanced group is somewhere else in the Alps
3) The group here has had some DRAMA. Some dude called Lee has shagged three of the women on the trip - including a WOMAN WHO IS HERE WITH HER BOYFRIEND
The melodramatic tone of the conversation makes me chortle on more than one occasion, which I discretely (I hope?!) turn into a cough.
It’s time to return my skis to the hire shop, and I should then give some thought to doing some packing. Back at my apartment, I consider which is more important - packing, or nap?
22:00
NAP WINS, NAP WINS!
Delightful 90 minutes of sleep, and I awake feeling much refreshed. Packing is a dull but necessary task, as my transfer to the airport departs at 06:30 tomorrow morning. I briefly consider cracking on with it, then reason that a shower will be more fun. Ooh, and then I should really finish the beer I have in the fridge.
The shower’s a legit idea, as my towel needs to try before I can pack it. The beer is a legit idea because I hate waste. Packing does eventually happen. I’m conscious my alarm is going to go off painfully early tomorrow, so it’s an early night for me. Given my sleep over the past few days, I’ll likely be awake ahead of the 05:30 alarm call anyway…Læs mere
Rejsende
I thought that was me for a minute on the left!!!
RejsendeCustoms queues at Zurich have been awful the last couple of times - and taking your photo and fingerprints!