‘James Bond learnt curling up the hill’
A dash of 007, the healing power of hot chocolate and an oompah band at lunch – all part of the winter holiday magic
Outdoor curling in the sun is so different when played in Mürren, Switzerland, against the backdrop of the Eiger. If we tired of the view, we hopped on a train and enjoyed another game over at Wengen. When that paled, we headed for the indoor rink at Grindelwald.
Too much curling? The thought never crossed our minds, but if it had, it was the easiest thing in the world to ride the rails to the Jungfraujoch and enjoy the reverse view back to Mürren.
Après-ski pales in comparison to après-curling, where the camaraderie of being a team helps win those drinking games. And what is more “in” than knowing James Bond learnt curling just up the hill at the Schilthorn?
John Brown, Bedford
MEGEVE PERFECT FOR NON-SKIERS
Megève in March was the perfect skiing destination. The cable cars, lifts and gondolas serving the slopes weren’t too busy at that time of year and lunches in glorious sunshine, 2,000m up, were a delight. There followed rewarding, if precarious, walks through pine forests to the ski lifts lower down the piste.
The charming Hotel au Coin du Feu made a perfect central base and the town is a gem. Eating fondues and raclettes among boisterous skiers in the evenings completed our induction.
My wife and I are non-skiers and, despite our protests, our three experienced friends refrained from skiing to be with us. It was the perfect ski trip, in a snow-covered paradise without skis. Wiljo Salen, Cardiff
HOW TO FIND LOST CONFIDENCE
My friend Raggy reckoned I needed a few lessons before our ski trip, so for several weeks we slid down a slag heap near Coalville on artificial snow. It hurt when you fell over, which was often.
In Austria, after just a day on the nursery slopes, we had to cross a blackrun slope. We followed in a line, left leg up, right leg down, then one by one crashed into each other. I rolled for several hundred yards and one guy kept on rolling. In the distance it looked like his leg had come off, but it was his boot.
That night we hit the Stroh rum, and while traversing a red run next day, I froze. I had completely lost my confidence. My spirits were restored by a hot chocolate I can still taste after 30 years. Peter Harrold, Lincs
IT’S COMPETITION TIME
Neither my husband nor I are skiers so it wasn’t ideal when, in the 1990s, I won a skiing trip to Wengen in Switzerland in a competition. All we had to provide was spending money and the area sounded good for walking, so we bought coldweather gear, flew off – and ended up with a great holiday.
First there was the funicular ride to the hotel. From there, walks were clearly signposted and we trekked for miles along snow-covered trails, stopping for hot chocolate at little huts. We ate at the Piz Gloria revolving restaurant used in the film On Her Majesty’s Secret Service; caught the train to the top of the Jungfrau; went to Interlaken and walked by the lakes; enjoyed lovely food and didn’t waste a minute of a brilliant (free) holiday. And we still can’t ski! Ann Boulton, Lincs
TRIPPING THE LIGHTS FANTASTIC
Our trip to Tromso to see the Northern Lights was unforgettable – not just because we landed at midnight in -25C (-13F) with my brother-in-law wearing a thin coat, thinking he was going to Bergen. Luckily, once he unpacked we were all well equipped for the extreme cold, right down to a woolly hat to cover my camera while it sat on the tripod, waiting for the show. Not even Joanna Lumley could have prepared me for the eeriness of the changing lights and shapes as they came and went.
Professional photographers had set my camera earlier, with instructions on time exposures. The resulting pictures of a swirling vortex were all the more surprising because I had not actually seen it with my naked eye.
There was no time to visit the cathedral, so we have an excuse to return to Tromso and see the lights again. Veronica Bliss, Hants
ENJOY THE AUSTRIAN AMBIENCE
All our skiing had hitherto been in France, staying in apartments or British-run chalets. A friend who spoke German persuaded us to come to Obertauern in Austria and stay in a hotel.
The snow and scenery were similar but the ambience was totally different. Lunch at a mountain restaurant was accompanied by an oompah band – dancing optional – and on the way back from the slopes we stopped at a little bar and drank beer with a schnapps chaser. I joined in the singing that time.
After a few days we were recognised and welcomed – all very different from the more aloof French. The hotel food was good, if rather heavy, and conversation with the other guests was stimulating. Outside the hotel at night the village was zinging – discos, live bands, raucous bars. All our ski holidays since have been in Austria.