Prost – and mine host cracks open the beer in the sauna
it really did all come back, and I, although my ego never quite recovered from the fall.
We had arrived at Bad Hofgastein in Austria the week before the ski season kicks off, fortunately for us there had been heavy snowfalls which meant conditions were unusually perfect for this time of year. Apart from a few locals the mountains were virtually empty. A treat that you would imagine would usually be reserved for royalty and not a lowly journalist.
I stayed in the four-star Hotel Norica which adjoins the impressive Alpentherme Thermal spa. The scale of the 30,000 sq metre is breathtaking. The spa is equipped with a seemingly endless amount of different saunas, two outdoor pools – one heated and one not, a bar and several lounging areas. I wasn’t sure of the etiquette and there are no signs in English. However, you immediately realise what the dress code is; nothing but your birthday suit in the mixed spa.
I wandered into one very large sauna which was full to capacity with about 60 people. Just as I sat down a man walked in and closed the door behind him and opened up another set of doors that led to the open air.
He began fanning the cold air into the sauna with a towel before closing the doors again. Then he announced something to the group in German that went over my head.
He picked up a block of ice and placed it on the burning sauna stove and instantly the temperature began to rise. Then another block of ice, and another. As the blocks began to melt he circled the sauna, fanning the hot air directly at those assembled for the sauna ritual. The atmosphere was intense as the fanning got more ferocious and the low baroque music playing in the background added to the intensity. I wasn’t sure if it was rude to leave during the performance and I think I missed what might have been the safety word when he spoke to the packed sauna so my only option was to stick it out.
For 15 minutes the ritual continued until the last bit of ice was thrown across the floor by our host and the sauna erupted in applause, everyone shuffled out to pour ice over themselves and jump under a cold shower. It was amazing, but at times I had to wonder if I had accidentally signed up for some sort of torture treatment!
The following day I came back to the same sauna but this time the ritual was different, with a jolly host carrying two crates of beer and pop music playing. Before we started, everyone in the sauna was handed a beer and we cheered, ‘prost!’ This time our host shuffled around the sauna lightly fanning the air as the ice melted on the stove.
We left Bad Hofgastein for the Hotel Metzgerwirt in Kirchberg which fortunately began to experience heavy snowfalls as we arrived into town.
As you navigate through the market in neighbouring Kitzbuhel sampling all the local gluhwein on offer, you can see one of the deadliest downhill slopes in the world, the Hahnekamn, which overlooks the town.
A lot of money has been poured into the ski resort here and the facilities are impressive. At the top of the mountain, above the first layer of clouds we stop for a coffee and another obligatory gluhwein. It’s a view I wish everyone could enjoy – it’s as if you’ve climbed into another world above the clouds and it’s a real pity to have to go down. The amazing slopes, though, do help to deal with that.
On the last run of the week, after our guide had left us, we decided to try a new run. A small sign said the slope was closed but we presumed if it was really closed there would be a barrier of some sort, so down we went.
We soon realised that the sign was there for a reason! The slope hadn’t been pisted – i.e. marked off – yet and had lots of fresh snow on top of it.
The slope was a hidden gem, it took us along a narrow path along the side of the mountain with stunning views, which at times distracted from the skiing and almost lead to disaster. The feeling of skiing on untouched powder is tremendous.
And at times we struggled to see which way was the intended route until eventually it opened into a wide clearing for the final part of the descent.
We didn’t see anyone else for the entire seven or so kilometre run, we didn’t even see any other ski tracks. I took the slope less
‘At the top of the mountain, above the clouds, we stop for a coffee and the obligatory gluhwein’
travelled by and it made all the difference. While the mechanics of skiing soon came back to me, I had forgotten what it felt like to race down a slope, the rush of going off piste and the enormous sense of relief when I reached the bottom of a black slope in one piece!