SIX THINGS I LEARNT AS A NON-SKIER IN THE MOUNTAINS

Snowshoes no longer look like things you could play

tennis with

They resemble very short skis and are the finest way of exploring a snow-scape – especially if you have a good

guide. Jean-Louis knew everything. We left the village for calmer country around the Tignes Dam. Walking in deep snow was almost a cinch and

very tranquil – just forest, Jean-Louis and me and tales of trees, animals (we spotted hare, fox and ibex tracks) and

the artificial lake Chervil, under which the old village of Tignes is submerged. The hullabaloo of skiing was distant, the quiet reality of the

land to hand and rather wonderful. I still fell over, tangling my feet on a gentle descent, but Jean-Louis – like everyone in Val d’Isère – was

limitlessly encouraging.

Moonbiking provides a novel

way of falling over

Moonbikes are electric

snow-scooters, with caterpillar traction at the back and handlebars attached to a short ski at the front. If

you are familiar with motorcycling, you will find

Moonbikes a doddle and thrust through snow, up and down slopes, with gay

abandon and much excitement. If not familiar,

you may rocket about unpredictably, avoid plunging into rivers by milliseconds and cause those nearby to dive for snowdrifts. Then the machine falls over and you fall off. “Falling off is a prerequisite of doing it properly,” said instructor Douglas, a tolerant fellow. “You enjoy the Moonbike?” asked my Val d’Isère friend, Chloé. “Absolutely,” I said. “I’ve rarely been less bored.”

Dogs are in their element

I stepped into the sled and sat down behind Inox, Grab, Iron,

Copper, Soukoy and Soyuz:

European sled dogs, a mix of pointer and Alaskan husky. They looked ripped for strength and stripped for speed. “They’ll do 40-45 kilometres in a couple of hours,” said musher Stéphane. Crikey. We were off. Dashing through the snow in a six-dog open sleigh, cornering at an angle and leaping forward again: I’ve not been as elated in a sitting position since…

never you mind when.

Echoes of a non-skiing

world remain

On the edge of the village, the Ferme-de-l’Adroit is a lone reminder of how the valley worked before skiing

brought luxury to the region. These were farms where the families who owned them bedded down near their animals for warmth. Nowadays, the Brune-des-Alpes cows have their own accommodation

in winter stables. With long-lashed feminine faces and a gentle bearing, the

cows look particularly beautiful. The cheeses are ace, too. You may visit any time. Fourth-generation farmer Lucille Mattis will welcome you, explaining the tough and tranquil subtext to the mountains’ story. You may find it more gripping than skiing tales of

derring-do.

The dining is impressive

Few villages of just 1,600

residents can claim 90 restaurants, from snackeries

through to those with Michelin stars. You have, of course, to eat Alpine fare. It is

bespoke-tailored for the setting and terrific, even if you have merely been frolicking in bubbles. I favoured, in ascending order: Le Garage, an industrial chic brasserie (restaurantvaldisere.fr); La Luge trad

Savoyard restaurant – tartiflette, fondues, lamb shank (hotelblizzard.com); and the Avancher restaurant, whose raclette spoke to me in

kilos (avancher.com).

Après-ski or root-canal

work – it’s 50:50

That said, it’s available to all and a great attraction to many.

If I were a little zippier and immune to noise, crowds and jumping, I’d doubtless have been happier at Cocorico N’Co (cocricoapresski.com) where top-grade groovers gather from 2pm to 4am. The

street food, conceived by significant chefs, was indeed formidable. Towards 6.30pm, the place was already frantic with dancers, few of whom

seemed likely to make it through to 4am. “No,” agreed co-boss Aurélie Bonnevie, “but numbers are refreshed as the evening progresses.”