Chamois at the Chardonnet bowl
The promised snow only started falling earlier this morning, with clouds coming down low in resort and closing visibility for most of the day. Stuff on the hill had hardened overnight in a lot of places and the lack of sunshine meant it wasn’t transforming into soft spring snow. It was ‘survival skiing’: you couldn’t see where you were going and the legs took a prolonged battering on icy slopes. But we saw a small herd of chamois just above us in the Chardonnet bowl, standing quite close and not as shy as they usually are. It made up for everything else.
Spring snow at the Sachette
There was a lot less snow on the hike up to the Col de la Sachette today than a few days ago, but at least we could see where we were going and the sun came out too. Surprisingly, there was some lovely untracked – wind-blown – powder. On our way back, Andreas took us over to the Aiguille Percée, along the corniche, and down to Tignes again on transformed spring snow – a few times.
Sunshine and powder at the Col Pers
Last week’s snow falls seem a long time ago but there is still some powder to be had if you’re prepared to get up early and break a bit of sweat on skins. This morning, Chris took us to the further reaches of the Pays Desert before hiking over to the Col Pers and across to the Lechoir for some fantastic skiing.
Down Vallon du Clou to Le Monal
Le Monal is a magical site in the spring. On a sunny winter’s day, it’s an almost unreal wonderland. Last week I walked to the UNESCO-listed site from Sainte Foy following the last-minute cancellation of a planned ski tour to the hamlet.
Today I am back on skis with local guide Nicolas Borrel who took a small group of us to Le Monal via the upper part of the vallon du Clou – the stream that flows down from the small lake of the same name, through Le Monal and eventually into the river Isère 1,000m below.
Le Monal in winter: wonder and peace
“Do you mind if we move our tour to Le Monal to Thursday?” the guide asks.
It’s a sunny enough day but apparently there is too much wind on the other side of the mountain, whereas the forecast for Thursday is sunny all day and no wind, which would be ideal. We could still do it today, but really Thursday would be better.
I got up at 6.45 and drove half an hour to get to Sainte Foy, the starting point for the trip; so I do mind a little. The only possible answer, though, is: “Of course, that’s no problem”.
But having come all this way and being so close to Le Monal, a place I have been meaning to see in the winter for so long, I’m not going to give up just like that – I am going to walk there instead.
An infinite variety of trees: skiing the Laisinant forest
Powder. Lots of it. It was the news everybody in Val d’Isère had been waiting for after ten days of near-continuous sunshine and mild temperatures. Overnight, snow clouds drifting over from the Italian side of the mountain – known locally as the ‘retour d’Est’ – has deposited 15 cm of fresh stuff on the hill and 50cm on the Pisaillas glacier. But as snow hounds were reaching for their fat planks, further news came through: residual high winds meant the lifts on the upper parts of the resort would not open today and the glacier would remain shut. Perfect day, then, to rediscover nearby off-piste areas that had become tracked out and icy beyond skiable – and where else to go other than the magnificent Laisinant forest.
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Bonneval-les-Bains: tales of a failed spa project
The road that winds up the vallée des chapieux from Bourg Saint Maurice has been cleared as far as Bonneval-les-Bains. This is where we’re heading with former instructor M, who has suggested we go snowshoeing away from the Val d’Isère crowds and explore the lesser-known parts of the Tarentaise.
She tells me about Bonneval, a small settlement of scattered houses on the way to the Cormet de Roselend, a popular destination in the summer. Now, in mid-February, this is where the road stops. There is nobody else around apart from a couple of cars parked on the roadside opposite the ruins of a hotel that was never completed and a derelict open-air swimming pool.
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Salzburg: Hitting the apricot
“I give you a bit more”, says our monosyllabic Goth waiter as he brings our second round of marillen liqueurs. It’s getting late and we’re hitting the apricot stuff hard. It helps us forget a staggeringly disappointing dinner in Mozart’s hometown.
Our packed morning in Innsbruck means we’re late on the road – again, it’s becoming a habit. A few days ago, we even had to forgo Vaduz altogether after exploring Feldkirch in greater detail than planned.
But we arrive in Salzburg in warm sunshine. It’s quite hot, in fact, and much more summery than the past few days. Our hotel is on the north side of town on the Linzer Gasse. I don’t know if it’s the hotelier’s Mediterranean accent, the cafe terraces lining the streets, or the general layout of the town, but it feels very southern. Nice.
Innsbruck: Marie-Antoinette’s mother meets Zaha Hadid
“I’m not visiting another imperial palace or baroque church until we’ve seen the Zaha Hadid funicular,” I say.
Dr K looks at me with a face betraying absolute incomprehension, obviously concerned that I may have passed the point of no return on the road to cultural redemption.
We’re just coming out of the Hofburg, in central Innsbruck, the palace from which Marie Antoinette’s mother, Empress Maria Theresa, ruled Austria for 40 years.
Now Dr K is casually suggesting that we go on to Schloss Ambras, on the other side of town, when all we really want is a nice mélange and a slice of chocolate torte.
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Feldkirch: Ghosts from the past
“Would you like to try and find the house?”, I ask Godfather P. “No, these are ghosts from the past,” he replies, looking around to gauge the extent to which the place has changed since his last visit here in 1958.
Feldkirch, an old Vorarlberg market town just over the border from Lichtenstein, is our first Austrian stopover on the way to Vienna, and one that we – P in particular – have been anticipating with heightened curiosity.
GILG GARDEN DESIGN 