Val d'Isere 2014

“So this is your life?”

“It is your life also.”

“No, this is exceptional for me.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

This conversation with Padraic, at 2,500 meters altitude in a ski lift, captures the essence of our long weekend skiing in the French Alps rather well. A luxurious hotel down the slopes, a private transfer from Geneva airport, lavish diners and expensive wines are all in sharp contrast with the typical hostel dorm rooms and public transport arrangements that set the tone of many a trip of mine. Of course I throw in the occasional nice dinner or hotel booking, but four days of copious spending on the better things in life is a rather standalone episode in my life thus far. And although I enjoyed it all tremendously, this trip isn’t the precedent for what is to come. On the contrary; with an itinerary of a trip every fortnight up and till half June, I’m afraid some tight budgeting is required to make it all happen! But that is of later concern, let’s first revive and divulge the eccentricities of Val D’Isere 2014.

In famous medieval Dutch readings like Beatrijs (rotte vis!) a period of seven years is generally used as a figure of speech referring to a very long passage of time. Well, my first three hours back on the snowboard confirm that it is really and truly a very long passage of time in real life as well, as the last time I had been boarding dates back to 2007 and the erosion of what were already very limited skills to begin with became painfully obvious on day 1. Trying to guesstimate the number of times I had fallen that night I came up with 25, yet reliving the first half day I must admit that it could also have been twice that number. As we speak my forearms still bear the brunt of the tumbling, smashing and cracking on snowy and, more often, icy slopes, as both are covered with bruises. My knees and lower back, the usual suspects when it comes to comparing my body with that of a 50-year-old lumberjack, made me genuinely reconsider whether I would be up for another day on the slopes that Thursday night. The next morning I felt better than expected however and I gave it another go, sticking to the green slopes high on the mountains (see map). With skills slowly developing and the number of crashes being limited to on average one every descend, Friday and Saturday featured enjoyable boarding in superb conditions. On Sunday morning, when the sun was breaking through the clouds and the last day started promising to be a worthy closure of the trip, I noticed that most people on the green slopes had become slower and less skilled. I wasn’t being overtaken anymore, but rather zooming past others. The flatter parts of the green track that had till then been my favourite weren’t so enjoyable anymore, and I figured it was time to try a blue one. Eoin “born and raised on skis” Whelan and Aidan “I’m not a great boarder but I’m doing blues and reds with Eoin anyway” Lawlor had endeavoured to convince Padraic and myself to join them to the slopes to the west of our safe green haven, yet until then to no avail. Yet, when I survived a long, narrow blue descend all the way to the village, and bumped into Eoin at the very end of the track, I decided to give it a go and explore more of what the area had to offer. By the end of the day, by then having been joined by the others, I had covered more than twice the area I had limited myself to the first three days. More stunning views, cooler slopes, and new favourites set the tone that Sunday afternoon, only to finish off in style with a long winding red piste all the way down. Being refused for another ride up and subsequently reluctantly handing back the gear to the rental store marked the end of the winter sports action on the slopes, just when I started to acquire the skill set to really enjoy it. But as Eoin said, perhaps not wait another seven years until the next trip!

The weekend wasn’t only about boarding though. Every day on the slopes ended with some proper chilling out in the hotel’s wellness centre, where a steamer and a sauna received tired but satisfied guests. A shower upstairs, some post-wellness-centre napping, and ready for drinks and dinner. Wholly unintentional our dinners went from poor and overpaid to very tasty and expensive as the days passed, with the absolute depth of despair being Padraic’s Chinese dish on the first night. “Good pick sir” a smirking waiter confided him when scribbling down the ill-fated choice, only to serve up a bowl of steaming noodles straight from the microwave ten minutes later. 22 Euros lost on dinner, but a price worthy of a good story as it has become. “Why the *** did I order Chinese food in France” suggests however that there’s a lesson learnt here. For Padraic’s birthday – I won’t go into specifics age wise- we ordered up two vast chunks of beef in a cosy restaurant named after the French revolution. Seeing them being roasted on the open fire made any faked glances into the menu superfluous as really the choice had been made by each and every one of us as soon as we realised what was on offer. In sharp contrast with their overprized and mainly sold-out wine menu, the restaurant in the hotel did offer a more than decent four course dinner for a very reasonable price for our Saturday night. The wine problem we handily solved by savouring a single bottle for four hours, while the midnight snoring and day-after headaches did suggest that a fair amount in excess of that bottle had been nourished. The mystery remains unsolved for all hotel staff bar the cleaning lady, who may as well be ignorant about her key knowledge.

Drinks-wise Val d’Isere wasn’t hugely impressive. The main waiter in the hotel, who had recommended a poor bottle of overpriced wine before, was consistent in his awkward advice as he suggested a deplorable bar with fake live music as the place to go for the evening. The Amstel beer that was served was a challenge to finish and we swiftly moved on to the next bar. And the next bar. And the next bar. Luckily the best hangover cure was readily available the next morning with a load of fresh mountain air to wash away any traces of alcohol. On Sunday night we came across a lovely bar with great live music and a tasteful interior, which suited us perfectly given the birthday celebration mood we were in. The guest of honour however wasn’t up for a prolonged night out, and with Aidan giving up his false pretensions suspiciously swiftly by joining the former-mentioned b-day boy on the bus, Eoin and I had little choice but to join them back to the hotel for a well deserved four hours of sleep before the alarm clock woke us at 5 am for the long journey back to Dublin. Now, back home on the couch, with a battered body and a satisfied mind, I can conclude that the trip has been a real success. Thanks for having me lads! Val D’Isere 2014, you have been wonderful!