But before I get to that, look at this lovely sign! It’s one of a few dotted around the place and reveals the odd history of the resort. This jerky old drag lift is one of two lifts in the area. The other is a rope tow for beginners, while this one started life closer to the main road to La Clusaz back in 1962. The entire lift was moved to its current position in 1971, and I’m guessing the signs were not updated. This particular sign says that it’s forbidden to ski outside the tracks.

On the day that I went to the resort with a friend, there was only one other customer. He was using the beginner slope, but left soon after, and we had to wait for the man in charge of this longer lift to get back from his lunch break before he cranked it up for the afternoon rush. In fact, we were the afternoon rush. In two hours, nobody else arrived and the lift was due to close soon after!

The pistes from the top include a green, a blue and even a red. They’re all very short but lots of fun. My friend even tried a tree run through the dense forest with some success. Who knew there was off-piste right here in St Jean de Sixt? There’s even a whole web page devoted to the resort, including a map and lots of photos.

So, why am I classing this place as an alternative to downhill winter sports? Because getting down isn’t the challenge at all: this drag lift —with a 62° slope half way up, a jumpy cable that sends you flying a few times during the ride up, and a flat section that means you have to leave the tracks despite the sign demanding you don’t — is the real sport. And so, I’m classing the ride on the drag lift as an alternative to downhill winter sports.

In a country where the tunnels near Geneva airport sometimes smell of peach cleaning product, Switzerland takes the cake for being efficient. And that’s why I was surprised when these doors appeared across the car park at Geneva airport when I tried to leave. My passengers, eager to get on the piste, had already been held up for an hour getting through airport security. They tried to hide their impatience.

I buzzed a nearby airport intercom and explained in French that some doors were closed and I couldn’t exit the car park. The guy clearly thought I was a nutter, but said he would come down. Minutes passed so I called again. The man said he was still on his way.

Five minutes passed and a queue of cars had built. This didn’t feel like Switzerland at all! A driver asked me what was happening, then he swore into the intercom and eventually, two workers arrived and looked surprised at the closed doors. After some discussion, they overrode the automatic closure system and manually forced the doors open, grunting along the way.

Just a few minutes later, we were moving at the speed of a tortoise with a hangover thanks to a car accident and the chaos of no traffic police. I wondered if we were really in efficient Switzerland until the smell of peach cleaner returned as we crawled through a tunnel. My friends managed half a day on the piste. It would have been less had I not made a new car parking space near the ticket office.

Translation:
Woman (thinking): I’m just a little bit hungry.
Woman: Good evening. The last Kinder Bueno please.
Shopkeeper: Someone has reserved it. How ’bout a fresh muffin?
Woman: That’s too much for me. What about offering the reserver these cookies?
Shopkeeper (looking majorly stressed, as if our mate Jo has a gun pointed at his head): I think he’d really prefer the Kinder Bueno.
(Woman turns, and Jo shrugs as if to say the Bueno is too hard to resist.)
Shopkeeper: What if you share it?
(Woman and Jo laugh like old friends.)

So what’s wrong with this ad? What’s right about it? Nothing is right about this ad.

PROBLEM 1: Who ever reserves a chocolate bar? Why does she even suggest the cookies instead of telling the shopkeeper where to go if he doesn’t sell her his goods?

PROBLEM 2: Why on earth does the shopkeeper looks so scared of Jo? Is he worried Jo’s going to volley a ball at him at close range? I mean it’s serious overacting going on there.

PROBLEM 3: Why doesn’t the shopkeeper have more than one Kinder Bueno? Do they not have more boxes out the back? Or another chocolate bar alternative that either of them would surely scoff down as an alternative if they like chocolate that much?

PROBLEM 4: Why why why why why is the woman so happy to share this chocolate bar that is rightly hers? She’s at the front of the queue, and I’ve never seen someone give up front-row seats for something just because the person behind them wants them. Had I been her, I would have grabbed the bar and done a runner before sharing, stopping only to stamp on both the idiot shopkeeper’s foot and the star tennis player’s.

Regardless, I just can’t bring myself to buy something that sounds like it’s going to kill me. Just looking at the bottle, I can almost hear those little fungi playing a muffled death march! On top of that, I just can’t get past that weird slimy texture of mushrooms that my instincts warn me against every time I chew on one. I’m anti-mushroom and proud. But perhaps I’m alone. Would you buy trumpets of death?

Our party of five included two people who had never used snow shoes before (including me). I imagined beautiful scenery, stopping regularly to look at natural elements like animal tracks, trees and views. My non-skiing visitor said her past experience with guides was basically that, and usually on flat terrain. Bonus for us, since we were still full on festive treats. Of course, we were wrong.

Snowshoes have three settings, so our guide checked we were all using the right one. She forgot to check our other vital equipment (ski poles), but I’ll get to that later. Off we trampled up a hill, zig-zagging and stopping to look at animal tracks, berries on a tree and a typical Savoyarde house. So far, so good. This continued for more than an hour, with the other beginner stopping often to catch her breath while the guide impatiently waited. We reached a plateau (pictured) just below the Tete du Danay lookout point (the mount in the background, just to the right of our group). The guide explained it would take another ten minutes to reach it or we could go back down. Now, check the size of the trees on that mound compared with the people in the foreground. There was no way it was just a ten minute walk. Also check how low the sun is in the sky. After a muted agreement to continue, I said I was worried we wouldn’t get back off the mountain in time before the sun set, and that it would take more than ten minutes, but the guide said that was ‘pas grave’ (not a problem). It was for me, but she didn’t seem to care. Instead, she made it clear that if one of us doesn’t want to go, none of us get to go. She guilted me into it.

The walk to the top took a further 30 minutes, with the slow girl stopping to complain every now and again, including to point out it had already been 15 minutes (to which the guide insisted she’d never said it would only be ten minutes). The guide steamed on ahead and was at the top before the slow girl, and the two of us behind her, had rounded the last few corners with steep edges. I should mention that I get vertigo. Vertigo is different to being afraid of heights. I have no problems getting on a chairlift! Vertigo involves dizziness at random times, and most definitely when there’s a steep decline nearby. If I look down on a chairlift, it happens. If I look at the horizon, I’m fine. Climbing these last few zig-zag corners before reaching the Tete du Danay was causing much dizziness. Since the guide had already made it clear that we all go or none of us go, and since she was out of sight entirely, I trudged up, heart beating through panic rather than exercise, trying to look away from the drop to one side. I even bullied the slow girl into not stopping until we reached the top, saying I’d mow her down in my escape from the dizzy area.

At the top, I explained to the guide that the last bit was not enjoyable for someone with vertigo. She told me I should have told her at the start, and of course she was right, but as the guide leading us, I’d expect her to ask the relevant questions at the start since I was expecting a relatively flat walk of maybe one or two hours. I’d also expect her to resist ploughing ahead so that she can’t see or hear more than half of her party! In her favour, she gave us all the most delicious tea, which made everything better.

The descent was hard work for the older lady whose ski poles had no baskets at the bottom. They were just big pointy poles that slid through the snow until they hit the ground deep underneath. She fell, and my immediate thought was that if she’d injured herself, it would soon be dark (although that was apparently ‘pas grave‘). The guide, who was hopefully aware that she should have checked everyone was properly equipped before setting off, gave the lady her poles and led the way with the pointy sticks. The few times she stopped to check that we were all there in the fading light, she stopped in areas with drops to one side which was certainly grave for someone with vertigo.

Not since the stupid walk last summer have I been so happy to see civilisation. More than three hours after we started, the air was cold, the light had faded, we had no torches, and all of us had had enough — including the guide, who I’m pretty sure will be happy if she never sees Vertigo Girl or Slow Girl again.

Don’t get me wrong: the walk itself was beautiful and the guide told us some interesting facts about the flora and fauna, but next time, I’ll go without the guide to avoid being guilted into going further, then having to speed-snowshoe home because of the fading light. And like cross-country skiing, I’ll only bother when the ski lifts have stopped running.

We weren’t disappointed. The food was exceptional! My Pad Thai was lacking in spices, but no worries: it arrived with a small dish filled with dried chilies and a warning that I’d only need to use a tiny sprinkle. Entrees, mains and desserts were all fantastic, but the only drawback for me was the green tea — a Lipton teabag rather than the loose leaf variety.

And then the night got a whole lot better. We headed to the Décavision cinema to catch a French comedy. I might have missed a lot of the jokes, but that wasn’t a problem. Why? I was in my own personal food heaven, with salty popcorn finally on offer (and purchased for a ridiculous price) at Annecy’s biggest cinema. For year’s I’ve felt annoyed that a cinema with ten screens doesn’t provide such a base choice of popcorn to its movie-goers. So, a bit like the Tim Tam biscuit moment in Carrefour Annecy, I gasped out loud when I saw the golden goodness available in salty flavour. No more weird, sweet popcorn for me: proper popcorn has arrived and I embraced with with open arms — and mouth.

There was another change in Annecy, but my elation about salty popcorn and Thai food have clouded my memory.

Pictured is the reason why downhill skiers get laughed at when trying to cross-country ski. First of all, riding ‘switch’ (backwards) isn’t really possible thanks to the scales on the bottoms of the skis: my friend pictured is actually standing still, with his best switch pose (along with another pose later for ‘off-piste’ which really doesn’t work with skis as thin as slices of bread). Without trying, we both managed to slip backwards on the up slopes so we’ve blown that ‘impossible’ theory out of the water. Also pictured are typical items of downhill skiwear: waterproof, baggy skipants and thick snowboarding mittens. Cross-country skiers sport lycra leggings, thin gloves and bum bags. We did well to leave our jackets at home at least, and to wear sunglasses instead of goggles. Alas, our loud skipants ensured that we didn’t fit in and I could almost hear the aged French men who lapped us cackling to themselves about our appearance and lack of ability.

We chose the easy piste at the top of Les Confins (La Clusaz) to start with, which involved uphill and downhill segments, and although the uphill parts challenged my respiration, the downhill slopes were the hardest. On normal skis, I would have thought them almost flat. On these french fries, the slopes were like massive cliffs. I survived them thanks to a technique as wrong as my outfit: I used my poles to slow me down by poking them in the snow in front of me. My arms ached for three days after all that jolting, but the views and the decent exercise made up for it. Meanwhile, the old French guys lapped us for a second time.

After our first lap (and as the old French guys went past us for a third time), we agreed to stop, in case it got dark before we did another lap. We had all afternoon, but we pretended it was later than it was. We had the photos to prove we’d tried it so we left. The single lap was enjoyable from an exercise perspective, and I’d consider trying it again.

Now, let’s return to the world where downhill skiing does exist. Give me downhill or telemark skis over these weird uncooked spaghetti skis any day! They have no edges and the bindings are fiddly. Even the pros look like they might wobble and fall over at any point. I’ll leave it to them to look unstable while I take my fat skis off-piste at the top of the chairlift.

The man at the post office explained that brown paper packages were no longer acceptable. Cardboard boxes are now the way forward. He mentioned ripping and lost addresses and suggested I gaffa tape the entire package and rewrite the address details in a thick marker pen.

Apparently, La Poste around these parts have a new mails sorting machine that uses suction to move the packages. The man behind the counter also explained that my letter for La Clusaz, 1.7km up the road, would be sent to Grenoble, more than 100km away for sorting, before heading back for delivery unless I bought a first-class stamp. In a world where train tickets cost more depending on the distance of the destination, letter travel seems to be in reverse: pay more, go less distance. I took full advantage and sent that letter on a journey!

Now, back to the package. Did I wrap it in so much gaffa tape that even a thief would fail to open the tin? Nope. I used plastic wrap from the kitchen then made a border of gaffa tape so the address appeared in a square ‘window’. If that suction machine — the one that puts an end to logical packaging — is going to get clogged up with my packaging, I want it to do a decent job of it.

This year got off to a slow start with a very warm and dry autumn, causing the annual ski test at Le Grand Bornand, held before the official opening of the resort, to be cancelled. Nobody could talk about much else apart from when the snow was due to fall.

Finally, about ten days ago, the snow fell. Conversation went from ‘when’ to ‘how much’ and ‘how low’, with rain washing away the first dump of fresh snow on the lower pistes. Resorts all over the Alps opened on the weekend with eager skiers lining up. I was one of them, queuing at the La Balme area of La Clusaz, and at first tempted to stay on the piste to avoid the rocks hiding under what we all suspected to be the usual early-season flimsy layer of powder off-piste. All that changed yesterday when I hit some rock gardens on the piste. Even at an altitude of 2,600 metres, the rocks were poking through. Nicely hidden behind the steepness of the slope and on a narrow part of the piste, I heard my new skis crunch over the rocks like a train chugging along a track. I ventured off-piste instead. Result! Just one rock obscured my fresh tracks.

What a dire start the season eh? No, not really. The resort isn’t even due to open until 17th December! I’m happy that the snow is back (and indeed it’s dumping down right now, although rain is expected later in the week), but I wonder if the early opening was perhaps more for marketing or pressure to open prematurely. The pistes are patchy, and worryingly, the barrier at the top of La Balme that prevents people from sliding over the edge to their death has not been fully raised yet, leaving just the lower orange netting to waist height only. Falling over it would not be difficult. Pictured is how it normally looks. Those big zig-zag ropes attaching to the higher horizontal black rope to keep everything taut are not yet there and the orange netting is kind of hangy.

Anyway, enough about health and safety: I need to get back to talking about snow with my friends.