Return to the Slopes: Skiing in Davos, Switzerland by Mary Novakovich

Call it a mid-life crisis or even a mid-winter madness but, after more than 20 years away from the ski slopes, I was gripped by an unreasonable desire to roll about in snow again. Not the wrong kind of snow that paralyses Britain at the drop of a few centimetres, but the deliciously powdery stuff that makes you want to jump in and make snow angels. And if there’s one country that handles huge snowfalls with efficiency and good humour it’s Switzerland – and the eastern resort of Davos in particular.

I wasn’t quite ready to have a go at the downhill slopes, however. My mind was too full of memories of crowded pistes and freezing in interminable chairlift queues. A spot of cross-country skiing seemed a good idea, as I had done it a few times in my teenage years. I vaguely recall smoothly gliding through forest trails and winding up at friends firesides with mugs of hot chocolate. Unfortunately, I didn’t recall the actual technique involved (and my partner Adam had never been on Nordic skis before), so we were having two mornings of lessons.

Good Sense of Balance

Our instructor, Walter Simeon, eyed us up professionally. “We try classic?” he asked, baffling me. I didn’t know the name of the gliding-forward-type skiing I had once done. Apparently, an offshoot of the sport sprang up about 25 years ago: skating, which is exactly what it implies. It’s harder and requires a very good sense of balance. Classic skiers stick to being confined within the man-made tracks, while skaters use an open space needed for the sweeping action. The skis and boots are different too, so you need to decide which method you prefer before you hire your gear. It looked like fun, but I’ve never been very good on ice skates. We stuck to classic.

The idea was to ski for a few kilometres while Walter assessed our level of skill. As we set off, Walter warned us not to hurt ourselves. “Try not to fall on your – what do you call it, coccyx?” That’s right, we nodded. Within 10 minutes my partner was on his bottom, smarting somewhat. But his bona fide coccyx moment came a little later on, although he remained stoical in his agony.

Quite how painful it was I discovered myself a few hours later, when we were practising going downhill using the old snowplough method. Bang I went. I imagine that on the pain scale that includes childbirth, amputation without anaesthetic and gunshot wounds; a bruised coccyx ranks pretty low. But I couldn’t quite believe it as I lay on the slope, hoping the cold snow would numb the pain and reduce the bruising.

Exhilarating Experience

I was very annoyed that I was allowing a bit of pain to get in the way of what was an exhilarating experience. Before my lower half became somewhat useless, we had been making our way through about five of the 75 kilometres of groomed cross-country trails surrounding Davos. We had been practising the gliding movement which had eluded me previously, thus making the whole exercise both easier and much more enjoyable. At the end of the lesson, Walter showed us where we would be going the next day: up the Dischma Valley (yes, skiing uphill) for about 10km. I smiled hollowly and thought privately that I would have to cajole Walter into taking us on the nursery trails instead.

On the way back to the ski hire shop we passed several skiers with no legs, powerfully digging their poles into the snow to get their speed up. Instantly humbled, I resolved to stop being such a tiresome whinger. At least we had the sublime spa facilities at the Hotel Meierhof to look forward to. I could barely manage two strokes in the swimming pool before I was straight out and into the Jacuzzi. My second resolution was never to stay in a hotel during a skiing holiday that didn’t have a Jacuzzi.

My determination evaporated the next morning as we skied the agonising 10 minutes from the hire shop to the ski school where Walter was waiting for us. “How’s the coccyx?” he grinned. “Sehr schlecht,” I grumbled. He laughed. “So, you’re ready to go up the valley this morning?” His cheerful face fell when I half-jokingly said no. But Walter’s combination of 12 years of experience as a teacher and enormous enthusiasm proved too strong a match for my truculence. We were going up the valley.

Placing Your Trust in Professionals

There are times when you realise that it’s worth placing your trust in professionals. Yes, we were skiing uphill (still a mad concept, frankly) but the incline was relatively gentle. We used a combination of the herringbone and the digging-in-furiously methods to propel ourselves upwards, and our growing confidence and skill allowed us to take in more of our surroundings. The imposing peak of Schwarzhorn was ahead of us, and all around us was the magical Alpine scenery and endless snow I was hoping to get close to. Here we were gliding along, getting higher towards the vivid blue sky that had not a single cloud in it. It was more fulfilling than downhill skiing in the sense that you felt you had to work harder to get here. And, of course, go down again.

I hadn’t thought about the downhill part until we reached the first of three slopes. When you’re in the cross-country tracks, you can’t manipulate your skis to control your speed. All you can do is tuck and go down. Very fast. I managed the first slope, although I can’t remember the last time I felt that kind of fear. The second time I was in the process of panicking when Walter instantly popped up and held my arm to guide me down. At the third one I gave up completely and just held out my elbow for Walter to take. Neither I nor Adam had fallen that day, and I didn’t want to spoil the record just metres from the ski school.

We had the skis for a third day but no Walter, so we skived off. I had great intentions of trying ice skating, but there were too many 10-year-olds out there doing double axels. Instead we took the cable car to Jakobshorn, one of Davos’s four ski areas. Davos, at 1,500m, is the highest town in Europe, and Jakobshorn is another 1,090m further up. The noticeably thinner air made me a bit woozy – either that or the spectacle of seemingly endless Alpine peaks made me dizzy with wonder. As we had the cable car to ourselves on the way back down, we were able to hang out the open window like goggle-eyed children, captivated by the views.

Delightful Alpine Ski Scene

At the foot of Jakobshorn is a typically delightful Alpine ski scene: big restaurant with plenty of outdoor tables at which to watch the nutters on the half-pipe, and an adorable children’s club with a cute little tow rope, tiny slalom course and mini Oompa Loompas fearlessly zooming downwards. Made me want to be five again, snug in a snow suit and on baby-sized skis.

For those of us who aren’t five any more, and even those without skis, we found that Davos had plenty to keep us entranced. Apparently it has a reputation for being a bit brash, which I couldn’t understand. All we felt was a sense of warmth, a congenial atmosphere and just the right level of raucousness – mainly in one particular bar (the Ex Bar on the Promenade) we decided to turn into our second home. Our hotel, the Meierhof, gave us welcoming four-star luxury without the pretension and ceremony that often accompany it.

Even the public transport system got us absurdly excited, mainly because it works like a dream and makes it easy for people to reach all the ski areas in Davos and in neighbouring Klosters. Every hotel guest gets a card that allows them free transport on the buses, the Davos-Klosters train and various discounts (including the cable car).

My only quibble was the cost of wine in restaurants, which has a mark-up that’s doubled that of even the greediest of establishments in the UK. However, this was almost counteracted by the fine quality of the cheese fondue at the Pot au Feu in Mattastrasse, which has all the sloped ceilings and wooden walls you could hope for. Now that I’ve broken my self-imposed no-snow rule, there’s only one thing for it: it’s downhill skiing next year, maybe even in Davos.

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