Tyrol by Catherine Cooper

I choose the Austrian Tyrol in September – too early in the year for skiing but none the less plenty to keep a five year old and his mother happy. We head to Gerlos – in winter a busy ski resort but out of season populated mainly by cows and just a few tourists around enjoying the hiking and riding.

We stay at the Hotel Kröller which is ideal for children – Toby is delighted with his bunk bed in his own room in the apartment-style suite. He even has a miniature bathrobe.

On our first day we go for a short walk through the forest and have a little chat – something we don’t generally get to do at home where he and his sister both vie for attention. Toby tells me he wishes I had more time to play with him on his own at home “but you’re still lovely, Mummy,” and I am racked with working-mother guilt.

The weather is bad, so we go for a swim in the hotel’s pool where Toby plays with a little German boy, both of them seemingly oblivious to the fact that they are speaking different languages. After swimming we go up to the spa, or “relaxing room” as Toby calls it, where children are allowed just one day a week, where we splash about in the whirlpool bath and then have a cuddle on one of the loungers.

The following day we are up early to catch the bus to take a gondola up the mountain. We get out at the top to admire the view and take pictures, then get back in the lift for a couple of full circuits because Toby loves lifts, and because we can.

In the afternoon Toby has a pony ride and then we play in the hotel’s outdoor playground complete with rabbits, goats and a pot-bellied pig.

On our final day Toby and I join some other children in a “cow-orientation” class. Local man Charlie has come in to teach the children how cows produce milk, complete with prosthetic udders filled with water for everyone to have a go at milking. Afterwards we wander up the road to feed some goats and pat some new-born calves before having lunch in a typical Tyrolean cabin.

At the end of our few days I feel that I have spent some proper, quality time with Toby – not just taking him to the playground or reading to him but talking to him and listening to what he has to say. I realise he is not just my son – he might be only five but he is a little person with his own take on life. He tells me: “I’ve had a lovely time just being with you, Mummy” and I resolve to make more time for him when we get home, however busy I might be.