When I grew up it was called ‘la settimana bianca’, the white week. A week you would take off school to go skiing. We had no mid term breaks so your parents would talk to your teacher and she’d give you a few activities to do, some maths, usually long diary entries to write. Something dull and annoying you were forced to attend to after a day of skiing, legs tired, red faced, sleepy. I had friends who went every year, sometime more than once. I got sent instead to ski camp, twice, and hated it both times. Yes, I learnt to ski, and in my second year I even won a medal in the final day slalom race, surprising myself and everyone else on the camp who most likely had not realised I existed until that moment, a bronze medal which is still in a box somewhere. I hated the place because it did not resemble the chummy, jolly image of ’away at boarding school’ I had in my head. I hated it because I never felt I fitted in with the all other girls that seemed to know exactly what was going on and how to be cool and when, comfortable showering in communal showers, comfortable with the food, and who seemed to have the right clothes for every activities… the right pyjamas, or slippers. They talked in conspiratory tones to each other, and as much as I did not want to part of their clique – and I really did not, at all – I neither not wanted not to be part of it either. I survived numbing myself to anything and living in my head. The skiing was good though.

I’m digressing, but what I’m getting at is that in contrast to those torturous weeks I much preferred the tranquil times of cross country skiing with the family. Simpler and calmer. To this day when I smell Nivea cream, or see the now rarely spotted blu tins, I’m reminded of wind-burnt cheeks and thick hot chocolate, card games and cartoons on tv.

We only popped over to Switzerland for a few ‘white days’, just a few days stolen between classes and work days, but it was the five of us and it was precious, even if the snow conditions were terrible and the weather not much better. Have you ever skiied through mashed potatoes? I feel I can say I have. Urgh.

First time in Crans Montana and the conditions didn’t do it justice, they’re hosting World Cup races next week and they’ve had to ‘make’ a lot of snow. Apparently last November the snow was amazing. Go figure. All I knew of the place is that Katherine Mansfield lived here for a while, in a chalet at the edge of town. Great writer.

We had a few Campari Spritz (Aperol Spritz are sooo last year darling…) and played a lot of Uno. We also had amazing food both on and off the mountain. Highlights were Casy in Montana, and Merbé, right on the piste. The best location goes to Chetzeron though. Unbelievable views from every big window!. No complains there. 

Coffee and books were also a winning combo.

And yes we did try a little bit of skiing, but it was too hot for such a little snow. Shame, I know.

The mountains however, are always beautiful. You can’t tell from the photo that the wind was so strong they had to stop the lifts and you almost got blown off the side…

Another drink, anyone?