Air so crisp it feels sterilised washes over my face, I breathe it in. One breath gives me as much oxygen as three would in London. I breathe again. A vast orb of a sun pierces through the bright blue sky and a mountain fox trots beneath it gaily. I stare at pines and gorges and as my knees bend forward I hear the white surface crunch pleasingly. It’s Thursday afternoon and I’m in the Austrian Alps, half-way through my family ski holiday.
Though I’ve skied in St Anton before, I had forgotten how much I love it here. Neighbouring Lech, Zurs and St Christoph, St Anton has the slopes, the bars and the town of skiers dreams. Furthermore, the resort is dubbed (not unduly) St Manton – and does indeed boast a lot of fine specimens to ogle at…It is little wonder that guests return year after year after year.
We haven’t been here since 2009, and since then our family ski holidays have evolved and multiplied into an elite extended family dream team. Two families, an American (who we picked up at 5,416 metres in Nepal) and a kite-surfing, 60-odd-year-old man named Gaydrian (enough said.)
So we’re here, in St Anton and so far the clan has lost one wallet, broken one rib and endured one knock out. The latter was my battle wound and resulted from taking a rather icy number at speed after a few red wines on the first day. Next year I think I may invest in a helmet – as it is, the right side of my temple is too swollen to put one on. Fit. Anyway, now you are up to date on the written side of things (which has been exceptionally challenging due to some of the worst wifi I have encountered over the last decade), I shall seek to update you on the photographic side of things shortly.
Danke for your patience!
Not working – but here is one from last year of the dream team…