Fashion and Fee

The post christmas sales in Milan were a sight in themselves. Stylish Milanese everywhere, hurrying up and down the freezing streets, thronging in the Piazza del Duomo, jockeying and jostling for the bargains.



Milanese queuing for
shopping action in the rain

 We followed Cathe around on the mission for the definitive winter coat, and for once it was impossible to remain detached from the thrill of the chase. All the big brands were represented, but so too were the temporary outlets, full of what were apparent (even to my jaundiced eye) as solid bargains.

The excitement built as we elbowed our way through the shopping district. The big stores were run like exclusive nightclubs, with lines of shoppers queuing outside, immaculately turned out major domo’s (majors domo?) guarding the door, and a sense that one might not make the grade to gain entry. We tried to look like rich shoppers in our cobbled together winter gear, but some of the guardians of the portals weren’t fooled by our faux haughtiness; only a timely foot in the door coupled with a determined shove got us into the Prada store for a squiz.



After many false turns we struck gold at last: with the perfect Italian leather fur coat and a clutch of ski gear triumphantly underarm we headed back to the hotel for our last night before heading to Switzerland.



Found the coat: now for the boots



This was our first foray into the famous Eurorail system, and what a pleasure it was. The train ran from Milano, past the summer mansions of Lake Maggiore with snow capped peaks in the distance, and into the mighty Alps. Our own 4-seat cubicle, comfy seats and amazing scenery made it a great trip.



Finbar at 3500 m



mmm...Fondue and beer



Saas Fee turned out to be a great choice. A little village nestled in the snow at 1800 m, ringed by giant snow-covered alps, no cars allowed, and of course oozing historical Swiss charm. La Collina Chalet, run by the Family Ski Company, had separate rooms for us and the kids, on-site child care including delivery and pick up from the ski school, and an infectiously enthusiastic group of young Poms on the staff who looked after every possible need. Despite my pitch that two weeks of solid skiing would help us gain the upper hand in the battle of the bulge, Simon and Max in the kitchen conspired to disabuse us of any such notion. They served up superb 3 course dinners every night, accompanied by free wine that kept being replenished as long as long and as late as the requests kept coming. I seem to recall accompanying some Welsh fellow guests in a very loud version of Delilah (and did we attempt it in rounds?) at about 1am following one of these evenings, but that may have been a just a bad dream. Even so the 8pm dinner time and the endless bottle was hard to resist, and bedtimes seemed to stretch well beyond what we are used to.



mmm...Apres ski beer and
Swiss lemonade

 Each morning we groggily ambled through the postcard-perfect village to the ski depot next to the cable car station to commence the day’s activities. For a skier who had never sampled the delights of the northern hemisphere, Saas delivered the goods. The overall rise of the slopes is 1700m, about 3 times more than anything in Oz. The journey to the very top (by t-bar, cable car and underground vernicular railway) takes about 20 minutes, and skiing hard or soft that run is going to knacker you – it’s about 3-4 km long.

mmm... Apres ski gluvine
and complimentary rugs

The boys took to the slopes like fish to water, both natural skiers. Finbar particularly hit his straps and conquered every run on the mountain, styling his high speed carve turns on the red and black runs, airtime (naturally) featuring significantly. Sholto went from snow ploughs to high speed parallels and was just about to attack the black when our time was up. My ageing knees managed to come to the party to advance the cause of telemark perfection, and by the second week I was feeling pretty solid as I chased Finnie around in the afternoons. Cathe also picked her skiing up a few notches (despite the odd dummy spit at the husband-instructor) and generally enjoyed carving out her parallel turns on the lower slopes, ultimately managing a strength-and-will sapping top to bottom run on the last day.

A kid in the Swiss Alps

We were blessed with near-perfect weather although a cold snap in the last few days was a shock to the system: windless, bright sunshine, but 20 degrees below. This gave rise to a new and ticklish sensation - the private ignominy of frozen nostril hairs.

Too much skiing is barely enough

As I write this we are on the train again passing charming Lake Maggiore, on the way to Milano before jetting to Barcelona tomorrow. A new country and a new language: my research shows that the word for beer is cerveza - apparently there are also many other interesting things to discover.

Adios amigos