So bad you're banned from lessons – how to avoid becoming a ski widow
“Jacqui, you must never do ski lessons again! They are a waste of your time, and mine. You learn nothing.”
And so there it was. Sacked by my ski instructor. Banned from the beginner’s course before I’d even got off the nursery slopes. My ski dreams in tatters. The elegant swish of my imagination replaced once again by my terrified snow-ploughing, the go-faster stripes on my new salopettes nothing more than a bad joke as I sideslipped down slopes, my ski goggles full of tears while the rest of the family waited patiently for me to join them at the bottom.
That’s if I even reached the bottom at all. Olivia, 13, once thought I was a goner when I went off the side of the mountain in a white-out and fell into a snow drift, rendered totally invisible. Mountain rescue was on high alert until I emerged like a yeti from the wilds. Even tobogganing was a disaster – the services were yet again alerted when I took so long to come down, my family literally thought I had died.
It’s not that the decision – to learn to ski as a family just after I turned 40 – was a total disaster. Far from it, it turned out that my husband and my daughters loved skiing. It’s now their first-choice holiday, but it’s not the same for me. My idea of us drifting down the slopes together, stopping in high-altitude cafés before racing down to the chalet for lazy evening meals was very far from the reality. What I hadn’t factored in was my utter inability to ski – ergo, blind fear.
Instead of the best idea I’d ever had, skiing was one big holiday fail. Four years on, I was at risk of becoming a ski widow. But I wasn’t prepared to join the bored group of people waiting in cafés and restaurants for stories from the slopes over lunch or hot chocolate. I really did want to be part of the action. I set myself a challenge – instead of throwing in my skis and booking us all a sunshine break instead, I’d try again, and crack it this time.
And so it was with determination, but no small amount of trepidation, that I packed for the mountains of Les Arcs – a family-friendly resort that is easy to get to for a half-term break. It’s accessible from London via the Eurostar direct to Bourg-St-Maurice, then straight up the mountain on the funicular. It’s a genuine ski-in, ski-out resort: there are no cars, just people playing in the snow. In fact, if Disney did ski resorts, they would be like the village of Arc 1950 – a ski paradise, complete with twinkling lights everywhere.
Les Arcs is part of the Paradiski region (Les Arcs, Peisey-Vallandry and La Plagne) which is one of the largest ski areas in the world. It also has a vast beginners’ zone. The St Jacques chairlift has four blue runs of increasing difficulty that will keep most beginners busy for at least three days. I thought this could be the perfect resort – if only it weren’t for the skiing.
But then I discussed my ski history with local ski school Evolution 2 and I met Vanessa, my new instructor. It was a light-bulb moment. I suddenly realised that your instructor needs to be a bit like you – your ski partner in crime. And if you’re a 40-plus parent, you need a different instructor from your kids’ crazy snowboarding/freestyle skiing instructor.
And from the moment I met Vanessa, I knew she was someone I could get along with. She was calm, considered and instantly made me feel safe; she also had a wicked sense of humour. On that first day, when the snow was fresh, and therefore sticky and slow, she suggested that maybe it was a black-run day. Seeing my horrified face, she dissolved in laughter, then confirmed that maybe next year or the year after would be better – for this year, we would stick on the blues. Even so, it was not all smooth sailing – with my history, how could it be? There were many terrible moments – such as the morning I chose to walk down a slippery slope rather than ski down it, the obligatory fall from the chairlift and the out-of-control descent through a group of tiny children at ski school. And there were many other times where I was close to taking off my skis and hurling them off the mountainside.
But Vanessa got me down slopes I didn’t ever think were possible. She helped me by breaking each section down bit by bit, mapping a path and taking it slowly. She continuously made me look back at the slope on reaching the bottom so it looked steeper than it felt coming down, which gave me the confidence to try steeper runs. She worked out my limits and gently pushed them, but I never felt uncomfortable. She wasn’t afraid not to ski, either – she took me up to the highest point in the region, where we mutually decided it was in everybody’s best interests to get the cable car back down.
My breakthrough moment took place on the penultimate morning, when I was out with my daughter in another white-out. The visibility on the mountain was severely reduced, owing to fog, and I was unable to see more than 10m ahead. I managed to misjudge my turn and went over the mountainside, hurtled down towards the mountain bowl and ended up – once again – in a heap of fresh snow. But what a difference a year makes. My instant response was to laugh, not cry, and at that moment I suddenly realised that skiing was an adventure I once again wanted to be part of, that it was fun – even the falling over bit.
That lunchtime, we celebrated at mountainside restaurant Le Chalets de l’Arc and shared a huge fondue by the side of an ancient fireplace. As I sipped from a glass of the local Savoie wine, I realised I was not only exhilarated, but relaxed. I was actually looking forward to getting my skis back on.
But whatever my ski day had been like, Arc 1950 made coming back each evening so delightful that I couldn’t fail to smile. Our hotel apartment meant we had the best of both worlds: some evenings, we stayed in, sitting in front of a roaring fire playing card games and eating bowls of pasta. On other nights, we ate out at one of the many and varied restaurants in the village: there are Savoie-style restaurants a-plenty, with La Table Des Lys providing a true French gastronomic experience of Michelin-star standards. (The kids, however, preferred the pizza at La Vache Rouge…)
The success or failure of any family holiday is always how happy your children are. In Arc 1950, there is a festival atmosphere and an irresistibly joyous welcome. (Kids are even allowed in the snow-surrounded sauna at times, which my three girls took to with relish.) Peak season family activities included a children’s ball and fireworks.
Later in the week, the village staged a freestyle ski show featuring our ski instructors (no, Vanessa reassured me, my services were definitely not required). The freestyle display – more like ski acrobatics – featured tricks and flicks, aerial flips and spins the likes of which we’d never seen before. The atmosphere was electric and the show a holiday highlight for my nine-year-old, who couldn’t believe her eyes as she watched her instructor backflip through the air over a fire breather. Whether this was sheer bravery or raw madness was hotly debated – a simple slip or bad landing could put an instructor out of action for the rest of the season. This time, fortunately, there were no bad landings, which could also be said for my week as a whole.
After a week of private lessons and a fabulous time with the family, I am undeniably still nervous, but skiing suddenly feels like a pleasurable experience, something to look forward to. As I handed my skis back to the rental store, it was with genuine sadness. Arc 1950 is a magical place, and for nervous skiers it offers a safe haven.
The essentials
A stay at Arc 1950 Le Village (arc1950.com) costs from ￡1,046 for seven nights self-catering in a five-star Residence (based on two adults and two children, departs March 23, accommodation only). Activity tickets such as Mille8 leisure centre, the igloo village and sledging can be booked at lesarcs.com. Ski Lessons from evolution2-lesarcs.com)
