My nickname on the slopes is Daily Disaster. My friends tell me this because skiing gives me endless opportunities to make life frustrating for others and my problems to be their problem. Let me explain…
Having returned from the Dolomites in one piece, full of fresh air and fresh food, I think I only want to ski in Italy from now on. Not only is the view unbeatable and heart-stoppingly beautiful as a large grappa after a long lunch at the Comici “rifugio”, but we can say that the locals are not unaware of the concept of fiasco either. So it’s perfect for me.
Daily Disaster never feels more at home than in Italy; As in Italy, old age and blonde moments are equally tolerated.
There was a time when we were heli-skiing in Italy and our vehicle arrived at the helipad on the snow at La Thuile: I was the only member of the group who managed to forget my ski boots. Everyone shouted, “There’s always one.” Everyone (including the helicopter pilot) had to wait while I ran to the nearest rental point, which wasn’t exactly next door, to grab a spare pair.
Then after lunch on the mountain I managed to grab the kids’ skis instead of my own, and each time I made a turn they shot off in different directions as they were set at half my weight. Und so weiter (as they say in the Austrian and German Alps) etc.
This Christmas, I told myself sternly that things would be different. I was never going to be the Daily Disaster. I would be a commander. I’d be the one shouting “Heraus”! in others, it’s 8:30 a.m., fit and well-booted for a long day of walking the track.
Since I took Boris to the family-run Rosa Alpina hotel in San Cassiano, I was in the Dolomites, one of my favorite places in the world, and we had a wonderful time munching on juicy grilled meats on the sun terraces. We end our days with a ride on the horse-drawn chairlift.
While Rosa Alpina was undergoing renovations, we had the chance to enter the old-style fairy tale palace of Gardena Grõdnerhof in Ortisei above the valley; Here Alex, the handsome descendant of the founders, greeted me at the reception with a dachshund on his lap and his very similar appearance. oil portraits of his great-grandparents that hang proudly in the lobby.
Poor Alex had no idea what was going to hit him.
My suite overlooked the rushing Derjon River, glistening and lively walks, kayaks and wood carvings. It was extremely comfortable, with crisp white duvets, deep baths and barrels of chocolate.
The hotel has its own ski shop, so it only took me a few seconds to outfit myself with the necessities the night before my first morning, including brand new faux fur-lined ski boots. I carefully packed everything I needed before going to bed because I was anxious about being ready to go. Tissues, lip balm, credit card, ski pass, gloves, glasses, sunglasses, hat; All the accessories, which are very easy to lose and expensive to replace, were lined up next to the door. At nine sharp, I met Marika, my ski guide and a former Italian champion, in the lobby. We got into a black minibus and headed towards the ski station. We walked quickly to the door of the first gondola of the day and he quickly entered. Meanwhile, my door beeped and remained closed.
A quick investigation into the incident revealed that I had taken the Ortisei town bus pass with me instead of my ski pass, and we had to call Alex to search my entire suite to find the vital pass and go through all my belongings. He eventually found her and sent her back to the ski station in a taxi.
Daily Disaster quickly got to work.
Everything went fine after that. Almost too good. It snowed, then the sun came out. Since it was two weeks before Christmas, the slopes were deserted. I dined three nights at Gardena, which has both a casual family restaurant and a cozy Michelin-starred spot called Anna Stube. And every afternoon, after skiing, I got a powerful massage at the world-class spa, open only to hotel guests. They also have so many indoor and outdoor swimming pools, ice and cold water plunges, and saunas that I couldn’t manage to try them all.
I must admit that I lost my room key every day, but I managed not to lose anything else or destroy a hill full of beginners shoveling snow on a nursery hillside. And best of all, the Italians seemed to take ownership of everything that happened, from the moment my EasyJet flight was diverted from Innsbruck to Salzburg to the fact that I always left my pants at the spa; they were always by my side, safe and discreet. It was then delivered to my room rather than to the dinner table.
I was never treated like a Daily Disaster, but rather like an aging Italian movie star. Thank you Italy, Dolomites, Gardena Grõdnerhof: the place where I will be happy forever.
Prices at the Gardena Grödnerhof start from €360 (about £310) per night on a bed and breakfast basis. gardena.it.
Ski passes, ski guides and mountain experiences in the Dolomites can be arranged. dolomitemountains.com or take the Gardena Tourist Board valgardena.it.