A friend of a friend split up with his fiancee because she refused point blank to go skiing. Things hadn't got that bad for us, but it bothered me that my boyfriend had no interest in learning to ski. Ten years went by, and I was in danger of becoming a non-skier myself. Time to take drastic action: I signed us up for a Couples Ski Camp (fermeduciel.com) in the French Alps.
The idea of the holiday is to spend the day skiing with others at your level, and meeting up with your more (or, as in my case, less) advanced partner for lunch. Evenings are spent together, staying with other couples in a luxury chalet. It's aimed at those who fancy time away à deux, but without being in each other's pockets all week and having nothing to talk about at dinner.
My group of intermediate skiers had the benefit of a week's coaching from Régis, a ZigZag (zigzagski.com) ski instructor (and rather dishy Frenchman). He led us around the Grand Massif, a huge ski area between Geneva and Mont Blanc comprising five linked resorts – Samoëns, Les Carroz, Morillon, Sixt-Fer-à-Cheval and Flaine – and 265km of piste. We honed our technique over the first three days, taking advantage of the perfect conditions.
By Thursday snow clouds were gathering, so we seized the chance to tackle the Cascades before it was too late – a 14km run from Flaine to Sixt. It's only a blue, but its sheer length, plus the fact that it is narrow and icy in some places, made it feel like a real achievement. In the afternoon, on something of a roll, we skied down the most difficult red run in the area without a second thought, and even tried some off-piste action.
It's lucky that we skied the Cascades when we did: on Friday, heavy snow meant that visibility was so poor it was all we could do to keep Régis in sight. The off-piste techniques from the previous day came in handy in such difficult conditions. After a cold, wet and slightly miserable day, the massage that was included as part of the couple's package was very welcome indeed.
Likewise, Ferme du Ciel, the beautifully renovated farmhouse/chalet we were staying in just outside Samoëns, became an ever more welcoming refuge as the full days of skiing took their toll. We slipped into a decadent evening routine: hot tub and sauna; champagne and canapés; three-course meal; coffee and chocolates; stagger to bed.
The food was a real highlight of our trip. Jeremy, the chalet's chef, has cooked around the world, including at Terre à Terre, the gourmet vegetarian restaurant in Brighton. Together with his wife, Danielle, he spoiled us with rib-sticking main courses such as cassoulet or rabbit pappardelle (they'll cater for vegetarians or special diets if you let them know in advance), and irresistible desserts like melting chocolate pudding or affogato with homemade ice-cream.
Lunchtimes were spent at slopeside restaurants. We were somewhat limited in our choice because they had to be accessible to the beginner group, so the tempting restaurant on Gers lake (Le Refuge de Gers, +33 4 5089 5514) towards the end of the Cascades – reached by skidoo! – was out of bounds. Only once did we abandon the beginners to ski to a remote auberge, Haute Combe (haute-combe.fr), in the middle of the woods near Les Molliets. We were treated to vast amounts of food and wine over an extremely long lunch, rounded off with génépi, the local liqueur, and a story read in French by the impressively moustachioed owner. Attempting to ski down the steep track leading back to the pistes after lunch, I found I had temporarily lost the use of my legs and was forced to lie in the snow until the cold sobered me up.
I spent the sixth and final day of skiing with John, which was simultaneously wonderful and extremely stressful. I had gone from pupil to teacher overnight. The low point was probably his panic attack on a chair lift in a near-blizzard, and struggling to find anything easier than a black run to get him back down the mountain. The best bit was skiing together through the pine trees down a lovely, 4km green run. That and witnessing his many and varied falls in all their glory ... For the next two days, I had a painfully stiff neck from craning round so often.
Over the course of the week, John learned a new skill, much to his astonishment, and I rediscovered an old one. As couples' breaks go, skiing isn't the most romantic – the chalet environment is relentlessly sociable – but it is certainly a lot of fun. In fact, the holiday was almost a metaphor for a good relationship: spend time apart in order to appreciate time together. And we certainly never ran out of things to talk about over dinner.
Rachel Dixon
There is no way this should have worked. Ask anyone unfortunate enough to have witnessed my sporting endeavours – I have all the grace, poise and balance of a flamingo in a washing machine. Horace Goes Skiing (youtube.com/watch?v=rmqj1BUDbwU) on the Spectrum is probably the closest I had previously come to the piste. Every holiday we go on inevitably involves Rachel clambering up the tallest historical building in town, while I quiver at the bottom trying not to look like the vertigo-ravaged excuse for a man that I am.
That given, it probably wasn't a good idea to kick off my first day on an Alp with a considerable hangover, a testament to the convivial atmosphere created by our hosts, Su and Andy. Nevertheless, there's nothing like pointing down a mountain (OK, an essentially flat nursery slope) with a couple of planks tied to your feet to shake off the cobwebs. Progress came in fits and starts. Fear quite quickly gave way to vague competence. Vague competence brought increased speed. Increased speed brought fear scuttling back, bringing with it a large stick with which to bash vague competence over the head. Still, snow is soft stuff in which to tumble. The day one fall count was a healthy 10.
Day two brought a spectacular fall two metres into the first nursery slope of the morning, and then the only moment of the trip in which I was filled with hate. Lunch with the more advanced group was at a restaurant a little higher up the mountain. That meant a stressful skis-off march down a blue run and then a drag lift that ended in a desperate scramble for the summit and a pair of skis launched across the snow in rage. I don't think that my mood would have been improved at the time if I'd known, as I did later, that I could have simply got the cable car to the summit.
Steady improvement followed, thanks to the Buddha-like patience of my instructor (and the decision to move future lunches to restaurants situated within my limited range). By the afternoon of day four, I was negotiating blue runs in effective, if not particularly aesthetically pleasing, fashion. At times the afternoons going solo were a little lonely, but they allowed me to go at my own pace, a pace that would have left Rachel either bored, annoyed or enraged. And quite possibly all three.
Our one and only day skiing together involved a minor incident on a chair lift and a rather anxious time on top of the mountain with visibility down to 10 metres. It served to justify the at-first-glance slightly odd idea of spending large chunks of a couples holiday apart. It's quite likely that the short-term separation guards against a rather more long-term version.
John Ashdown
• The couples ski camp at Ferme du Ciel (Mathonex, Samoëns, +33 4 5058 4457, fermeduciel.com) costs £1,490pp including six nights' five-star accommodation, five dinners, five days' ski coaching or guidance, a massge, transfers and in-resort taxi service. Easyjet flies to Geneva from £45.98 return.
