I’ve had a desire to ski down glistening white slopes ever since seeing On Her Majesty’s Secret Service at the Regal Cinema in Rothesay on the Isle of Bute. However, I’ve still to attach a pair of long sticks to my feet, so I can confirm from first-hand experience you don’t need to know how to ski to enjoy snow resorts.

1: Sensational scenery

Even unappealing urban landscapes are transformed by a generous dusting of white powder, so views which already slot into the feast-for-the-eyes category are elevated into something quite, and I don’t apologise for using this word as it’s the one which always springs to mind, magical.

2: Walking in the snow

I thought it would be difficult. I thought I’d be slip-sliding my way from point A to point B. If anything, I found walking in the snow easier than walking in some snow-less environments (I’m talking about you, tree-root ridden and leaf strewn forest paths). Either paths are flattened, or the snow is so deep that it’s like walking on a crisp cushion. As most people are in snowy destinations to ski, it’s often just you alone with nature on these paths. After all, the song is about ‘walking in a winter wonderland’ not skiing.’

3: It’s exciting

You don’t need any skills to be able to scream down a slope on a toboggan, apart from knowing how to stay on when there’s a corner. For anyone after some hi-octane activities, there’s usually something on offer. In Zermatt, we were ‘accidentally’ given speed toboggans. When I wrote ‘scream down a slope’ I meant it literally. But it was a blast. There’s no photos of us tobogganing, so here’s another exciting way of getting around.

4: Bond villain lairs

Snow breaks generally involve mountain scenery, and where there are mountains there is usually at least one construction high on a hillside somewhere which resembles a Bond Villain lair, probably because it has been used as a setting for one. As well as firing up the imagination, there are other reasons for visiting these lofty places – views, bars, restaurants, shopping, hotel, cheesy ice sculptures in ice tunnels etc.

5: Lodges

If there’s one thing winter snow destinations do exceptionally well it’s having lots of places for a bit of R&R, especially halfway up mountains or in clearings in the forest. Baby, when it’s cold outside there are few things as welcoming as a roaring log fire, and the Christmas-card-cover lodges you find in snowy location are experts at creating cosy environments to get to know the local booze.

6: But it’s not always cold outside

The weirdest thing is that it’s not always cold, even when temps are well into minus figures. When there’s not a cloud in the intense blue sky, the sun does its best to give a warm(ish) hug, making outdoor terraces as popular as indoor. It messed with my mind a bit to sit on a terrace when it was -7C and have to take my jacket off because I was too warm.

7: Snow is fun

It’s something we’ve all known since we were children. That sense of wonder snow brings when it falls never goes away, nor does the fun of a snowball fight, bumping a tree as friends walk under it so they are bathed in a frosty downfall, stepping into a snowdrift that comes up to your chest, or making silly butterfly shapes in the deep snow with your body.

8: Quirks

We love the peculiar oddities you find in different destinations when you travel, the little things that glue themselves to the memory. In Zermatt, it was a walk to an igloo village. Sitting sipping a hot coffee outside an igloo with views of the Matterhorn reflected in the sunglasses was quite the coolest thing. I now have drink in an ice bar, go on a torchlit stroll, and captain a team of huskies on my snow quirk list.

9: Getting about in style

Due to the nature of wintery landscapes, getting around snowy worlds is an interesting and fun activity in itself. We’ve notched up panoramic rail journeys, trundling up hillsides on funiculars and, my personal favourite, silently gliding across a silent white world in a cable car cabin. One lasting memory is of noting just how many animal tracks patterned the white carpet below during one early morning ‘glide.’ Forests must be busy places after dark.

10: Après ski

It’s called après ski, but there’s no rule to say you have to have actually done any skiing to enter a bar to relax and socialise after a cool day on the slopes. Clinking glasses in a convivial bar is a satisfying way to toast the end of a day enjoying the white stuff, whatever you’ve been doing. And there are great bars to indulge in some après snow. One of the hotels I’ve been writing about had an aquavit bar in what was the former goat barn. Another was also home to the village inn, a bar which, according to their website, was frequented by “…unconventional thinkers and fruitcakes…” among others. That description alone would have me booking in.

And there was no mention of skiers.

Delivering training sessions about some of the destinations we’ve visited over the year prompts us to reflect on our experiences in a specific location; something which doesn’t always happen immediately after a trip as there’s nearly always somewhere else exciting to visit steaming toward us.

For a similar reason, I enjoy indulging myself with a round-up of the best, and worst, travel experiences from our year.

Biggest WOW of the year
No need to mull over this one, the herdsmen’s village of Velika Planina on a high plateau in Slovenia was the biggest travel surprise of the year. The photos we’d looked at beforehand didn’t prepare us for just how wowed we were when we actually saw it for ourselves. This is an exceptionally beautiful place. As well as being the biggest surprise, strolling around the village and eating buckwheat mush and sour milk outside a herdsmen’s hut was the most enjoyable travel experience of 2019.

Most beautiful destination
For years our nephew Liam has been raving about Zermatt in Switzerland. Finally we found out why. With the world covered by a thick snowy duvet, exploring Zermatt and surrounding countryside was like stepping into Christmas card scenes. Waking up to widescreen views of the Matterhorn each morning made sleepy eyes ping open with untypical enthusiasm. Greatest revelation was just how much fun following walking routes in thick snow can be.

The destination which disappointed
Last year Venice exceeded expectations, this year Florence failed to live up to them. The Florence north of the Arno didn’t charm for a variety of reasons – too many tour groups and grabby restaurants. A measure of a place is how long you want to spend there; our forays into the tourist hot spot across Ponte Vecchio were short-lived. It was simply too frantic. Thankfully, the south side of the Arno was a tranquil and charming contrast. Our experience of Florence was of a Jekyll and Hyde city.

Favourite city
Ljubljana isn’t the prettiest city we’ve visited but the feel-good factor was off the scale. We wandered with permanent smiles fixed to our faces. It’s a city with a big town feel so getting to know it doesn’t take much time. It’s a destination for anyone who enjoys good food, smooth wines, craft ales, and live music; a place to eat, drink, and be merry. After a day there, and some beer and wine, we declared it a place we could happily live.

Best hotel stay
Another category where there have been lots of contenders – Hotel Plesnik in Slovenia’s Logar Valley for its dream location; Hotel Agua Geres in Geres, Portugal, for being ultra comfortable and having excellent food after a tough day’s walking; Quinta Roja in Garachico, Tenerife, because it’s a favourite of ours; Oltrarno Splendid in Florence because it was actually splendid and as cool as Vincent Vega. Best though was Hotel La Laguna Gran in La Laguna, also Tenerife, as its lounge is a compelling blend of colonial and contemporary decor, it has a fabulous Michelin star restaurant, and the bar is of the sort which puts an arm around your shoulders and says “come on in, we’d love your company.”

Top nosh
There were so many excellent meals wolfed throughout the year, ranging from Michelin standard to quality street food, it would be unfair to single one out, so I’ve written a separate piece listing our favourite dishes of the year.

Send it back
The Etrop Grange near Manchester nearly came top as a) their already limited menu had even fewer options by the time we ate at 7.30pm and b) the chef managed to make fish and chips dull to the point I wasn’t tempted to pick at leftover chips (a really bad sign). But biggest culinary disappointment was at Mar e Sol in Sesimbra where the pez espada preto (scabbard fish) we’d told my mum would be meaty and tasty was mushy and bland, the worst pez espada we’ve eaten to date. Not that my mum cared, she was just happy to be sitting in the sun overlooking a gorgeous beach on a warm October day.

Exhilarating walking route of 2019
For having just the right level of challenging walking, boasting contrasting stop-us-in-our-tracks scenery, possessing an eclectic mix of ingredients (a mountain lake, sanctuary in a ravine, stone slab bridges), and just being loads of fun (a rare occasion of being able to walk with our friend and colleague from InnTravel, James) a route from Roucas to Peneda in Peneda-Geres National Park in Portugal ticked all the boxes which make for an exceptional hike. A difficult choice as all the routes we walked in Peneda-Geres were winners.

Most enjoyable transport
A cruise up the Douro River on a sizzling May day proved a scenic overdose as well as being a blast. The hills lining the river were hypnotic – their natural rolling curves artistically enhanced by the addition of narrow terraces of vines whilst the atmosphere on board ship was bizarrely booze cruise, but one mainly full of septuagenarian Portuguese. Why the nationality of partying pensioners made the experience more enjoyable rather than less so, I don’t know. But it did. It was an eclectically experience and the Douro lived up to the promise we’d seen in old films in a Port cellar in Porto.

Most emotional experience
The winter sun sparkling on blades of frosted grass; long, kilted shadows on a crisp forest path; a silhouetted lone piper playing a haunting lament; a roaring fire warming numbed legs; my nephew and his new bride wearing Cheshire cat-sized beams as they dodged a downpour of heart-shaped confetti. Scotland, you tug at my heart like no other destination.

Nephew Liam had visited Zermatt a few times previously; he was the reason we were there – to celebrate two birthdays (his and his dad’s) as well as to show us around his favourite place in Europe. The logistics of packing in as much as possible over a short period of time had been worked out with military precision, starting daily with a bleary-eyed, 20 minute walk to the supermarket for breakfast goodies consisting of fresh baguettes, buttery croissants and chocolate croissants (the last being the reason it wasn’t a 10 minute walk to a bakery located closer to the apartment). Like a sheepdog, Liam herded us out of the front door in time to catch reasonably early trains, cable cars and anything else which could transport us to dizzy heights.

Day 1: White walkers
First of these was the scarlet Gornergrat train which trundled up to Riffelalp, the launchpad for our first experience of walking in thick snow. Not many other folk alighted at foggy Riffelalp. Apart from a girl carrying fashion bags (a surreal image given the setting), we were on our own as we set off along Mark Twain Weg (named because the writer had penned a mocking article about his experiences of walking in the area). Although the air nipped at the nose with the ferocity of a narky Jack Russell and all views, save for the forest of frosted pines around us, were obscured, the walking was intoxicating (partly thanks to the thin air) and, for us, refreshingly different – a factor highlighted by having to dodge out of the way of a snowmobile before we stopped following in Mark Twain’s footsteps to descend through the white forest.

Virgin, snow-hiking boots dealt with virgin snow with ease, making the descent surprisingly easier than on many equally steep snow-less forest paths we’ve tackled. It was magical – a playful breeze gently shook pines beside the path now and again, causing snow explosions above our heads. At one point a brace of does emerged from the mist to watch us with their big Bambi eyes before they melted back into obscurity. At a solitary mountain lodge, where the tranquillity was broken by the unexpected sound of a gravelly Jim Morrison, we paused to let silent riders in the storm pass by before we crossed what was Zermatt’s version of a busy road – a ski slope.

Just outside Furi we rested at another rocking mountain restaurant, huddled outside in freezing temperatures nursing naturally icy beers in gloved hands, our increasingly numb lips wishing we’d ordered glühwein.

With temperatures plummeting, we abandoned plans of continuing walking to Zermatt and threw ourselves into the embrace of a cosy cable car. The rest of the afternoon was spent wandering around the Matterhorn Museum, being humbled by tales of a local guide who’d climbed the Matterhorn when he was ninety, and learning the village had its own version of Monopoly called Zermopoly.

Day 2: Downhill racers
Whilst two thirds of our second day involved more than enough exciting new experiences to fill a week’s visit, including the Matterhorn announcing its presence in spectacular fashion against a cloudless sky and a walk to an Igloo Village, the final third was an off the scale adrenaline rush. I sledged down hills when I was young, stop starting my way on reluctant home-made affairs. Within seconds of ‘kicking off’ on the ten minute descent from Rotenboden to Riffelberg I rapidly realised I hadn’t really sledged before. If I hadn’t been desperately concentrating on trying to a) avoid crashing into people who’d set off before us b) actually steer the thing and c) prevent it becoming airborne every time the track curved steeply in front of me, I’d have been, well, crapping myself. Attempts at braking simply sent a blinding wave of snow into my face, making steering even more difficult. It was no sled, it was an untamed bucking bronco. I banked into the track’s final curve at a speed far higher than I planned/wanted before the beast ran out of breath and spluttered to a stop. Astounded and relieved that I’d made it in one piece without crashing, and as high as the proverbial kite, I Cheshire-cat beamed at a couple standing at the side of the track, shouting: “WOW! I mean, WOW!” It was all I could say.
It was only later, thankfully, I discovered that despite two of us being toboggan virgins, we’d been given Ghosky toboggans, designed for experienced riders as they’re faster than normal sledges and more difficult to steer.

Day 3: Simply breathtaking
The only time we queued to get on any form of transport was waiting to catch the gondolas from Zermatt to the Matterhorn glacier paradise at Trockener Steg. We felt a wee bit like outcasts, the only stick-less people amidst the bug-eyed army with clunking feet also waiting to ascend to the heavens.
At nearly 3,883m above sea level, the Matterhorn glacier paradise is Europe’s highest mountain station. A lift leads to a viewing platform from which it’s possible to see 38 peaks touching the sky at over 4,000m as well as 14 glaciers. It was bitterly, bitterly cold, with a Scrooge-like air reluctant to feed us oxygen. We didn’t linger too long before descending into chilly tunnels which snaked through the inside of the glacier. With its twee sculpted ice animals, it was too kitschy for my liking. In truth, the bit I enjoyed most was an airy return voyage in empty cabins (everyone else skied down) which took us back, in panoramically spectacular fashion to the lowlands of Zermatt (only 1600m above sea level).

Even more enjoyable was an afternoon jaunt which took us via a funicular through a rock tunnel to Sunnega. There we left the skiing fraternity behind to crunch our way downwards on sparkling paths to the Christmas card cover hamlet of Findeln where the wooden facades of traditional larch timber houses had been blackened by the sun. Once the domain of local families who took their cattle to high pastures to graze in summer months, most of the old houses are now holiday homes.

A further short descent brought us to the hallowed entrance of Chez Vrony, THE mountain lodge to dine at in the area. Having a reservation is essential. Ours was arranged well in advance by Liam, so we leapfrogged a queue of hungry hopefuls who hadn’t booked a table and were seated in a prime spot on the terrace with the Matterhorn acting as the restaurant’s stunning centrepiece. Like everywhere in Zermatt, prices were lofty – the famous Vrony burger being CHF 31 – but it was such a uniquely special experience it more than felt like good value. The waitress was friendly, the ambience lively, the food tasty and the surroundings exceptional. Even though the air temperature was below freezing we shed jackets; the sun fierce enough to force us to swap places now and again, just to give faces in danger of taking on cooked-lobster hues a break from its bombardment.

As we sipped amber beers and worked our way through burgers so mountainous they threatened to blot out views of the Matterhorn, I watched as brightly coloured dots appeared on the white hillside, growing larger as they zig and zagged their way balletically to the restaurant’s entrance. What an über-cool way to turn up for lunch. The theme from OHMS filled my hot ears and I made a silent vow.

If we eat at Chez Vrony again, I’ll make sure I arrive the way Bond would.

Despite the gender neutral title (the apartment owner informed us it was an ‘it’ after Liam referred to the mountain as a ‘she’) the lone peak of the Matterhorn looks like a wise old man sitting hunched up, a blanket covering his lower face. Well it does to me in the dim, dawn light before an infusion of black coffee has barged into the bedrooms of my senses yelling at them to get their lazy arses out of bed.

Inside the apartment it’s bug in a rug cosy. Outside, on our wide viewing platform (aka the balcony), it is -12C. There is such a contrast that wispy steam vapours rise from Liam’s shoulders when he swaps inside for out.

It is a carefully planned logistical exercise to get four people fed, watered, dressed and ready to leave the apartment to head to the Gornergrat Bahn in time to catch the red train which will transport us to a higher plane. There is actually a regular flow of trains, but a quasi-artificial deadline has been created to prevent potential procrastinators from, well, dicking about.

Being in the company of someone who knows Zermatt (our nephew Liam), and the workings of the cogs which keep things moving along with impressive efficiency, makes life easy for us. We know in advance that train/cable car/funicular tickets kept in a left breast jacket pocket causes barriers to magically swing open. We know where to sit for the most knockout views on a journey where every seat rewards with heavy punchers. It’s a rare treat for us to not have to concern ourselves with planning.

The snaking journey from the shadowy valley floor (1620m) to the silver domes of a hotel and the highest shopping mall in Europe at Gornergrat (3089m) takes 33 minutes and is like pulling back the duvet to let the sun slowly spread across your face. The Alpine peaks encircling us are draped in a fresh coating of puffy, powdery, blinding white snow. It is glorious.

Gornergrat itself is a Bond villain’s lair of a place. From the viewing platform it’s possible to see 29 Alpine peaks which climb more than 4000m into the blue troposphere. It’s busy, but not overcrowded. There are the now ubiquitous selfie-takers hogging the best spots, adding splashes of colour to the expanse of glinting whiteness. The air is pure and thin, but as we’re used to walking at over 2400m it doesn’t take long to adjust to nature being Scrooge-like with the oxygen. A neat touch is the 360 degree telescopes which, when you point them at a peak, magically paste the name and height of the mountain framed in their viewfinder screens.

Gornergrat is only our temporary acclimatisation station. Our real start point lies a train-stop down the mountain at Rotenboden (2815m). The return ticket (CHF38 with a half-fare travel pass) allows us to hop on and off the electric cog train at will all day.

Rotenboden is little more than a hut, far fewer people alight here. Liam tells us it’s an easy walk to and from our lunch objective, the Igloo Village. He also mentions the snow might be waist deep, yet is easy to walk through – “like walking through powder”. A claim I’m sceptical about. The path is well marked and whilst the snow bordering it is waist deep in parts, the path itself has been smoothed down. It’s firm, yet soft – easy walking for our new snow hiking boots. Easier on the feet than a snow-less mountain path in some ways. But as we set off on a descent which starts off as relatively steep before rapidly graduating to steep, a worrying thought occurs.

“Are we returning by this route?”

“Yes,” Liam replies, adding. “It’s not as dramatic as it looks. The path winds down gradually.”

“Hmm,” ahead the path falls sharply away in front of us. Good fun going down, but coming up will be a completely different prospect. “I don’t know about that. Let’s hope there’s an alternative.”

It’s only a fifteen minute walk to the Igloo Village, looking like Ice Station Zebra way below us. What it lacks in distance, it makes up for in quality. Crunching our way down crisp slopes in this pristine, alien (to me) landscape prods different emotions than the hill-walking I’m more familiar with. Most people ski here, few walk at this time of year, subsequently there’s more of a sense of adventuring. In my head I’m Shackleton, Scott, Amundsen. At one point Liam ‘sleds’ down a part of the path on his stomach, illustrating why I wasn’t keen for us to tackle the return trip uphill.

The Igloo Village consists of a handful of designer igloos and a couple of huts. Tables are wooden boxes, chairs are made from tree stumps. Outside one hut a girl stirs a steaming fondue whilst music blasts from inside a barrel. A trio of people snow-bathe on a rug spread across a snowdrift. It manages to feel both makeshift and sophisticated at the same time. With the Matterhorn adding gravitas, it is an exceptional and unusual lunch spot; one which pole vaults its way into being one of my favourite lunch venues to date.

We take our time, basking in this special setting for as long as possible, especially as the barmaid has allayed any concerns about having to climb our way back to Rotenboden. The path continues to Riffelberg, a leisurely 40 minute walk/slide down the snowy slopes.

The sun is warming on the face, the air temperature chilling; I feel like a human baked Alaska.

“And when we get there we’ll catch the train back and then toboggan downhill to Riffelberg,” I tune into Liam’s words from what had been a dreamlike reverie. “I crashed the last time I did it.”

Apparently the day’s adventuring is far from being over.