Skiing holidays have always been something of an enigma to me. Don’t get me wrong, I love skiing, I’m okay at it, I’ve just been curious as to why it’s the sole enterprise to some when it comes to winter holidays. It becomes the single-minded pre-occupation. And for those who don’t dedicate every waking hour of their holiday to getting out on the slopes, the rest of us suffer the braggadocio of the ski bore, getting competitive over how much more they know of resorts than the next person, and often it’s the same names regurgitated in a sort of ski resort one-upmanship.
But there is a saving grace. For those of us who enjoy it but don’t obsess, those who may be late starters or adult beginners, those who may wish to do something other than ski, and, for that matter, for those of us who want to outdo that bore with somewhere they’ve most likely never been, the answer lies in a small region of northern Italy.
Readers, I give you Trentino.
I know, I wasn’t sure where it was either. South of the South Tyrol, in the lower Alps, Trentino is a green enclave, bristling with national parks, surrounded by the Dolomites. Just an hour north of Verona and Lake Garda, two to Venice, it’s as if the Med meets the mountains, making it a fascinating opportunity to mix up the trip; a bit of skiing, a day on the beach, an overnight to Venice – can you imagine?
It’s a picturesque drive passing honey-coloured villages tucked into hillsides as the mountains begin to loom, and I’m struck by the enterprise for vineyards; it’s as if everyone has one in their back garden. Of course, it’s a notable wine-producing region, particularly for the sparkling that’s it’s known for: Trento doc, the apero that kick-starts every meal. Move aside, Prosecco, there’s a new tipple in town.
Gastronomes will also spot the Tyrolean influence, too. Sachertorte is a staple in every café, strudel appears on every dessert menu, often with chestnuts local to the region, and we’re in the realm of polenta and porcini. It’s wholesome, hearty stuff. Never more evident than my first destination for dinner, Malga Millagrobbe. This, too, proved another departure from the typical ski resort; it’s about as far from apres ski as you could get.
Some distance from the nearest town, it’s all about embracing the wilderness. It’s on a Nordic ski trail, and you can see why; it’s the perfect respite spot. A pair of large rough-hewn stone houses of a former dairy farm now make up a surprising combination of hotel, spa and restaurant, and all rather rustic round the edges. The spa is a sort of Tyrolean take on a Finnish sauna experience, a range of hot boxes and steam rooms including a large aufguss.
If you’re unfamiliar with this, imagine sitting in a sauna bathed in red light while a muscle-bound man swirls and fans a towel around you, moving waves of 80 degree heat across your body. As bizarre as it sounds, it’s made all the more atmospheric as he does this to the rhythm of the Game of Thrones theme. It’s as much a show as a wellness experience; a sort of bikram Cirque du Soleil, with added ice baths.
This bout of heat blasts and cold showers is enough to work up an appetite and then it gets even better. In a wood-panelled stube, the restaurant offers the best of Trentino cuisine; salamis and mountain cheeses, the local ‘pult’ of polenta and potato mash, and the intriguing Strangolapreti, or ‘strangled priests’. Harking back to the days of the Reformation and a fear of a Protestant invasion when an enterprising cook attempted to choke a gluttonous priest, as I looked upon this spinach and ricotta dumpling dish my host, relating this story, offers me a “buon appetito” as we tuck in, “but don’t choke!”.
We’re in the heart of the region, in the Alpe Cimbra, Trentino’s ski area comprised of two interlinked resorts, Folgaria and Lavarone. At 1850m, there aren’t the dramatic peaks and monochrome vistas of the high alps, but therein lies its appeal. The topography is altogether more characterful, of dense pine forests and high plateaux – or fondos – which offer a plethora of activities far beyond those on skis.
The first I felt I must try is dogsledding. After a cursory briefing from our instructor Massimo (“to start, you say ‘okay’…”) amid a chorus of discordant howling and barking, naturally, the minute we get on the sleds and set off – who knew four cute puppies could wield so much torque – all the prior instruction disappeared from my mind and as the sled veered off trail, instant panic set in. The one rule that did stick, ‘keep hold of the bar’ proved invaluable; I recovered, found form, and soon we were gliding our way along the trail through the pine forests. The dogs’ enthusiasm never wavered, and it proved a delightful – and different – way to experience the alpine wilderness. I felt my inner Jack London coming to the fore.
But we are in the mountains, and the scenery that makes the Alpe Cimbra so striking does need to be seen from on high. Not with cable cars and ski lifts, however, but…on bikes. Yes, that afternoon, I took a fat bike trek up the mountain. All the better for it being e-powered, admittedly. We followed trails, nerve-janglingly narrow in places, stopping for views and photo opportunities, and crested on the top of the Monte Maggio.
In the silence, below a war memorial to the first world war (heaven knows how they go that up there), we took in the jagged teeth of the Dolomites to the north, a distant imperceptible Venice through a valley to the east, and the jigsaw of villages tumbling away below us. It was as if Italy was at our feet, and it was time for a spritz…
Larry’s Trentino adventure continues tomorrow, when he visits the cultural hub that is Rovereto, enjoys a Michelin-starred feast – and finally gets on skis…
