San Cassiano, Alta Badia, 2011 - Day 7, Friday

The last day. And it's a goodun.

No ski school today, so I'm on my own for the morning, and with Daryl for the afternoon.

I decide that some company would be nice for the morning's skiing, so get in touch with Icaro once again, who shows up with his lovely, multi-talented missus - a native and active Ladino. We three zip off into the mountains for the morning. Not my greatest skiing venture I have to admit, and I fall over three times – put it down to the legs not being used to all this exercise I've been getting this week. 

Finally, finally I manage to actually see some of the Dolomites. The weather clears just enough around the resort to see some magnificent peaks. Tomorrow the weather is forecast lovely. Tomorrow, of course, we leave before the sun gets above the mountains! Bugger.

Daryl joins us for a scrummy light (by Italian standards) lunch and then she and I go off on our own. Somehow I get a bit lost and we end up being slightly late back for my fantastic massage. Not a major problem as I get my neck and shoulders sorted at least!

We're booked into the very swanky Michelin-starred restaurant for supper, but neither of us feel like anything that rich or clever. So we have a great meal back in the Wine and Grill once more – and Daryl gets her wheat-free pizza.

Tomorrow there's the long trek home, with the added bonus of collecting Kate from Zurich airport on the way... More skiing still to come, only this time, in Switzerland.

Goodbye Rosa Alpina. Goodbye San Cassiano. Goodbye Alta Badia.

We WILL be back.

San Cassiano, Alta Badia, 2011 - Day 6, Thursday

Last day of ski school, and the weather is so bad that only the girls and me have turned up. The two other guys in the class have obviously decided that staying indoors is a better option. And they are probably right. Still, it's all good practice and excellent exercise...

Daryl comes up for lunch and the weather clears slightly, so we spend a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon together skiing some lovely runs. Daryl has a great time and regains her confidence, and more importantly, her love for skiing.Result

Then it's back to the hotel to the humdrum routine of a great massage, time in the pool and the Jacuzzi, and a bit of a rest.

Then comes the main event of the day... for me anyhow.

We've booked an evening out at Club Morizino. This involves a trip up the mountain in a snow cat piste bashing machine with a cabin on the back for transporting people to and from a restaurant at the top of one of the mountains. It's cold, noisy, uncomfortable, smelly, and I absolutely love it!It's a mode of transport that I've never tried, and one that is now safely ticked off the list.

The meal itself is superb, and they've taken care of Daryl's allergy without making a big thing of it, which from my point of view is fanbloodytastic – as it is from Daryl's. The starters are served on huge mirrors, which is interesting... Then after a couple of courses, the DJ starts up in earnest and we are encouraged to say hello to our fellow diners. There's a birthday party of Romans behind me – who I have great fun with later; a Milanese couple – he's an ex paratrooper with a passion for Inter Milan; and three North Americans – one a Canadian research scientist living in Milan, one a New Yorker and one a Russian now living and working in New York. It's great to make new friends and the evening just gets better when we're encouraged to go outside to watch a pretty impressive firework display! The Italians start singing a 'firework song'. Who knew there was a specific firework song? It seems the Italians have a song for every occasion...

Then it's back inside for more food and more chat. It turns out the Canadian is also a mad Inter Milan fan and in fact has a tattoo of their snake logo on his arm. I encourage him to show this to the ex-para and they are instantly friends for life! 

After much more dancing and drinking, the evening ends with the trip back down the mountain in the snow cat. This time, it's filled with all our merry friends that we've made this evening. We cadge a free ride back to the hotel and the evening is rounded off perfectly.

A superb outing and one I would have no hesitation in recommending – provided you either go with a large party, or have no qualms about introducing yourself to complete strangers whose language you hardly speak.

San Cassiano, Alta Badia, 2011 - Day 5, Wednesday

The plan for today is that I will do ski school as usual in the morning, and that Daryl will join me for some skiing in the afternoon.

Two things mitigate against this.

1. The weather is absolutely shit. It's pissing rain in the valley and blowing blizzards on the mountain. By the end of the lesson, I'm fed up, soaked through and haven't been able to see any further than the guy in front of me's arse all morning.
    
2. Daryl has walked the dog and is still knackered, but she gamely tries some skiing. After two runs, it's time to call it a day.

So it's back to base for more swimming pool, hot tub and spa, followed by what must be one of the best massages I've ever had. It's really strong and gets deep into all the knots that pathetic aromatherapy massages and whale music just can't make a dent in.

It's so good, I book another one straight away for Friday.

San Cassiano, Alta Badia, 2011 - Day 4, Tuesday

I slept like a log after that first day's skiing. I remember now that sleeping incredibly well is an integral part of a skiing holiday. As are muscles that are so pleased to be being used for the first time in ages that they display a fire-like passion upon any movement whatsoever. Or put another way, I'm in agony! I know it's all doing me good though and so after a quick breakfast it's time to go to my first ski lesson.

The English-speaking teacher I had been promised only teaches people up to parallel level, so I am moved to another class that's more my level (not perfect, but reasonable – happy with red runs and handle the odd black run). This is taught by Maestro Ricardo – who has no English, but speaks fluent Ladino (the local dialect), Italian with a very strong Ladino accent, and German with a very strong incomprehensible accent. At least the class is the right level though and so we get through the morning well... We do lots of the runs I did with Icaro yesterday, but slower and paying more attention to my (lack of) technique.

Daryl is feeling much better today, and has walked the dog this morning – that's such a treat for me at the moment. However, the exercise has knackered her and any swift and dedicated return to the slopes is probably further away than we thought. She comes up the Cabina for lunch and we meet on the mountain. She's cheered by the sight of the snow and the skiers, which encourages her to come skiing tomorrow.

I do another hour or so, wafting down mountains as stylishly as I can and drifting in and out of cloud and snow. Then it's back to the hotel for the delights of the pool, Jacuzzi and spa in general.

Finished off the day with a fantastic fondue (yes, THAT fondue). I think there were 14 different dips! It was bloody lovely and worth all the foolish questions at reception.

San Cassiano, Alta Badia, 2011 - Day 3, Monday

I've hired some professional help today. Daryl is still really poorly and there's no way she's going to be able to make the slopes so I'm going it alone with a local for company and to show me around.

My guide is a guy about my age (or possibly younger but looking older through an outdoor life). Icaro is his name and true to his namesake, he spends his life living as high as possible. 

Icaro is a true mountain man. In the summer he climbs them, showing youngsters the way up and down. He walks them, showing those with an interest in nature all the sights and sounds at above 2000 metres. And in the Winter, he's a guide. Normally, he enjoys going off-piste, but since this is only my second day's skiing in seven years, we decide that it's better for me to stick to the (relatively easy) pistes here in the Alta Badia.

He's a lovely guy and we get on very well. He's no slouch though, and keeping up with him is quite a challenge for the rust that is permeating every skiing muscle and memory in my body and brain.

After three hours of skiing what seems like most of the resort (and I think might well have been), we part company. I do a about an hour's more until my legs are too tired to cope and ski down the mountain to be collected by the hotel shuttle service – one more civilised aspect of staying luxe... But the civilisation doesn't stop there. I show Daryl the pool and Jacuzzi which are simply amazing and are part of the spa which is this year's holder of the ' Best Hotel Spa in Europe' award from Traveller Magazine.

The swim and hot tub do wonders to revive my aching muscles and then it's time for a quick lie down whilst Daryl has a massage. I conk out almost immediately!

When she returns, I decide to light a fire in the supermodern fireplace in our room and soon it's crackling away and the room is even toastier than before.

Dinner tonight was meant to be in the a la carte restaurant, but it's totally deserted so we go back to the wine and grill.

After dinner it's up to bed, and I once again conk out almost immediately.

San Cassiano, Alta Badia, 2011 - Day 2, Sunday

Will we? Won't we? It turns out that the science in the drugs and the magic in the soup that I got Daryl yesterday are having some effect and she's feeling well enough for the drive to Italy. So the answer is, we will!

After I've walked the dog walk and Daryl's sorted out the packing – which practically wipes her out – we're off. Approximately six hours later, we arrive at the hotel, tired and fractious.

The hotel looks lovely, but on check in I am asked a barrage of questions about our stay, when all I really want to do is flop on a bed after the drive. The final straw comes when, having spent five solid minutes answering questions, and having moved the fondue that we apparently have to order well in advance for some reason to another day, and having chosen meat over cheese, I am asked if I prefer oil to bouillon. I'm afraid I snapped. I beat the desk with my fist saying 'I don't bloody care whether I have oil or bouillon. Just show me to my room, please, I'm really tired.' I don't often snap, but when I do, people tend to appreciate that I'm not in the mood to be trifled with. 

 

The room however is fantastic. We've been upgraded to a suite and it's amazing. There's a Hammam in the bathroom, there's a log fire in the drawing room, and there s a stunning south facing view of the mountains that we'll be skiing on. It really is very special. Although I'm sure, after my outburst at reception, if the receptionist could have un-upgraded us, he probably would have...

Daryl's booked a treatment on arrival, and it turns out that someone has cancelled their massage, so I nab it. Just what the doctor ordered after a long drive, an hour's deep tissue massage. Lovely and the spa seems pretty good. In fact pretty good doesn't do it justice, as I find out the next day.

We've booked dinner in the Wine and Grill – the least posh of the four restaurants this Hotel has to offer. On Friday we're eating in the one with two Michelin stars, but tonight, we're keeping it plain. I do however, forget about portion control in Italy, or rather the lack of it. The starters are easily the size of a main course, as are the main courses. Desserts are out of the question, and we're both so full up that we barely get back to the room.

There is a bar, but it's empty. I suspect that this has something to do with the appalling live music that is amplified way too loudly. It's a guy at a piano surrounded by enough technology to run a space shuttle, which gives him all the orchestral, drums and seven piece brass band backing that a guy alone at a piano in an empty bar in a hotel could possibly wish for.

San Cassiano, Alta Badia, 2011 - Day 1, Saturday

This is to be the first day of our Winter holiday... but it isn't.

I arrived in Zurich last night to discover a very poorly wife in bed with a high fever. Basically she'd been ill since Monday but had done nothing about and had gone to work as normal until she simply couldn't make it in. Except that she did. At least until lunchtime, then came home and collapsed in a heap.

So I arrived yesterday to a sick wife who no way was I going to allow to get out of bed today.

After the dog walk, I was off to the local market and the local pharmacies in search of the two things required to fix Daryl. All the drugs I could lay my hands on that would sort out her fever and her cough, and all the ingredients for a proper, life-saving chicken soup.

Mission accomplished it was back home to dose up Daryl and to make the soup.

Other than that, it was a pretty quiet day. But one filled with tension... The big question being, would Daryl be well enough after the drugs and the soup to make the six hour journey to Italy? And would she be well enough to actually enjoy the holiday itself?