Open your eyes to Andorra’s winter delights
Richard Jones and his family find competitive prices, well groomed slopes and a party atmosphere in the snow-covered playground of the Pyrenees
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MY YOUNG daughter’s eyes lit up with excitement and bewilderment – like her mum, she had never been on a winter holiday before and the sight of the snow-topped Pyrenees peaks had them both in awe.
We were on a coach in southern France en route to Andorra, where it turned out to be even colder than the bitter British winter we had left behind.
Once described as a cross between the mythical valley of Shangri-La and Heathrow airport’s duty-free malls, Andorra nestles in the Pyrenees between France and Spain.
It’s a tiny principality, but prosperous due to the nine million visitors who come each year for its majestic snow-topped peaks and tariff-free goods – not to mention its tax-haven status.
The resort of Pal-Arinsal has become one of the most popular in the region by offering the holy trinity to skiers: competitive prices, well groomed slopes and a party atmosphere.
When Rachel, two-year-old Isla and I arrived in the town, our first impression was a ski-ing nirvana with plenty of winter-sports shops and bars centred on the gondola.
Thanks to an abundance of snowfall, and snow cannons up top if needed, the slopes open earlier than usual each year, and the new Seturia cable-car system between Arinsal and Pal has created the largest ski-ing area in the Pyrenees at a whopping 140km.
Meanwhile, in the summer months, tourists can go walking, parasailing and go-carting. There’s also the Mountain Bike World Cup each May.
Our home for the week was the English-run aparthotel Sant Andreu, and the meal on the Sunday evening was a welcome roast buffet with a choice of beef, pork and grilled mackerel.
However, before that, we headed down to St Moritz ski-hire shop to pick up our boots, skis and poles.
Our Crystal rep, Sam, then handed out our lift passes and ski-school tokens, so by 7pm we were kitted out and ready for our first day’s ski-ing.
After breakfast the next morning, it was a five-minute walk down the hill to the gondola and up to Vallnord ski park.
Rachel and I were immediately impressed by the feeling of the Skippy Park creche adjacent to the slopes which cares for children from newborn up to those slightly older than Isla.
The place seemed very secure, and judging by Isla’s reaction to the plentiful Mickey Mouse toys, pushchairs and art boards, she was won over, too.
Mummy and daddy then joined ski-school groups which are specially tailored for British tourists.
As a “fresher” skier, Rachel and the other beginners started out on the “magic carpet” with instructor Clive and learned the usual first-day basics, including the snow plough, sliding and turning.
Meanwhile, I joined an intermediate group led by an Argentinean instructor called Andres who made it his goal to refine my parallel ski-ing technique over the next five days.
The school runs each day between 9.30am and noon, so in the afternoons, Rachel and I were able to practise on our own and spend some time together.
Plastic pull-along sledges can be hired from the ski-hire shop for three euros, and this proved to be a bargain as our adventurous daughter was in her element going up and down the small hills during lunchtime.
After a couple of misty days, the weather was much improved by Wednesday, and thanks to the crystal-clear blue skies and the bright sunshine, the views of the stunning Pyrenees made for our most enjoyable day of the holiday.
That evening, we had a couple of drinks during the hotel’s two-for-one happy hour while Isla played with other children before partaking in the typical Brit-abroad pastime of watching football on Sky Sports.
By the fifth day, the weather was very changeable again, with heavy sleet and snow interspersed by sunshine and mist.
Rachel had her first trip up the six-man chairlift in the morning and was shocked by the difference at the top.
The mountains at the Arinsal summit are hemmed in on either side by ridges, and at times, it seems like you are travelling down a long tunnel.
Moving further along to the slopes of Pal, things apparently get even more interesting.
The cable-car system provides advanced skiers with some pretty challenging red and black runs, and there’s also a short coach trip available to the legendary pistes of Arcalis.
Off the slopes, Thursday night is curry night at the San Andreu, so for an extra five euros each, guests can sample hotel chef Michael’s fresh, home-made Indian dishes and naan breads.
Due to the onset of wet and windy weather, our end-of-week slalom time trials had to be cancelled, and after looking at the weather forecast, Rachel and I decided that Friday would be our final day of ski-ing.
That afternoon, although we were relieved to return our heavy equipment, there were lumps in our throats as our ski-ing adventure was at an end.
The Derby Irish bar is the local haunt of the Vallnord instructors, and on the Friday evening, the three of us popped down so that Clive and Andres could go through our techniques before presenting us with our ski-ing diplomas.
Later on that night, I ventured out to sample Arinsal’s night life, namely heavy drinking and bad dancing at El Cau’s weekly 1970s night.
Sam and the rest of the reps donned their Village People attire and took part in the traditional Full Monty at the end of the night, while I stumbled back to the San Andreu at 3am the worse for wear after a few too many San Miguels and shots.
On our final day, we took Isla on a bus trip to the town of Andorra La Vella, where we had a walk on the riverside, did some duty-free shopping in the dirt-cheap Hipa Andorra and had a spot of lunch in one of the tapas bars.
Andorra La Vella is also home to the Caldea complex, where visitors can relax in the many linked indoor and outdoor pools, saunas and Turkish baths, which have no doubt contributed to Andorrans’ life expectancy, being the highest on the planet at an incredible average of 83-and-a-half years.
The vicious storms in the area got so bad on the Saturday that the ski lifts closed at lunchtime.
However, thanks to a snow plough and a switch of departure airports from Toulouse across one border in France to Barcelona Girona over another in neighbouring Spain, the three of us left with a minimum of fuss.
Contrast this to the week after we arrived back home in late-January when the UK experienced its heaviest snow in almost two decades – only a dusting, really – which brought the country’s infrastructure to a shuddering halt.
If only the Andorran authorities had struggled in the same manner, we might have been “stranded” in Arinsal for a few more days. If only, indeed.
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