Skiing first time? Well yes, me too. I was never a what you might call a sporty kid. Netball was a no-no due to my challenged hand to eye co-ordination. I was always stuck in goal on the hockey field, decidedly ungainly in gait as I staggered around swaddled in thigh-high leg pads. My tennis style was described as ‘wild’ – and not in a good way.

Cross country runs were spent bunking off at a fellow failed jogger’s gaff who just happened to live en-route, and I distinctly recall being told by the games teacher that no athletics discipline would ever be ‘my sport’. I wasn’t fussed. I was good at other stuff, and positively distinction level when it came to sneaking a crafty fag behind the back of the bike sheds.

I distinctly recall being told by the games teacher that no athletics discipline would ever be ‘my sport’

There was, however, one sport that my teenage self always secretly longed to try. Skiing. To be honest, I think it had more to do with imagining myself hanging out with the beautiful people on some snow-capped mountain – 1970s and 80s Martini advert-style. That and the vision of a 19th century me channelling my own inner Anna Karenina. A vision moving silently across a moon-lit snowy landscape in a horse-drawn troika while swaddled in rugs and blankets.

Or in another incarnation, I resembled a nostalgic Christmas card as I perched, in full Edwardian period garb, primly on a sledge as I prepared to launch myself down a snow-covered mountain. And then there was all the yummy Alpine food to sample – fondue, raclette, goulash, and schnitzel with noodle.

Help! I need the slopes

I could have hit the snows in my 20s, 30s, 40s… but life always got in the way, somehow. And besides, whenever I thought about a winter holiday, sunshine always won over snow. But then, at the end of last year, I happened to watch the Beatles’ film Help. The sight of the Fab Four, or rather their stunt doubles, swooping down the oh-so-picturesque Austrian Alps to the strains of Ticket to Ride picqued my interest enough to finally try the ski and snow thing.

I read up on where Help was filmed, and discovered to my delight that you could stay in the hotel in the ski resort where John, Paul, George and Ringo had performed an impromptu gig for a crew member’s birthday party. Their only ever gig in Austria, incidentally, almost 60 years ago… Well, it was a done deal!

Summer travel more your thing? Read – Jacqui’s Cyprus trip honouring her mum

The Alpine comforts

While my retro ‘rubber’ soul longed to stay at the Marrietta (the name of the hotel where the Fab Four performed) circa mid 1960s, my 2024 body was highly delighted that in the early 2020s the hostelry had been extensively modernised, having been taken over by the Croatian-based company Valamar group and renamed ‘Places’.

No doubt the Marrietta was the place to be in its prime, but as we approach the end of the first quarter of the 21st century, Places ticks all the right modernist, style, and creature comfort boxes. The interior has been redesigned with a vibrant yet minimalist aesthetic. It feels luxurious but in a chic, funky kinda way. However, it’s touching that Places hasn’t forgotten its unique place in music history. There are several signed photos of the Beatles, in situ on the snowy set, in the lobby. Even more impressive is the fact that the drum kit actually used by Ringo Starr for the concert is on display in a corridor behind the lobby, along with more fascinating mop-top memorabilia.

When it comes to the bedrooms, think traditional alpine with a modern twist that feels like a warm cuddle. And, should you be in the mood for rather more than a hug, the complimentary pleasure boxes containing condoms and lubricant could well come in handy. On the other hand, should you be sharing the bed with a snorer, the complimentary earplugs will come as a godsend!

Not just a snowy landscape

Obertauern, which lies 5,708ft above sea level and is 55 miles south of Salzburg, is the winter holiday resort with the best snow record in Austria. But the skiing, the frolicking amidst the flurries, could wait. I wanted to explore Places.

There’s a stunning, subterranean indoor pool – kidney shaped rather than rectangular. Fine with me. I wasn’t planning on doing any laps. We’re talking serious unwind time, here. The lights are low, with loungers positioned on several levels. Plus, there are star-shaped floating bean bags! A first for me. Nearby is the stunning spa area and sauna, and the massage I treated myself to certainly didn’t disappoint.

The hotel boasts a trendy lounge and bar, think posh private members’ club vibe, and probably the smartest self-service restaurant I’ve ever been in. Guests are able to eat as much as they like in the evenings. Meat dishes, fish, salads, fab veggie options including gourmet handmade pizzas.

Opt for the ‘Places Flexi’ package and dinner is free, with each person given a 30-euro (£26) allowance a day to spend on food and drink at the bar as an alternative. Payment is made via wrist-worn electronic ‘watches’, which also open bedrooms and doors to various public spaces. Hi-tech or what?

But Place’s ‘piece de resistance’ is to be found on its top floor. There’s a seriously fun 400-sq-m (4,305-sq-ft) top-floor gaming area complete with a soft-play complex and all manner of computer games and consuls. Next door is a rooftop bar with jaw-dropping valley views. I enjoyed a Campari-spritz on the balcony while taking in the vista, warmed by a table-top open fire. Now, that was a Martini moment for sure.

So. . . what about the skiing?

Well, I got myself decked out at the Freudenaus Sport Rental next door to the hotel. Skis, helmet, sticks, ski boots… you know the drill. Except that, er, I didn’t. Not really. In all my ski-land visualisations, I’d never pictured myself actually skiing. The nuts-and-bolts stuff. And if I’d thought hockey goal keeping garb was stagger-worthy, blimey, I didn’t know the half of it. Give me thigh-high, Michelin man-like leg pads over ski boots any day! Clomping about, I felt like a clone of Frankenstein – and that was just outside the hotel.

Prep for your skiing trip with a quality pair of waterproof boots. Like these tactical boots which are even up to military standard!

I had a lesson on the nursery slopes with an instructor from the Obertauern Frau Holle ski school – he was very patient but by the end of the session, he gave me a broken English echo of my school games’ teacher’s words. Skiing clearly wasn’t ‘quite my sport’.

Alison (far right) and friends before heading down the slopes

The sledging fantasy

So let’s try sledging or sledding. Arranged by the uber efficient Valdermar folk, I pitched up at dusk at the Gnadenalm Alpine experience, about six km from Obertauern.  The toboggan taxi – a snowmobile with old-fashioned wooden toboggans attached to the side – zipped us up to the top of a mountain. At least it felt like the top to me, and the start of the flood-lit 1.5km long run. We were dropped off with the sledges. ‘Now what?’ I said, somewhat naively. ‘You go down,’ came the reply. As the driver sped away, there was no option but to follow his instructions. Reader, it was the ride of my life. Scary, yes, but incredibly exhilarating.

Zooming down snow-covered peaks and mounds, I felt more Bond girl in the Spy Who Loved Me than lady on front of an Edwardian Christmas card. But no matter. I had a real sense of achievement on reaching the bottom. My Anna Karenina fantasy followed as I climbed aboard the troika or carriage, attached to two massive cart horses, and made myself comfortable against the cushions and under the blankets. Sleigh bells rang out as we wended our way across the snow-covered countryside by moonlight while sipping on shots of Schnapps. It was possibly one of the most romantic moments of my life!

Great grub, to top it all off

It had been an incredible evening but it wasn’t over yet. A full-on Alpine feast comprising of fondue, raclette and cheese dumplings followed at the Restaurant Wirtshaus Gnadenalmin, the most Heidi-esque eaterie imaginable. All roaring fires, pine wood panelling, red and white check cushions and table cloths, and heart-shaped dining chairs.

Skiing may not be for me but this trip made me realise that I have fallen for the snow in a big way. Next visit I intend to channel Julie Christie in Dr Zhivago – but I guess I’ll need to find my Omar Shariff first.

Going on your own Alpine adventure

Getting There

Wizz Air – return flights in January 2025 from London airports to Salzburg from £57.00
Easy Jet – return flights in January 2025 from London airports to Salzburg from £54.00
British Airways – return flights in January 2025 from London airports to Salzburg from £139.00

Taxi transfer from Salzburg to Obertauern – approximately €165.00, good value if there’s four of you

Accommodation

Places by Valamar – from €316.00 per night/double room

Ski Stuff

Ski Equipment Hire from Silver Ski Equipment

Boots – €27 per day
Helmet – €16.20 per day
Skis and sticks – €34.50 per day

Ski pass – €65 per day

Ski lesson for beginners at the Obertauern Frau Holle ski school – €121.50 per day, €252.00 for three days

Carriage Ride and Sledding

One hour carriage ride for four people – €90

Toboggan rental: € 9 per toboggan
Toboggan taxi: € 8 per ride & person

Alison James

The post Winter wonderland – skiing for the first time appeared first on Silver Magazine.

Stephen ‘Paynie’ Payne talks about how he threw caution to the wind – quite literally – by impulse-buying a boat, setting sail on a European adventure, and completely changing his life in the process. Proving you’re never too old to learn new things. Either that, or hurrah for a brilliant midlife adventure/crisis!

[All images provided by Stephen Payne]

Stephen Payne

To be honest, I’m not doing well with this whole ‘silver’ thing. Not long ago, I got an email inviting me to join the AARP. For those who don’t know, that’s the American Association of Retired Persons – worst of all, I’m not even American.

And the other day, a damn teenager offered me their seat on a bus. This does not make me happy. In my mind, I’m still 38. But if I write this, I guess there’s no going back and I’ll be officially old. Excuse me while I shake my stick in the air.

My impulse purchase

In January 2020, I was relatively unhappy with UK politics. I’m not one to sit on my laurels and fret, so I bought a boat. Before I took this action, my knowledge of boating could be written on a relatively small postcard, but on 7 January 2020, I made a silly offer on a boat and, lo and behold, it was accepted.

Before I took this action, my knowledge of boating could be written on a relatively small postcard

By “boat”, I don’t mean a real boat. I mean a boat with motors. No stick. No rag. But you can’t really sail on the River Thames anyway, so it fitted my needs well. Then it occurred to me that I needed to take the boat somewhere that wasn’t England. France was only 21 miles away.

Bray Marina, UK

So, I started the process of gaining the documentation and knowledge required to exit the UK, cross the channel, and traverse France all the way to the Mediterranean. You need appropriate insurance, an International Certificate of Competence, which is attained by passing the CEVNI test (that stands for Code Europeen des Voies de Navigation Interieure, in case you’re interested). And a resounding belief that anything is possible. Simples.

So… I’m doing the impossible…

At 2:30pm on Saturday 26 June, I exited Ramsgate Marina for the last time. My adventure had officially commenced. Four hours later, I was in France. I paused in the lovely town of Calais for a few days to get my bearings, before setting off south towards Paris. On the boat.

Crossing to Calais

Crossing to Calais

My adventure was paused slightly in the city of St Omer because a large lock gate was being replaced, so I took the opportunity to get to know France better. I bought a bicycle and explored the local hood. A major problem with France is that the bread and baguettes are so delicious that it’s tempting to just eat them instead of actual meals. But I have almost infinite willpower and ate some other foodstuffs as well.

While I was there, I shot a music video for one of my neighbours. And that ended up paying for my entire stay and a full tank of diesel.

St Omer

On Thursday 19 August 2021, I arrived in Paris. My intention was to spend one week there, but it was so nice, I stayed for six weeks. My home base was the Paris Arsenal Marina, just south of the Bastille. It costs about €45 a night, but considering my location, that seemed relatively inexpensive. While I was there, I shot a music video for one of my neighbours. And that ended up paying for my entire stay and a full tank of diesel.

Before embarking on this adventure, I tuned up my filmmaking skills and created a YouTube channel. I did this because I like making little films. And I like to encourage people to do stuff out of their comfort zone. No one ever died thinking they should have been less adventurous. Well, maybe a couple of people, but they’re probably not with us anymore, and at least they died happy(ish).

Just north of Paris

The high point of Paris was a trip to the top of the Eiffel Tower. I’ve been to Paris many times before, but never made it up there. It’s mind-blowingly beautiful.

You’ve probably heard that the French are not as friendly as they could be. Let me dispel that myth right away. The French people were amazingly friendly and helpful. I never came across one bad attitude the whole time I was there. However, the thing about journeys is you have to keep moving. By the end of September, it was time to leave my new favourite city and continue the voyage south.

Time to leave Paris…

I paused in Chartrettes in the Île-de-France region, waiting for my friend Beanie to join me, then we headed south again. You do not need two people on board to negotiate French waterways, but a second pair of hands is useful when transiting through locks. Useful, but not essential.

I became quite adept at manoeuvring through locks solo. I’d probably only negotiated four or five locks before I hit France. I scooted my way through 216 of them before I got to the Mediterranean.

Central France

Another pause was taken in Montargis in the Centre-Val de Loire Région because of bridge maintenance. We nabbed a great mooring spot in the middle of town. Someone from the VNF, France’s navigation authority, popped by to let me know I could stay as long as I needed and they would provide free power and water. To use French waterways, you need a vignette that costs €126 per month. Total bargain.

Montargis

Many people have asked me how much I spent on diesel and the answer is that I really don’t know. I never kept track of it because what would be the point? It’s not like I could do it cheaper, so I saved time by not bothering to work it out. If I had to guess, I probably used less than one litre per kilometre. If there was some distance between locks, I turned off one motor. It really didn’t need much throttle to stick to the four-knot speed limit.

Finally hitting the sea down South…

Other notable stops along the way were Briare, Nevers, Chalon-sur-Saone, Lyon and Viviers. France is a wonderful country and I highly recommend it, especially by boat. Don’t worry if, like me, your initial boating skills could be written on a postcard. It’s quite easy to rent a boat and spend a week on the water learning a new skill.

It took me a year to reach salty water again. It could’ve taken less time to reach the Mediterranean, but I didn’t buy a boat to get places fast. I might be a little old, but I’m not dead yet and have more skills to learn. Maybe I’ll try BASE jumping. Maybe not.

Despite my earlier remarks, I might not actually have unlimited willpower. It might be safer to stick to boating, filmmaking, and photography…

Photography: Paynie.net

Stephen Payne

Stephen J Payne was born in Torquay Devon, quite a long time ago. He got out of there fast and moved to London, becoming a photographer for the music papers and the London Evening Standard. Retaining his love of music, he directed many music videos and live concert films, eventually moving to Los Angeles in 1991. He returned to Blighty in 2018, and after drinking too much coffee, or cocktails, he bought a boat.

The post You’re never too old, and it’s never too late appeared first on Silver Magazine.