Why anyone would voluntarily strap planks of wood to their feet before heading downhill over snow had always eluded me. Sure, there are sections of the military who have to do it, and it’s a necessity for the Alpine locals, but as a pleasurable pastime I didn’t understand the concept. Adrenaline doesn’t usually feature in my holiday plans, except when driving through Paris.

Then one day I was ‘offered’ a chance to go skiing. With a young family my first instinct was self-preservation and a firm no. Let’s face it, Daddy is no fun if he’s in traction or out of his brain on painkillers. However, this was work related and Daddy is even less fun if he’s unemployed and penniless.


That’s how I found myself in a SkiSet equipment rental shop in France trying to figure out how on earth a ski boot could be considered fashionable. It’s basically a straightjacket come sleeping bag for your foot, ankle and lower leg. Once in, it’s very comfortable, but nigh on impossible to walk more than 100 metres without wanting to sit down. I also had skis, poles and all manner of borrowed clothing that made me look like a waterproof Michelin man. Only less aesthetically pleasing and a tad sweatier in the mid day sun (no one tells you it’s going to be hot)

My first appointment with Jean-Claude, the generic French ski instructor (ebony tan, skiing since he was two, Allo Allo accent, way with the ladies, etc…etc…) was in the purpose-built and quite striking resort of Avoriaz. In a two hour, one to one, lesson he showed me enough to leave the very gentle inclines populated mainly by incredibly small yet competent children and move to the nursery slopes. The next day we were onto green runs. We even tried a blue, although he did have to help me down by skiing backwards whilst bending double and holding the tips of my skis together.


It would have been humiliating if he was a young guy, but this Jean-Claude was well into his 60s. I was the shambolic lunatic being guided down slopes by someone old enough to be my father but it wasn’t humiliating, just reassuring. Top bloke was Jean-Claude (the first). At the end I felt confident enough to swoosh down a moderate slope without falling over. After just four hours tuition it was a great reflection of the skills of the ESF instructors and Jean-Claude (the first) in particular.


A year later I got a similar call. This time the resort was Les Menuires and a different, younger, browner Jean-Claude was tasked with two hours of getting the fat, pale guy up and down slopes. To be fair, he did this with aplomb and my skiing came on in leaps and bounds at the hands of the trendy Jean-Claude (the second). Les Menuires is a great resort with plenty of gentle runs, accessible lifts and access. We even had time to stop and flirt with the pretty girls controlling the ski lift. OK, he flirted. I stood around looking fat, white (with a reddish hue) and very English.

I met Jean-Claude (the third) in the high altitude resort of Val Thorens on a crisp, clear and sunny morning. He was tall, quietly spoken and with a reassuring amount of grey hair. He encouraged me to “leeeve zee sticks”. I felt free, empowered and, in a short time, bruised.

However, this simple step was one of the most psychologically important ones. We skied several green runs. I relaxed and really started to enjoy the skiing and magnificent scenery. We did a blue and it was challenging, but still fun. After about 30 seconds, the two hours were over and Jean-Claude (the third) offered to show me where I was due to meet up with my colleagues. The chairlift went up and up until, finally, we arrived at the top. He gestured down a very steep bit and uttered the chilling words “ zeee restaurant izzzz just zerrrrr!” It was “just zerrrrr” to be truthful, but quite a lot lower down the hill than I had expected. Ski in, ski out means just that. After a little bit of mental coaching and the visualisation of a really good lunch I launched myself into a series of tight parallel turns that saw me arrive at the restaurant on my skis without falling once. I’m still immensely proud of that.


By the time we’d had a long lunch and despite the altitude (2400 metres) the sun had turned a lot of the crisp powder into heavy watery snow. These heavy conditions, combined with a great meal, some wine and an overinflated sense of my own immortality saw me on my back within minutes of getting back on the skis. And again shortly afterwards. And again, shortly after that. It was getting painful and the bottom was still a very long way away.

At this point Jean-Claude (the fourth) peeled off from my colleagues and offered to act as my brake for the rest of that treacherous, mogul strewn slope. When we got to the bottom I was elated, shaking and exhausted. One of my colleagues (a very accomplished skier) pulled up alongside and uttered the immortal words “ Blue? I should coco! That was one nasty Red!” Moments later another colleague (who had skied a Black that morning) announced that it was the most treacherous slope of the day. I felt a hundred feet tall. After eight hours tuition, ie, an average working day, I’d gone from non-skier to red-run veteran thanks to my accomplished ESF instructor, Jean-Claude.


Further Information
ESF Instructors should be booked in advance whenever possible. This can be done through your tour operator, accommodation or the ESF office in each resort.

An excellent source of information on all ski resorts is the Where to Ski & Snowboard Guide available from www.wheretoskiandsnowboard.com

Other great sites include www.welove2ski.com and for information on the Three valleys ski domain visit www.les3vallees.com/en/accueil.1.l2 (English version)

For travel by train visit www.snowcarbon.co.uk for all manner of useful information.

For UK tour operators operating ski holidays in France visit www.franceyesyoucan.com .