Extortionate costs, queueing in the cold and potentially life-altering injuries? No thanks. And don’t get me started on the EDM après-ski hell
There comes a time in every middle-class or upwardly mobile person’s life when they will hear the following six words: “Would you like to come skiing?” My answer: absolutely not.
Skiing, I have come to believe, is the emperor’s new clothes of leisure pursuits: a collectively sustained fantasy. People insist it’s magical in the same way they insist that cold-water swimming is “transformative” or small plates are “better for sharing”. At some point we forgot to ask whether any of this is actually true.
This isn’t a carte-blanche objection to activity holidays. I love being outdoors. I’ll hike, climb or cycle quite happily. Nor is it hatred based on ignorance – I have tried skiing, once. I hated every second and emerged convinced that everyone claiming it’s “the best thing in the world” is either lying or mildly concussed.
First, there’s the economics. Skiing is vastly more expensive than the average holiday, once you factor in all of the accoutrements: specialist jackets, trousers, gloves, goggles, helmets, boots – the ugliest clothes you have ever seen in your life, by the way – poles, skis, extortionate chalet fees and flights. You pay thousands for the privilege of spending a week queueing in the cold, slightly terrified, while someone in a fluorescent jacket shouts at you in French.
