A skiing holiday without any skiing?

"A last-minute trip to the Austrian Tirol,” I thought, “how very sporty and adventurous of us! We’ll learn to ski with great aplomb, sit in mountain chalets sipping gluwein and sampling apple strudel, then skim athletically down the crisp white mountainside in time for a quick schnapps and a sauna before supper….”

Actually, it didn’t work out quite like that. We did manage to bag a bargain on the internet for a week’s half board, flights and transfers to the resort of Mayrhofen in Austria, a beautiful little town nestled in the Ziller valley and cosseted by snow-capped peaks… and yes, it was like being an extra in Heidi. We stayed in the wonderful Hotel Pension Alpina run by the charming Frau Hauser and her most incredibly hospitable family, ate fresh bread and coffee every morning in the pine booths of the breakfast room, sweated in the sauna surrounded by naked Germans, chatted by the bar to the other (fully clothed) guests, and feasted on the traditional home-cooked Tirolean delicacies provided by Frau Hauser’s kitchen.

But as for the skiing??? Nope. A horrendous cold which had plagued me for two weeks prior to our departure had the audacity to turn into an ear infection, and the journey up the mountain by cable car on the Saturday of arrival nearly had me in tears, so skiing was off the menu… and a lack of snow low down in the valley meant that tobogganing and skidooing were also no go. And annoyingly, all the ski schools courses start on the Sunday so we couldn’t start half way through the week if my ears improved.So what to do? Would there be enough to do to satisfy not only my cultural urges but also one very easily bored husband? Actually yes.

Unlike rural areas in this country, Mayrhofen has an excellent integrated public transport system and a little narrow gauge railway that ploughs up and down the Ziller valley, thus connecting into the main transport system, so it’s actually very easy and cheap to explore. The nearest little railway station was about a kilometre away from our hotel in the hamlet of Schwendau, so every morning we would ramble downhill, past wooden chalets and farmhouses, under the greenest of hills and whitest mountain peaks, and over a crystal clear river to wait with all the skiers and locals for the next little train.

An hour away is the city of Innsbruck and its famous Golden Roof, medieval streets and excellent coffee houses, but far more fun was Salzburg. Elegant little shopping streets and bustling market squares are crossed by the clip-clop of horse and buggy rides, while overhead towers the castle, reached by a funicular cable-car ride. We had a lovely lunch at the top of the fort, bathing in the sunshine before exploring the exhibitions on p uppets, WWII uniforms, a medieval audience chamber and models of the castle through the ages, whilst battling through groups of American students with expensive orthodontistry. Mozart’s old house is also open to the public and contains a fascinating insight into his life, complete with personal-audio-guide; even the husband was interested by the bolt-shooting display and was pleasantly shocked by Mozart’s filthy sense of humour and paintings of bottoms. And of course we had to have sachertorte in one of the many cafes, as Salzburg is home to a branch of the famous Hotel Sacher where you can see beautiful displays of boxed gateaux in the windows and not be able to afford one of them.

Mayrhofen is also excellent walking country, with maps available of the many marked walking routes; our favourite was a desperate clamber up to the Steiner Kogl, a guesthouse perched high on the mountain above the town. Pausing only to cough and sit down every hundred yards we eventually staggered in and ordered hot chocolates, before it started to chuck it down. Naturally not having an umbrella or any proper clothing we decided to walk back down the path on other side of the mountain through dense pine forest. As any mountaineer will tell you, coming back down is far harder on the muscles than going up, and the only thing that kept our spirits going as we trudged through dripping branches down pine-needle crusted switchbacks was Dan yodelling “high on the hill was a grumpy husband” as his blisters swelled while I fell over a lot. Great fun, one of our better days out, I feel.

The highlight of our non-skiing skiing trip was undoubtedly snow-shoeing, thankfully wearing modern plastic snowshoes rather than tennis rackets à la Wimbledon circa 1924. We booked this thro ugh one of the Inghams reps that proved to be so helpful with info such as train timetables and après-ski activities, and it was just such a blast! We were picked up from the hotel by our guide Walter, driven half way up a deserted mountain and forced to walk the rest of the way up, trudging across virgin snow, over crystal mountain streams and through the laden boughs of beautiful snowy pine forests. The pace was slow and plodding (we had warned him that we were unfit and unschooled) but remarkably easy, though the last ten minutes took its toll on our thighs.

We stopped for a rest at one of the wooden cabins used by the farmers when their cows are grazing on the summer pastures and Walter unpacked possibly one of the nicest treats I can remember, pouring out a cup of steaming hot fruit tea and honey for both of us, plus a crusty ham roll and a bar of chocolate. It’s absolutely true what they say about food tasting better outdoors, that was the best picnic I can remember (and I have had a few!). Walter was also extremely knowledgable about all the local flora and fauna, and taught us how to read the tracks of animals in the snow. “Look, zere iz ze tracks of ze rabbit, and zis iz ze fox, and here ze rabbit iz jumping, and there iz ze fox running hard and oh dear, ah, vell, zis is a nice deer for you instead…”

Actually the rabbit got away, but something scared the deer and his tracks were broken by a leap of around three metres. Felt just like Daniel Day Lewis in Last of the Mohicans.
Did I mention the horse and cart rides, the spas, the swimming pools, the shopping, the wandering and enjoying the most pristine of scenery, people-watching whilst drinking coffee in the sunshine, the après-ski camaraderie in the hotel in the evenings?? Yup, I can’t wait to not go skiing again.....

A lesson in Indian home cooking

I've always wondered why the fabulous food I ate in India is so unlike anything you are served in Indian restaurants, so it was a real privilege to spend an evening with Sanjay and his lovely wife Mili at the Megdhoot Mystique Masala Restaurant in Petworth, nestled cosily in the heart of the South Downs.

Sanjay and Mili are passionate about good quality food made from outstanding ingredients, and run Indian Home Cooking Evenings upstairs in their restaurant in Petworth, as well as at private parties and events. Sanjay promised the food was going to be unlike anything we had eaten in Indian restaurants in the past; he explained how most restaurants will cook up a massive batch of a basic onion and garlic sauce, then just add different ready-made curry pastes to flavour each dish as required.

However Mili learned the art of home cooking in India from her mother, mother-in-law and grandmother, and has never attended any professional course or training in cooking, so everything we saw being prepared was a traditional and authentic hand-me-down recipe.

The thing that has always put me off trying to cook Indian food at home without using ready-made curry powder is the huge list of spices and ingredients quoted on recipes, and indeed there was a beautiful array of spices laid out for us to inspect, but as Sanjay pointed out, they are all available in the Asian section of your local supermarket, and infinitely superior to any sauce you can get from a jar.

Once we were settled with a nice bottle of red, Mili proceeded to make the most delicious vegetable pakoras I think I have ever eaten, the recipe for which is below, and which are easy enough for even me to try.

Mili's Vegetable Pakora.

Par boiled cauliflower
Thinly sliced potatoes
Sliced peppers
Sliced aubergine
250 gms gram flour
200 ml water
salt to taste
1/4 tspn turmeric
1/2 tspn chilli powder (optional)
oil for deep frying

1. Make a thick batter of gram flour by gradually adding water and salt to taste. Add the turmeric and mix well.

2. Dip the vegetables in the batter and fry until golden brown.

3. Garnish with coriander leaves and Chaat Masala, (an Indian spice).


We also learnt how to make pulao rice, an amazing chicken curry, gobi aloo (potato and cauliflower) and the most delicious chapatis and parathas, plus all the questions we've ever wanted to ask about Indian cooking were answered. Did you know that "masala" means "spice,"
or that the shelf life of spices is about two months? I'm never going to make my Heinz tomato soup based curry (learnt from my mother, naturally) again.....





I can't recommend this evening highly enough. Mili and Sanjay's enthusiasm and hospitality made it a magical evening, and we were all given recipes and a goody bag of spices to take home, so if you are ever in the South Downs area it is well worth making a detour for a meal in the wonderful restaurant!

Meghdoots Mystique Masala, East Street,Petworth,West Sussex,GU28 0AB.

It's not really called Sandy Balls, is it??

Ah, Sandy Balls. Don’t laugh, it isn’t an affliction brought on by close proximity to builder’s merchants; it’s actually a holiday park in the New Forest. At this gloomy time of year we generally head off for a few days at Center Parcs, but some bright spark in our family decided we should try something else for a change, so thus it was that we headed off with our 20 month old son, my mum, brother and his two kids for a week at Sandy Balls.

Nestled in the heart of the New Forest, just south of Fordingbridge, Sandy Balls consists of a little park of log cabins and holiday homes set in clearings and surrounded by trees. Oh, and drizzle. Yup, a holiday in England in late January might not be everyone’s cup of tea, and indeed our weeklong break was pretty much dominated by trips to the chemist for various flu/cold/sinusitis/migraine preparations as one member of our party after another fell prey to common winter illnesses. Sandy Balls however (and please try and stop sniggering, I am trying to be serious here), is actually a great place to visit even when it’s chucking it down.

There is a great indoor pool with paddling pools for the kids, plus a soft play area where the little darlings can work off loads of excess energy by hurtling down slides and throwing themselves into ball pits, before being taken into the Bistro for a welcome hot chocolate and a Danish pastry. A little supermarket provides all basics you need to rustle up a quick supper in your cabin, and if you can’t be bothered to cook then there is always a takeaway supplying really rather nice scampi, pizza etc., plus a pub and the aforementioned Bistro.

If you feel more adventurous and can be bothered to get out of the rather comfortable beds in the morning, head out down the road to Godshill and have a satisfying tramp across the copper-coloured heaths see the wild ponies and cattle, or zip down to Lymington to look at the boats in the marina and have breakfast (£5 for a HUGE Full English) at the Vanilla Pod Café, Gosport Street.

Another great meal to be had in the area is at The George, Fordingbridge. Set by the banks of a river, it serves unbelievably good, fresh food at very reasonable prices, along with an amazing wine list. In fact the menu was so creative and well-presented that my husband rated his meal of huss, cooked in a chilli, lime and coriander batter and served with hand-cut chips as a 9/10, when he neither likes fish, nor coriander. “And I’ve never given a burger nine out of ten,” he muttered slightly resentfully afterwards, “and I love burgers.”

The problem with going anywhere in the winter in the UK is that most attractions tend to be shut. We did get a ferry over to the Isle of Wight for the afternoon, and this too had all the appearance of being closed for the day, but with a flask of tea and a packet of biscuits in the car, even the dampest of locations can become a good healthy walk followed by a car picnic.

And how did Sandy Balls get its name?? No, it isn’t the owner’s name as my neighbour suggested, it is in fact called after the sand and gravel outcrops that occur on the western boundaries of the 120-acre park. Now, that wasn’t so funny, was it?

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