Not skiing in Åre and 'old' friends

This pretty mountain train terminus is one of my favourite buildings in Åre village.

I've just come back from a skiing holiday to Sweden, where we'd planned to spend most of the time on the beautiful pistes of Åre. In the event I got only a few days on the mountains, because unseasonably warm weather brought rain, strong winds and melting snow.

It looked hopeful at night when we had a fresh covering of snow...

But in the morning the snow had turned into rain.

Each day more of the snow was disappearing off the mountain and down streams towards the Åre lake in the valley.

But the point of the holiday really wasn't the skiing alone. My ten day stay in Åre ended with a long weekend with my 'old' girlfriends.

I consider myself very lucky in that I have loyal group of friends from school who over the years have made the effort for us all to keep in touch. In the first years when I lived in England I was very bad at this, and things got even worse when my children were born. But my friends are a determined bunch (particularly one - you know who you are!) and didn't give up on me.

I love this home ware and clothing store.

There are five of us and in the last few years we've managed to meet at least once per year. We've had lunches in Helsinki, weekends in London, Paris, Rome, Athens and Åre in Northern Sweden, but to name few of our 'girly trip' destinations. It's rare that all five can make a 'meet', but this year, first time in four years, we were all re-united for a skiing holiday with no skiing...

Instead of spending the days on the pistes, we laughed much, watched some silly DVD's (Bridesmaids), and shopped together in the chic shops in the little village of Åre. We swam in the nearby hotel pool, bathed in my friend's genuine Finnish sauna (something not always available in Sweden) and lolled in her hot tub afterwards - giggling like the girls we were when we met at sixteen - while enjoying a glass (or two) of champagne and ignoring the cold drizzle falling on us. We talked about everything and anything. At times I had to remind myself that we were no longer teenagers and at school; that we were serious grown-ups with some of us having grown-up children ourselves.

And last weekend as I came home to the summery London weather from a wet non-skiing holiday, I felt incredibly refreshed, but not in a way one usually does, with aching legs and the feeling that you've really done some serious excercise. No, this time it was my mind and soul that had had the holiday.

Thank you dear, dear friends. I cannot wait for our next outing.

My Nordic Adventure - Skiing the Åre way

The sky was brilliant blue against white snow when we arrived in the Swedish ski resort and mounted the Jämtland flag. I was staying in a ski lodge close to the centre - and to the lifts - with my oldest friends, 'girls' I've known since school and who, as the years pile on, I realise know me rather too well...

For instance when that same afternoon of our arrival I was with one of my friends in the Tott Hotel ski hire shop, I disappeared round the corner to look at a sales rack (once a shopaholic...). Wondering where I'd got to she (naturally!) went to look for me in the adjacent bar where a noisy after-ski party had just started.

These pictures were actually taken in the bar the following afternoon after we'd been up on the mountain.

Oh well...guess I'd rather be known as the party girl than the party pooper, but all the same, I've always maintained that apres-ski can only be enjoyed if you've actually done some skiing.

Which we did indeed do over the next two days. Not that we were fanatical about it;  since most runs in Åre end up or go past a 'kaffehus' - cafe/bar/restaurant - we took advantage of the amenities and had lots of lovely breaks for resting those rarely used thigh muscles need for skiing (ok, I know they're used for other very important activities too but not for hours on end...?), chatting and generally admiring the scenery and people watching. You can tell I'm not a very energetic slalom skier, something the Englishman has never quite understood, but for me being on the Swedish or Finnish Alps means more than just the actual activity of skiing or the wonderfully fresh mountain air. I'm also at home, with friends or family, as well as getting the all-important snow fix that I so crave here in London.

Here are some pictures of Åre this time around.

View from my bedroom window - not bad?

A view from our balcony - the pale yellow building is Tott Hotel

Another balcony view. 

A view later on in the evening as the sun set over Lake Åre.

Loungers on the balcony covered with local, organic lamb skins.

One of the pistes in Åre - not exactly crowded...

Early in the morning when we feared a snow storm would stop play. It didn't - the weather cleared up later.

There was even sun in the afternoon on the pistes.

Oh, how I wish I was still there!

A Friend Remembered

Lately I've been thinking a lot about a friend I used to have. Or, rather, about one of her little habits. Sarah (not her real name, but it could have been) kept a small piece of satin cloth in her pocket - she had one in her trousers, skirts, dresses and later in the pocket of her dressing gown when she was too ill to get dressed. Occasionally, she'd rub the fabric between her fingers.

'It calms me down,' she once told me.

We were sitting opposite each other in the lounge of her new married quarter; a house in Plymouth she and her naval husband had moved into a few days earlier, together with their three small children. Sarah was apologetic about 'the mess', but all I could see were a couple of unopened boxes and several John Lewis bags tidied up in the corner of the room. (Her husband joked that their house was really just an extension to the John Lewis warehouse, because Sarah would always have something or other ready to be returned to the store.) She must have seen me spot her right hand slipping into the pocket of her gathered skirt (this was early Nineties when Laura Ashley flower prints used in abundance was high fashion).

'I can't remember when I started this, I think I was five or six,' Sarah said and produced a small, frayed piece of deep blue satin lining fabric out of her pocket. She saw my puzzlement and pushed it back into the folds of the skirt and explained, 'Just touching it makes me calm down. It's silly, really.' Her pale face was flushed.

Three years later we lost Sarah to cervical cancer, at the tender age of 35. Still, after fifteen years, I think of her often and miss her terribly.