ALL APRÈS, NO SKI

I’m writing this from Nagano – roughly 230 km away from Tokyo – where we are spending our Christmas and New Year's Holidays.

When people hear Nagano, their brains immediately start projecting skiing montages: powder snow, mountain peaks, and some heroic skier flying through the air in glorious slow motion. Understandable, since Nagano Prefecture is often referred to as the "Roof of Japan", surrounded by enough mountains to make a Swiss person feel strangely… at home.

But here’s the twist: Nagano City, where my in-laws live, sits at a modest 371 metres above sea level (almost exactly the same as the place I hail from) and is at least an hour away from the nearest ski slopes. So no, we don’t tumble out the front door straight into a gondola. There is no ski lift next to the convenience store. And no one is clomping around the supermarket in ski boots.

Besides, today it's a balmy 15° Celsius here, so let's just say that it's somewhat more likely for spring flowers to blossom than for snowflakes to start tumbling from the sky...

Not that it matters – because I don't ski (anymore).

This always shocks people in Japan. The moment someone hears I’m Swiss, their eyes light up as if they’ve just met Roger Federer and a cheese fondue at the same time.“ You must be an amazing skier!” they say. Erm… no.

True, Switzerland is famous for mountains. And cows. And banks. But the idea that the entire population is born wearing skis is wildly optimistic. Believe it or not, we do have flat bits. Not many… but they exist. Well, okay. Perhaps not really flat, so let's settle on "hilly".

Of course, I did ski as a kid. Every January, our family would load up the car, skis strapped to the roof like aerodynamic antlers, and drive a couple of hours to the Alps for our annual two-week winter holiday. In the early years we stayed in hotels; later, my parents bought a holiday flat— the ultimate sign of Swiss commitment to winter sports.

My parents themselves weren't active skiers and preferred the après-ski on a sunny restaurant terrace. So, they didn't have anything to teach me on the slopes and therefore dispatched me to ski school. Perhaps they hoped I’d join the national team someday and thank them in my victory speech. To be fair, I did pick up a few medals in small races. 10 points for speed – none for style.

I could get down any slope in any blizzard – but I never looked very glamorous or dignified. Meanwhile, my brother floated down the mountain with all the elegance of a skiing Renaissance angel. Infuriating.

Around the age of 20, I quit. I decided that no amount of spectacular views and adrenalin rushes could make up for the misery of hauling heavy ski gear, queueing endlessly for lifts, or trying to navigate a crowded mountaintop cafeteria while wearing boots that turn your legs into concrete pillars. And don’t get me started on where to put your gloves, your hat, your goggles, and your dignity while juggling a lunch tray. Becoming a ski ace simply did not make it onto my list of life goals.

So, despite being Swiss and having lived in Japan for almost 30 years, I've never skied in Japan. And that's despite the fact that for the first four of those years, we lived in the host city of the 1998 Winter Olympics, while they were on.

Back then, my in-laws' house was kept warm (sort of) by individual kerosene heaters, had single-pane windows, and a bathroom that turned every morning shower into an extreme sport. Stepping into the bathroom felt like training for a biathlon. So, I didn't feel the need to throw myself onto the slopes.

Nowadays, the house is equipped with double-glazing, efficient oil heating and air-conditioning. One reason more to stay in the cosy abode.

My extremely demanding holiday regimen will mainly consist of taking long walks, reading books, eating & drinking, and enjoying family time with my in-laws.

In other words: my version of a perfect winter vacation – no ski boots required.