I look down at my drink. Well, three drinks actually; pint in one hand, pint in the other, jagermeister shot somehow clenched inbetween. It’s 4:30 in the middle of the night. I’m in the middle of the Whisky Muhle club in Soll, Austria. It’s day two on my first skiing holiday and I can’t physically drink anymore.
I look across to the bar and see my new friend Mike. He’s fallen asleep, elbow on the bar, head in hand, goggles over his face, ski hat still on. The staff start to sweep the club to send everyone home.
I down the shot, hide the pints at one end of the bar – ashamed at my lack of stamina – and saunter towards the exit.
This ski holiday malarkey is going incredibly well, or incredibly badly, depending on how you look at it.
The Yes Man
Complete chance led me to skiing, and a fair few falls on my face, too.
Thirteen months before my first ski holiday, I’d met a girl called Andriana – or Andi for short. Like many meetings of the twenty-first century, I first met her online at a dating site. Andi was half Greek, half Irish and shared the same birthday as me. We got along, both wallowing in the misery of previous breakups and previous people.
Unsurprisingly, after a few dates, it didn’t work out.
Surprisingly, we started weekly to play squash, and sometimes badminton, and became friends.
After having known Andi for around ten months, she mentioned that she knew a group of twenty Irish guys and girls who went skiing in January every year. She’d never been skiing, and did I want to come on my first skiing holiday? You know, share the experience and the pain of being the only person you didn’t know how to ski. Have a shoulder to cry on when it all went wrong, and someone to laugh at when you’re falling down the slopes.
I was 32, never skied and never had any inclination to ski.
So I immediately said “yes”.
Looking out over the church and houses of Soll at twilight
D-Day: Arrival Day for My First Ski Holiday
I had no idea what to expect from my first skiing holiday, but I have considerable experience travelling. Getting up at 3am, packing a whole load of stuff into a bag, and heading to the airport in the dark – these were all familiar to me.
Packing for a ski holiday was more unusual. When you’re a first time skier, you have no idea what to pack and what to expect. As we had no clue, we had played it safe and bought a ski pack from the travel agency that had included ski equipment hire (including helmets), ski school and lift passes. I had decided to buy a ski jacket and salopettes after getting them in a crazy sale for £35 each. The rest of my clothes were ones I used for walking and hiking, together with casual clothes.
Andi had borrowed away, getting jackets and trousers and gloves from people.
I had overbooked with a massive bag full of stuff, but we were ready, and on our way.
It was a fairly uneventful day. Luton Airport was a dream, as I always found it back in the days before it became busy and redeveloped. We made it to Salzburg airport, at that time not a dream. I’ve heard they’ve improved the Austrian airport since 2014, but when we went, it was a bit of a shanty town.
On board our ski transfer to the resort of Soll, they told us lots of interesting ski stuff, but Andi and I had no clue what they were talking about half the time.
We spent the day wandering Soll, our first time in a ski resort. It was picture perfect, small and quaint, with a small church and supermarket, and not much else except accommodations and a few bars and restaurants.
We also got our rental equipment. Getting ski gear for the first time is inexplicable. You come out with a pair of skis, a pair of poles, some boots and a helmet – and you hope they work. You’ve no idea why they were selected for you. You have no idea why these boots hurt so much. You just have faith – or confidence – in the rental shop that they know what they are talking about.
In the evening, we met Andi’s Irish friends for the first time, who had all flown in from Dublin.
Then it hit me.
I’d just come on my first skiing holiday with 24 Irish: 24 overly confident, stubborn, straight talking Irish. Oh, and they’re going to be able to drink me under the table several times.
What have I got myself in for?
The First night in the Whisky Muhle, wondering what I had got myself in for.
Turning up at Ski School
Turning up to your very first ski school is a laugh.
You’ve just picked up your stuff from the lockers and tried to walk in ski boots for the very first time. Oh my God, why didn’t anyone tell you how alien, how painful, how slow this was going to be?! I need an hour to walk to ski school, not ten minutes.
Now I’m sweating inside my massive ski jacket and thermals, and extra fleece layer I really didn’t need because we’re hoofing it up the pavement to make it in time. And how the f*cking f*ck are you meant to be carrying these skis anyway, without falling head first into the tarmac? I’m looking at other people but they seem to have four different permutations, and they all make it look easy.
I’m now wading through the thick snow at the side of the pavement, because any contact of boot and ice on the pavement is threatening to take boots, skis and my dignity away from me.
Eventually, I make it to ski school. Then all the questions come that nobody told you for your first skiing holiday. Where do I stand? Who am I looking for? What do I do? Who do I give this shitting ski ticket to that I’m clutching in one gloved hand?
The crowd of ski instructors are having a little meeting, a good laugh and maybe a vodka at 10am in the morning, but finally come over and round us up like lost sheep. They seem to know who they need to find, even though we’ve never met.
Out of the Irish crew, there’s four that have never skied too – John, Paul, James and a girl called Maire. So together with Andi and me, there’s six of us with a few others in our group of beginners..
Ski instructors congregating for the first day of Ski School
The Snowplough
I don’t remember my first button lift. I don’t remember my first “ski”.
I do, however, remember the pain of trying to get a snowplough. I came to ski, not do this stupid manoeuvre. My legs and hips naturally don’t like bending inwards. What is this idiot invention of a ski move, and why is it still not stopping me?
The instructor tells me I need to touch my ski tips. But… But… my stupid robot body just won’t do it. He’s shouting something about a pizza at me, then he’s just shouting at me to do it! My mind’s going, “yep, that’s totally fine – hips turn inwards to thirty degrees, ski tips together and stop,” while my body just goes “no thanks.”
It was a relief when it was finally over, and we still hadn’t got off the nursery slope.
Snowploughing for the first time
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It was at 4:30am that night in the Whisky Muhle – looking
across at Mike falling asleep at the bar – that I finally figured out the modus operandi of the other twenty
Irish.
There were great skiers, or at least they had balls. Big
balls. Especially the women. They would straight-line fast down the steepest
blacks like they were on a gentle walk. Each morning they would wake at 8am,
catch the lifts, ski, have lunch and four pints, ski the afternoon and hit the
first pub on the mountain at 4pm. They would then make their way down the
mountain in a pattern perfected over the years they had been coming to Soll.
First, they would visit the Moonlight Bar just up from the
bottom of the Gondola. Then a stumble down the road – maybe stopping in at the
Hexenhalm – to the first proper bar in town, the Salvenstadl. Known simply as
the Salven, I hear it closed down in 2018.
The Salven was always a good laugh, and after a game or five
of Nails, the team would head across to the Red Lion. By 10pm, generally
without dinner, they would hit the Whisky Muhle which had a club and bar on
different levels. At 4am to 4:30am, depending on how busy it was, the staff
would clear the venue. The Irish would go home, sleep for 3 hours and then get
up to do it all over again.
For 7 days solid!! Ski, Apres, Sleep, Repeat.
I made it to day 2 on that first skiing holiday, realised I
couldn’t do it, and gave up (on the drinking that is, not the skiing).
Picking the Irish off the streets of Soll
Ignoring Your Instructor
Andi did not make it to ski school day 2. The Irish had conquered her, and in had rushed the headache and the hangover.
After another day stuck on the nursery slope, John, Paul and James were feeling overly confident and wanted a run at a “big boy slope”. Maire declined because she’s sensible.
I didn’t because I’m not.
Our ski instructor, who did a lot of shouting and telling us we were rubbish, told us expressly not to go up the gondola that evening as we weren’t ready. So, of course, we went up the gondola.
We decided to try the blue home run down to town, because, how hard can it be – right?
The boys quickly left me behind and trying to keep up, I hit an edge on my ski. I veered from 0 to 90 degrees, straight into a wooden fence.
Why does nobody tell you how hard it is to get up after a fall, especially on a shallow gradient?)
Andi and I, with our ski intstructor practicing his photobombing
Standing After Your First Fall
Fate is cruel. I get half up, prodding a pole in the snow to try and yank myself. Then there seems to be this midpoint with a glimmer of hope, but ultimately my body weight says otherwise. Down again.
And half way up. And down.
Then I try to get one ski off but I just can’t seem to reach the binding. And I don’t seem to have the force.
“Why can everone else in the world, m*ther shittting f*cksicles, seem to be able to do thise except me?”
One ski’s off. I stand, one ski on and one off. I hop to the other ski. I try to get back into the ski. I try again.
I hear the instructor’s voice in your brain – Just latch in your toe under the binding, and push hard at the back. Why can’t I get the back in? I’m pushing. I’m really pushing. I start flailing with the pole at the back of the binding, hoping to manually push it up.
Now somebody is coming to my rescue, realising I’m a skiing retard. I drag on their sleeve, put far too much weight on them. I’m thankful they came, but embarrassed.
And finally… Click. It works.
I mumble gratitude at them, and watch them descend out of view before going yourself. Because, of course, I don’t want them to see me falling again two seconds later.
A misty and snowy day over the rooftops of Soll
The Blue Run to Hell
Coming down the blue home run of Soll turned out to be one of the scariest things of my life. One of the sections has a number of bends, easy to the trained skier, but terrifying to the newbie.
The bends didn’t have fences or nets, so make a wrong turn or lose control and you’re going over the edge. I fell a few times down these bends but made it to a straighter section.
I kept to the right, by a steep wall of snow, snowploughing my way down the blue. I’m going 5mph, maybe less. A flurry of skiers heading home, as it’s the end of the day, sail past me at five times my speed.
The run can be done in 10 minutes for a mediocre skier. I pass a bar at the 40 minute mark, and plead with a guy. How much longer is it? He tells me it’s only a little further.
The last bend and descent to the top of the nursery slope is agonising, but I made it. I have bangs and cuts and bruises to prove I made it, even if I was an idiot.
Talk about my first skiing holiday – I’m sure at this point that it’s also going to be my last.
With our instructor and two of the Irish crew at Ski School
Staying in Luxury
I am (almost) as happy in a hostel as I am in a five star, but Andi prefers a little comfort. We were staying in the hotel Postwirt in town, a traditional Austrian place with four course dinners.
I wasn’t the biggest fan. The room was always too hot, even with the balcony door open. I wish I had bought flip flops and shorts. The food was listed as typically Austrian, and gets good reviews, but neither of us liked it. There wasn’t even free Wi-Fi, or a kettle in the room. We had to pay thirty euros for wi-fi for the week, and three euros every time we wanted a tea and coffee from the bar.
Suffice to say except for the benefit of an outside pool, with snow and view to boot, I would not be back.
However, it did allow us to relax away on our first skiing holiday from the hardcore Irish drinking crew. It was a space to go back to each night after skiing, whilst they had all opted for a pension where they slept in bunk bed rooms.
The Irish crew were amazing, skilled at skiing and drinking, but I needed all my wits to get down a slope.
The Hotel Postwirt in Soll, Austria, where we stayed
Seeing Red
The next few day’s progress is slow.
Midweek, our instructor takes us up the gondola – for my
very first time, wink wink. We manage to go on one blue and one red. It’s all bloody
scary, but I get a chance to see what a proper ski area looks like.
On the fifth day, I fall badly whilst on a red, and batter
my ribs. Breathing is a struggle. Touching them is tender.
The more able skiers were picked by the instructor to go on
a ski safari the next day. I am not picked.
That night both Andi and I decide not to ski on our sixth
day, and we make it a big night at the Whisky Muhle. You can’t knock the
generosity of the Irish. You would barely get through half of your pint before
they had another one on the way for you. Most of the evening, I was double
parked. Sometimes, twenty or so Jagermeister would do the rounds too.
At 5am I collapse into bed, happy with the knowledge that I don’t
have to get up and ski ever again.
Thumbs Up and Nervous Smile After surviving a whole week of Ski School
The Final Supper
The last day is lazy. We had survived. It had been intense, and shit-your-pants scary. Our first skiing holiday was not without its dramas. Andi had made it to 3 of the 5 days of ski school. I had made it to all the days, but my skiing ability was worse than hers. She had skied into a bench, I into a wall.
There had been numerous falls. There had been numerous drinks. We are battered and tired.
But we survived.
There was a relief that it was all over. After lots of sleep, we return our ski gear. By the evening, sick of the Postwirt’s food, we go to the restaurant above the Whisky Muhle. We have salad and pizza, rounded off with a Cognac Chocolate Mousse. It’s the best meal we’ve eaten all week.
By 11pm I’m asleep, and by 11am we’re back at the shit hole that is Salzberg Airport, sat on the floor because there are too many travellers and too few seats.
Pizzas out of the hotel, our best meal all week
The Aftermath
Skiing did not come easily to me. I would not think, for any money in the world, that, ten months later I would take a job as a Ski Rep in Italy.
And though it has taken me months and months to achieve what people do in weeks, I can now ski.
Five ski seasons later, and as they say, the rest is history.
Trip Planning
Further Resources
Click on each tab below for resources to plan your trip
- We flew to Soll using a Package deal from Crystal Ski Holidays - flight, transfer, accommodation and ski extras all paid for.
- Find out more at https://www.crystalski.co.uk/ski-resorts/austria-ski-holidays/soll
- They have 16 Accommodations on Offer, starting at £300 per person.
- If organising independently, Innsbruck and Salzburg are your closest airports.
- Crystal Ski have the Postwirt available from £606 per person, including flight and transfer. Check out https://www.crystalski.co.uk/ski-resorts/austria-ski-holidays/soll/hotel-postwirt
- Alternatively, check out the postwirt at Booking.com, and 103 other properties.
- We ate at the Half Board in the Postwirt but the one evening we had out was at https://www.aufdamuehle.at. We loved it.
- Our usual lunch stop next to the nursery slope was the Hexenalm, another good choice.
- Soll has other good eats. Check them out over at Tripadvisor.
- Ski!
- There's not a huge amount to do in Soll - there is an outdoor ice skating rink, and your vicinity to Innsbruck and Salzburg gives day choices.
For Skiing Inspiration, check out:-
Travelling Costs
Everyone spends differently, but the following should give you a good estimate
| Ski Holiday | Cost | Comments |
|---|---|---|
| ✈🛏🚌 Flight, Hotel & Transfer | £703 | Booked through Crystal Ski Holidays |
| ⛷ 5 Day Lift Pass, Ski Equipment Hire & Ski School | £300 | Extras booked through Crystal Ski Holidays |
| 🍔🍺☕ Food, Drinks, and other Spending | £321.82 | Beers were the biggest expense, and lunch inbetween ski school. Postwirt was half board so provided other meals. |
| 💰 TOTAL | £1324.82 | The cheapest accommodation with Crystal in Soll would put this figure down to £921.82 |
Maps
Soll is connected to the SkiWelt Area in Austria