Featured Destination: Bormio, Italy
Adapted
from an article by John Fry in Ski Magazine
In my
final day of skiing last winter, deep in the Italian Alps, Alfredo and I make a
nonstop descent of Bormio's Stelvio downhill. Race experts say it may be the
world's best. We push off below the start house and go all the way to town,
dropping more than the height of Vail Mountain.
Because
few people are on the wide, groomed trail, we cruise large, lazy turns with no
precise arc, allowing the skis to do almost all of the work. It's the kind of
skiing where you give the skis the freedom to find a line that works best with
their sidecut and flex. They reward your legs with a sense of effortlessness,
the kind you feel when a tennis racket or golf club contacts the ball over and
over again in its sweet spot.
Experience
has taught me over the years-and trail designers have confirmed it-that this
experience of skiing exists when the slope gradient is around 35 percent,
which, as it happens, corresponds to most of the Stelvio run. It's not
especially difficult. You have the feeling that you've chosen a slope that
resonates with your skiing, the way the pitch of a finely strung violin
corresponds to a Mozart concerto.
And so
Alfredo and I swing together from turn to turn. The gentle March air, gathering
warmth from the rising morning sun, brushes our faces. Sometimes we ski beside
one another, or one takes the lead, the other following, without premeditation,
the joy rising in our hearts, not wishing ever to stop because it is so very
fine, and not having to stop because the slope goes on and on and on.
Stelvio's
pitches and rolls sculpt a perfect descent. It's unlike any slope I've ever
skied, about two miles in length without a flat spot anywhere. With all the
sweeping turns we make down the trail's 3,500 vertical feet, Alberto figures
we've covered about four miles, and yet we have left the top fourth of the
mountain unskied. We finish at the race stadium, and look back up at 9,880-foot
Cima Bianca (white peak). What seemed a heavenly eternity has taken less than
six minutes.
I first
visited Bormio, a medieval mountain village in northernmost Italy near the
Swiss border, during the 1985 World Alpine Ski Championships. It was
undoubtedly one of the more spirited, happier championships ever held. The U.S.
women, led by Tamara McKinney, Diann Roffe and Eva Twardokens, created a
picturesque moving tableau as they rode in a flower-bedecked carriage through
Bormio's cobblestone main street, drawn by horses to the town square to receive
their medals.
Now my
wife and I have come to Bormio for the final races of the 1999-2000 World Cup
season. Austrian superstar Hermann Maier is here to race and party. For the
first time, every World Cup finals of snowsliding-not only alpine racing, but
also snowboarding, freestyle, cross-country, jumping, telemarking and nordic
combined-are being held in a single region. Over five days, an onslaught of 23
competitions takes place in Bormio and nearby Santa Caterina, and at Livigno to
the north and neighboring St. Moritz, Switz. At the final ceremony in Bormio,
it takes all of an hour and 40 minutes to hand out a hundred or more trophies.
Each
winter, Bormio hosts World Cup races. History's first official super G took
place here in the early Eighties. This past summer, the International Ski
Federation (FIS) chose Bormio over Lillehammer to be the site of the 2005 World
Alpine Championships, putting Bormio in a league with Vail and St. Moritz as
the only resorts, post World War II, to host the Alpine Championships more than
once. If this isn't a place serious about skiing, tell me that snow falls
upward.
I've
come not to watch races, however, but to vacation. Following a seven-hour Alitalia flight from New York City, we
rent a car at the Milan airport for the three-hour drive to Bormio. The road
takes us past scenic Lake Como, through dozens of tunnels that pierce the deep
mountainside, dropping precipitously to the lake's eastern shore. At Sondrio,
we turn east and head up the valley known as Valtellina.
We
emerge from a final tunnel into hotel-lined streets. Clearly, the town's main
business is catering to tourists. It has done so for a long time. As early as
the First Century A.D., Pliny the Elder recorded how Romans came here to soothe
their muscles in the naturally hot water and, if necessary, drink it to cure
ailments from diabetes to urinal tract disorders. The water emerges at
temperatures between 97 and 113 degrees from springs as deep as 9,000 feet in
the mountain.
The
Bagni Vecchi (ancient baths) are the first place we go. For starters, we relax
for 20 minutes in a dimly lit grotto, a kind of wet sauna room carved out of
the rocks 1,900 years ago. Then we enter a shallow pool of hot (105-degree)
water. I immerse and stretch out my entire body in its enveloping warmth. Then
I plunge into a large stone vat of icy cold water and return to the hot pool.
We next sit on a ledge under a hot waterfall, and finish with a swim in the
outdoor pool overlooking Bormio and the mountains. The two-hour visit,
including a towel and dressing gown, costs $7.
The next
day, on the aerial tramway, we ride up to Bormio 2000, a mid-mountain resort at
2,000 meters or 6,560 feet. Here, my new skiing partner Alfredo Cantoni meets
us. With his English wife, Elisabeth, Alfredo operates the Auberge Girasole at
Bormio 2000. It's a plain, spacious 46-room hotel, frequented by skiers and
snowboarders who don't mind living away from the shops and bars and crowds down
in Bormio. The advantage is that they can squeeze in a couple of hours of
vigorous skiing on empty slopes before the hordes arrive from below.
Alfredo
is a handsome hotelier and mountain climber of medium height, with a full head
of black hair that makes him look far younger than his 59 years. His family has
lived in Bormio for two centuries. In summers, as a boy, he went up into the
high pastures to tend his grandparents' cows, living in a hut as part of his
duties. In 1975, he recruited the first Americans coming to Bormio.
"On
a busy day," Alfredo informs me over a cappuccino, "as many as 10,000
skiers and boarders may be on the mountain." Bormio, which consists of two
areas-Vallecetta and intermediate Oga-can handle 25,000 visitors. Typically, 40
percent ski. The least crowded time is between New Year's and mid-February. In
June and July, the skiing shifts to the glacier high above the 9,000-foot
Stelvio Pass, where European national ski teams have trained for decades.
With
Alfredo, we take the upper aerial tram to the top of Cima Bianca. He leads us
down a trail that once served as a women's World Cup downhill. The terrain is
gorgeous and perfectly groomed, and it winds down the mountain like a ribbon
spiraling off the side of a Christmas gift. No one is on it, for the simple
reason that the trail is closed to the public. Alfredo has exercised his droit
du seigneur by taking us down. We turn, totally unimpeded, from one edge of the
perfect piste to the other.
With our
swooping turns, we ski for perhaps five miles, then board the cable car for a
return trip to the summit of Cima Bianca. The slopes have been scoured by wind,
but we drop into a sheltered area and softer, wind-collected snow. We follow a
draw, a traverse and a superb series of pitches. The descent is 2,500 vertical
feet-a drop greater than Stowe, Vt.-and yet so big is this mountain that we
have only reached the top-the beginning-of the famous Stelvio, the men's World
Cup downhill.
We gape
from the starting house down the gut-wrenching steep drop that begins the
downhill, as steep as the famous Hahnenkamm start. By the time the trail loses
its steepness, the racers are moving at 85 miles per hour. Top FIS officials
have confided to me that the Bormio downhill may be the best in the world, superior
even to the Hahnenkamm. It's an unrelenting descent. There is no place for the
racer to rest. The most agonizing section, tearing at the legs, is the
Carcentina Traverse, which runs across a savage sidehill, followed by the San
Pietro jump. What makes this section so demanding is that the racer has already
dropped more than 1,500 vertical feet, and he's still only halfway down.
Alfredo
points at a log restaurant just below us. "La Rocca. Let's go in for a
bombardino!" The bombardino is a drink made of an egg liqueur to which
Scotch whiskey is added. The mixture is heated and topped by several dollops of
freshly whipped cream. Alfredo orders a round. The drinks, in sundae-size
glasses, are brought to us by the manager, who is known as The Bombardino Queen
and wears a maroon jacket with large lettering: "Hard Rocca Café." As
I sip the warm bombardino, a powerful surge of energy suffuses my body. I've
refilled my tank for skiing.
The
Bombardino Queen seems pleased by my reaction and invites us to return for
lunch the following day. When we do, we find ourselves sitting next to a table
of a half-dozen Boston skiers who have spent a week of partying and hard skiing
in Bormio. One of them, a slim, short red-haired young man, says it's his
fourth winter at Bormio. His group numbers about 28. The price for their
packaged trip, including lodging and airfarefrom Boston, is $1,200 each.
"It's
terrific," he says. "When we showed our Alitalia boarding passes, we
received a free lift pass for the week. I can ski cheaper here than flying to
Jackson Hole and camping out at a friend's house for nothing. Last night, we
came up from Bormio 2000 by snowmobile for dinner. It was like La Rocca was our
own private party place. We didn't go home until 2 a.m."
The
whole world seems to pass through La Rocca. After lunch, in the bar, Alfredo
introduces me to Gunilla Knutson, a dazzling former model, famous years ago for
her appearance in the Noxzema "Take it off" commercial. Knutson,
nursing a champagne glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other, is a New
Yorker transplanted from Sweden.
"Twenty
years ago, when I first came to Bormio on a promotion trip," Gunilla
recalls, "they took photos of me skiing down the slopes in a bikini. We
stayed at the Posta Hotel. The owner encouraged us to return with friends, and
we did. For almost 20 years now, my husband and I have taken at least 50 people
each winter."
I ask
Gunilla, "What do Americans like about Bormio?"
"It
wasn't built as a modern tourist town or a ski town. It's a true medieval
village, with pedestrian lanes. You have shops, the incredible Roman baths,
churches. Some of our people don't even ski. They shop, or if it's warm enough,
they can play tennis, or they hike."
Outside
La Rocca, we look across the valley at Bormio's other ski area, rising out of
the mountain hamlets of Oga, Le Motte and Isolaccia. Eight lifts access
intermediate and beginner terrain.
In
Bormio that night, we dine at Kuerc on the town square. The ground floor is a
popular place to enjoy a cappuccino and a pastry in mid-morning or afternoon.
In the dining room upstairs, I order two dishes of brasaola, a dried meat
flavored with spices and wine and hung outside, usually under roof eaves. My
first dish, Kuerc's Crespella Valtellinese al ragu di brasaola e bitto
(translation: sheer bliss of taste), is quite extraordinary. Ground brasaola
has been smothered in a bechamel cream sauce mingling with tomato. I follow it
with a plate of brasaola saturated in olive oil. The razor-thin slices of meat
are tender, not dry, possessing an intoxicating taste somewhere between finely
cured ham and a mild pastrami.
The next
morning, we drive 15 minutes through the beautiful Val Furva to Santa Caterina,
a ski area about the size of California's Northstar-at-Tahoe. A family resort,
it is full of shops with children's clothing and hotels catering to parents.
World Cup champion Deborah Compagnoni grew up here. She is almost as popular
among Italians as Alberto Tomba, and her family runs an attractive small hotel
in Santa Caterina.
Two
chairlifts rise out of town. As my chair emerges from the forest, an utter
transformation of the landscape appears above. Treeless alpine meadows are
blanketed with snow. I quickly grab a poma, which pulls me up a half-mile
track, and finally through a gap in the giant rocks. At the top, I find myself
poised on a ledge overlooking the spectacular peaks of the Stelvio, western
Europe's largest national park (and whose rugged beauty inspired the name of
Bormio's spectacular downhill). The white mountains, countless in number,
stretch to Switzerland to the north and to the Dolomites to the east, dazzling
the eye.
We
return to ski Vallecetta in the afternoon, and then head to our hotel, the
four-star Baita dei Pini, to change. The après-ski hour has struck, which, in
Bormio, means that it's time to promenade on the main street. Emerging from the
hotel, I pass the entrance to The King's Club Disco. Last night, Hermann Maier
kicked up a storm in its subterranean interior. The Hermanator tore off his shirt
and that of his girlfriend and was thrown out at god knows what hour of the
morning. Was I more irked by having missed the scene? Or by the street uproar
that awoke me?
In the
fading light of alpenglow, we walk along the ancient alley amid a swarm of people.
From a wurst stand, the smell of sauerkraut and pork fills the air, and farther
on I inhale the aroma of chestnuts roasting. On the corner, a flutist and a
tambourine player broadcast sweet Andean folk music that reverberates along the
stone building walls. The sound of music mingles with shouted conversations in
a half-dozen languages. Off to the south, through a narrow, centuries-old
passageway, I can peer up into the sky.
Fireworks
are exploding and above the kaleidoscope of their sparkling, lit by the moon, I
dimly make out the white summit of Cima Bianca, where I'll meet Alfredo
tomorrow for a final run. It will be very good, I know.
·
Getting
There
Alitalia has daily flights to Milan from New York, L.A., Miami, and other major
cities. From Milan, it's about a three-hour drive.
·
When
to Go Liftlines
are longest from mid-February to mid-March. Glacier skiing (late May to
November) is one hour away at Stelvio Pass.
·
Sleeping
In
On the slopes: Larice Bianco is popular with North Americans. A ski week costs
about $450 per person, including breakfast and dinner. A week at Girasole, at
the top of the cable car, costs about $300. In old town: Hotel Posta, with two
meals, costs $170 a night. Farther out, Baita dei Pini is $75 per night.
·
Dining
Out
Most skiers buy half-pension packages that include dinner. Bormio's hotel food
is almost uniformly good. Not to be missed is a prix-fixe ($30) homemade meal
at La Rasiga. The restaurant is housed inside a 600-year-old sawmill.
·
Après-ski Hotel terraces at
the bottom of the lifts in late afternoon; Clem's Pub in the old town, any
time; King's Club Disco after 11 p.m.
·
Kicking
Butt
In the spring, when avalanche danger has abated, this giant mountain offers a
myriad of steep untracked routes through rocky outcroppings. Be smart: Hire a
guide.
·
Kicking
Back
The ancient Roman baths are a five-minute taxi ride away. Steam in a grotto,
relax under a waterfall, swim in an outdoor pool. Only $7.
·
Activities There's ice
climbing near the Roman Baths and superb cross-country skiing at Santa
Caterina. There's also world-class shopping.
·
Don't
Miss See
Italy before the summer crunch. Drive south via the ski resort of Aprica and
continue to dazzling Florence, with the world's greatest art gallery, the Uffizzi.
· Vital Stats Vallecetta:
Terrain: 30 miles of slopes, Lifts: 2 cable cars, 1 gondola, 7 chairlifts, 6
drag lifts. Base elevation: 4,020 feet. Summit elevation: 9,880 feet. Vertical
rise: 5,860 feet. A 6-day ski pass, for Bormio and four other areas, costs
$120. Tourist office: Phone: 011-39-0342-903-300; web:
www.valtline.it/funiviesib
Coleman Travel will be running a group
trip to Bormio next winter. Individual
packages are always available.
Coleman Travel News
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changes in our trip list!
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reading this and we look forward to see you on the slopes!
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