Over the years, I've made no secret of my disdain for this kind of thing:
click this picture at your own risk
Yes, the promise of distance from that skin-crawling world of 'the apres lash' is one of the reasons we decided on a season in Brides. A visit to notorious apres-ski magnet The Rond Point seemed to confirm our suspicions that Meribel could be among the worst offenders.
Was this really fair, though? There was only one way to find out. After getting wind of a Brides-Meribel return bus trip, I gathered a crack team of highly qualified investigators: K-Don, borderline alcoholic; Hamish Duncan, co-inventor of DeathWish (more of which later); and Ali Bayne, last seen at the Stirling services in 2008 after a week-long Austrian powder/booze binge.
The following is accurate to the best of my knowledge.
7.30pm
The plan was to essentially crash the Crystal Holidays' weekly Meribel bar crawl, jumping on their 8pm coach from Brides and returning at 2am. With the resort's reputation for extortionate prices, it seemed the best thing to do would be to frontload with the local fizzy wine from Moutiers (guaranteed messiness at a seasonaire-frendly 1 Euro per bottle). After a few rounds of DeathWish for good measure, we headed along to the bus.
8pm
We met the coach, and the rep who'd kindly agreed to ferry us up the hill. The journey was uneventful, save for the man who spewed all down the emergency exit stairs midway through the rep's speech about the terrible things you'd be in for if you spew on the bus. His excuse that the French food was disagreeing with him would have been more believable had it not also clearly impaired his balance, as well as his powers of speech.
9pm
Leaving the visibly miffed rep to deal with the invalid, we headed into the first pub. With a hipflask of rum about his person, Hamish played it fiscally safe and only ordered a pint of Coke, but still ended up getting stung for five euros. The barman, hailing from rural Perthshire, rebuffed his protests with the explanation that "we're in Fraaahnce, it's expensive don't you know". Fortunately we conned our way into some hand-stamps which brought the price down in each pub, and so we carried on.
9.30pm
In the next bar we settled into some Travel DeathWish. In short, DeathWish is the bastard offspring of Play Your Cards Right. Travel DeathWish substitutes playing cards with credit cards, driving licenses, blood donor cards and the like, with no change to the rules. The potential for losing all identification and monetary sources while playing is half the fun.
[Everything a bit of a blur from here on in. My guess is that we were playing Meribel Bingo: take a drink every time you hear the words "proper", "Facebook rape" or "lush". Fast forward to the penultimate bar, wherever it was, in the wee hours]
??.am
Charged with getting a round in, Kyla comes back with pints of a questionable purple colour, which put paid to any more serious discussion about the merits of a night out in Meribel. After those we were as good as on the floor, and there was nothing else to do but sit back, steady ourselves on the table, and attempt to tolerate that other bane of resorts such as these: the British covers band who seem to believe that no-one's heard Kings of Leon's 'Sex is on Fire' enough times yet.
1.30am
Dick's Tea Bar. Your guess is as good as mine.
2am
It was all over and we boarded the bus back to Brides. The next day was a time for reflection, as well as suffering. Was Meribel's nightlife all that i expected (and feared) it to be? The short answer is yes.
However, to paraphrase the Bible, there is a time to laugh, a time to cry, and a time to get absolutely rinsed and knock several lumps out of your mother's pride. Any environment where it's mandatory to get between six and eight hours of exercise a day should always have the option to undo all the good work later on. Amongst the crowds of punters in any apres-ski bar, you will find scores of folk who love their sport and take a well-earned swally after a solid day's riding. The only ones I've got qualms with are those who are happy to let the boozing take precedent as their skis/boards are neglected. It's been said a hundred times before, but still: you can get drunk anywhere, but if you're in the mountains, you have opportunities that are not to be missed. Hats off to the likes of Chris Hazeldine, Julian Leighton, Chris Rettie, Ally Gray, Bruce Robertson, and all the other shredders I've met who can prop up the bar with the best of them, but can still be found on the hill the next day. I raise my glass to you.
Duthie
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