King Of The Mountains

Austria’s Most Famous Alpine Villages— St.Anton, Zürs, Lech—are About to Become One Massive, 87-lift Ski Area, One of the Largest and Most Diverse in the World. Tom Robbins Schusses Through the Arlberg and Discovers That Though Bigger Will Indeed Be Better, These Story Book Hamlets Haven’t Lost Their Small-town Charms.

- Tom Robbins

Dusk was falling as I arrived in St. Anton, so I set out for a stroll through the village, my city shoes skidding on the snow-covered sidewalk. I passed an onion domed church and traditional, half-timbered hotels, then paused and looked up at the ski run that swoops straight down to the main street. It was 7:30 p.m., three hours since the lifts had closed, but the piste was crowded with skiers. Some were moving at a snail’s pace, anxiously feeling their way in the half-light; others were slaloming down with abandon, apparently oblivious to risk. Still others had already come to grief—the snow was littered with clumps of tangled legs, skis, and poles. Yet instead of shouts of pain and recrimination, there were only gales of raucous laughter, ringing out across the moonlit mountainside.

This, I would learn, is a near-nightly ritual in St. Anton. The resort markets itself as the “cradle of skiing,” thanks to its pivotal role in the early development of the sport. But a still bigger draw for many visitors is the unadvertised fact that it is also the cradle of après-ski.

Actually, après is a misnomer; in St. Anton, the drinking takes place before, during, and after skiing, not just in the village but up on the mountain, too. There, the young, wealthy, and ski-mad from across Europe cluster together in rustic cattle sheds and hay barns converted into bars. After several hours of enthusiastic drinking, they clip back into their skis for a demolition derby of a final run, which ends, conveniently enough, not just beside St. Anton’s pretty, pedestrianized main thoroughfare but also within 20 yards of the local emergency clinic.