Everest’s Rainbow Valley is a grim reminder of what cold weather can do to the unprepared — a fact Zack Cahill has taken firmly to heart. An avowed non-skier, he proposes three alternative winter escapes that don’t require risking life, limb, or Lycra in the latest edition of The Layover.
High on Mount Everest, 8,400 metres up the north ridge, lies Rainbow Valley. Dotted across this stark white vista are lurid, eye-catching flecks of red, green and blue. These are people — the frozen bodies of failed climbers — and there are about two hundred of them. If you die on Everest, you stay there. It’s dangerous enough to ascend; no one’s risking their own skin to bring you down. So there you remain, your brightly coloured expedition suit preserved by the cold.
Some even become landmarks, like Green Boots, who lay in eerie repose, clad in striking 1990s climbing gear, passed by every climber en route to the summit until 2014, when he was finally removed. He remains unidentified.
I think of Rainbow Valley every time someone suggests a skiing holiday. Because while donning Lycra, strapping blades to your feet and flinging yourself down a mountain while hungover might not quite be inviting death, it’s certainly flirting with it.
My own experience with the skiing holiday is admittedly limited. Strapping a snowboard to my feet on a Swiss mountain, I quickly worked out the basic mechanics: turn sideways, you stop; point downhill, you approach light speed. After several bouts of rocketing toward the horizon — eyelids peeling back, cheeks a ballooning windsock — I’d turn sideways, lose contact with the earth, and land with the sound of things cracking inside me.
Not to be a Debbie Downer, but there’s only so many times you can listen to a friend’s post-holiday roundup that goes something like, “Yeah man, Chamonix was amazing this year. Après-ski was a blast, I hit some killer black runs. Chloe sheared her leg off below the knee, but hey ho, omelettes, eggs”.
It’s the kind of story told with the blasé pride of someone describing a car crash as character-building. And the thing is — they mean it. Among a certain set, skiing isn’t just a hobby; it’s a badge of vitality — a way of proving that your body, your job, and your bank account are functioning at maximum.
There’s a certain moral superiority baked in, too. You’re not just on holiday — you’re doing something. Add to that the class markers, the pantomime of ruggedness and wealth, and the overriding Ralph Lauren #sponcon of it all.
The point is: I’m not a skier. Call me crazy, but when someone says “winter holiday”, I don’t immediately think “let’s reenact the more harrowing sections of “Touching The Void”. So what are the alternative winter escapes to the cult of the slope? How about a few out-of-the-box recommendations for winter getaways…
The winter wonderland option: Lake Inari, Finnish Lapland
The Finns, as they so often do, have it right. Winter isn’t an obstacle — it’s a vibe, and a season-long sauna break punctuated by the northern lights and occasional heavy drinking. While the rest of Europe straps on skis and insurance policies, the Finns simply get naked, get a sweat on, and occasionally roll in the snow to remind themselves they’re alive.
Lake Inari sits far above the Arctic Circle, richly wild and scattered with more than 3,000 islands: a white expanse so still you can hear your thoughts freezing. The Sámi people have lived around it for centuries; the lake’s islands hold sacred significance, and there’s a feeling that nature, not you, is in charge here.
What to do: Ice-fish, snowmobile, or ride a sledge across the frozen surface until your eyelashes freeze together. Stay in a floating “aurora hut” and watch the sky change colour like an indecisive screensaver. Or do the most Finnish thing of all: nothing. Sit in the heat, drink something clear and flammable, and wait for the world to thaw.
The storybook option: Český Krumlov, Czech Republic
If you like your winters to look like the inside of a snow globe, Český Krumlov is your town. A Baroque fever dream: cobbled streets, turreted roofs, and a castle perched above a bend in the river as though posing for a Christmas card or waiting for a vampire to take up residence.
In winter, the crowds vanish, leaving you to wander the medieval lanes and imagine you’ve time-travelled. You can drink mulled wine in a cellar bar so old it probably predates Coronation Street, or just watch the Vltava River creep past under a crust of ice.
What to do: Skip the ski lifts and climb the castle tower for a view that’ll make you forgive humanity’s architectural sins. Warm up with goulash and beer thick enough to chew. Or just sit by the fire in a tavern, feeling smug that your idea of winter sport involves gravity only when you stand up too fast.
The sun-drunk option: Essaouira, Morocco
Not everyone wants to spend their holidays resembling a Michelin Man. Some prefer their winter with a hint of salt air and camel traffic. Essaouira, a wind-whipped port city on Morocco’s Atlantic coast, is where European winter refugees go to defrost their souls.
It’s got whitewashed walls, blue shutters, gulls that sound like broken hinges, and a sea breeze strong enough to exfoliate you. Hendrix came here in the sixties, as did every other man who has owned a poncho. But the bohemian patina has mellowed into something gentler now — a mix of artists, surfers, and others who wear linen.
What to do: Sip mint tea on a rooftop while the muezzin’s call drifts through the sea air. Wander the souks, get lost, then pretend it was intentional. Eat grilled sardines straight from the dock, and congratulate yourself for choosing one of those alternative winter escapes where the only thing you might break is a New Year’s resolution.
Illustration by Martin Perry, photography via Unsplash
