By James Stone

A week snowboarding in the Italian Dolomites at the beginning of April sounded like a risky venture in terms of snowfall but we were lucky. The week prior to our arrival in the small but bustling resort of Passo Tonale it had "dumped" shed loads and the snowfall would continue, albeit at a slower rate, throughout our week. Having spent a season out in Canada many years ago, it was down to me to teach my girlfriend the rudiments of the sport. Having last been on a board six years ago I was unsure that I would be much use myself, but was pleasantly surprised by my slowly returning skills throughout the course of the week.

Susie was a fast learner but was also prone to some dramatic and painful falls, meaning she only had a few hours learning time in her each day before having to trudge wearily back to our apartment to bathe her wounded knees and posterior. This left me large portions of the afternoons to myself and as my skills and confidence returned I found myself taking on all that the resort had to offer in terms of red runs and the occasional black as well. In fact, the only bar to my success were the snowboarder's nemesis, the drag lift, which I quickly realised I would have to forgo if I was intent on preserving my dignity on the mountain.

Wednesday morning was the best of days. Having noticed that it was snowing heavily during an excursion to the bathroom in the middle of the night I had resolved to be up early for "freshies" first thing in the morning. Leaving Susie sleeping off the previous night's vino bianco I caught a couple of chair lifts up to the area known as Passo Contrabandieri, where smugglers used to make their way through the mountains, and was third man down the steep run in a foot of new snow, an experience that was certainly worth getting up for. The fog was now closing in and by the time I met up with Susie later in the morning to lend some moral support on the lower beginner slopes it was impossible to see ten metres in front of you – not conducive to good learning.

Evenings in Passo Tonale were quiet affairs, best enjoyed at the cosy El Bait pub where the landlord had our drinks ready for us each evening by the end of the stay. The resort was "family orientated", which was fine by us, as we were normally knackered after a long day on the piste.

Having read up on Italian eating habits beforehand, it was clear that we would be required to engage in various courses such as anti-pasti and primi during an evening meal. However, the years of entertaining ignorant holidaymakers had quietly drummed this notion out of the restaurants in the resort and they were well primed for offering Brits large quantities of spaghetti that negated the need, or indeed the ability, to consume anything approaching a further course. This we found out to our peril on the first night, when expecting dainty portions we ordered a hefty array of courses, which left me required to eat four pork escallops in a bid to avoid upsetting the chef.