SKI WORLD NEWS:

Ski Hard, Party Harder
By ERIC PFANNER
November 10, 2002

If Freud had been a skier, he would have been fascinated by St. Anton, an Austrian resort with a split personality. Pristine, powder-covered steeps and famous racecourses, in a dramatic setting in one of the snowiest parts of the Alps, have turned the village into a world capital of the ascetic pursuits of daredevil skiing and snowboarding. But at night, an earthier side of St. Anton reveals itself, what locals refer to as the "Mooserwirt syndrome." Beware: it can be highly contagious.

Named after a mountainside bar, the syndrome is characterized by vigorous consumption of beer or schnapps, followed by dancing in ski boots on picnic tables to Austrian pop music. Symptoms usually start to appear around midafternoon on the terrace of the Mooserwirt, particularly on sunny days when the snow gets slushy and difficult to manage. By nightfall, in the center of the village, they are on full display.

About an hour west of Innsbruck at the foot of the Arlberg Pass, St. Anton bills itself as one of the cradles of downhill skiing, with a racing tradition that culminated in January 2001 as the town played host to the Alpine World Championships. The Arlberg is one of Austria's biggest ski regions and perhaps its most famous, with a handful of idyllic-villages-turned-resorts: Lech, Zürs, Stuben, St. Christoph and St. Anton.

While its neighbors attract an upscale, largely Teutonic clientele mostly interested in smooth on-slope cruising and off-slope comfort, St. Anton has always had a bit of a bad-boy image that draws an international crowd of thrill seekers. Its ski runs are higher, steeper and longer, and although the town looks typically, cutely Tyrolean, behind the doors of its many boisterous watering holes après-skiers happily gyrate to the omnipresent oompah-influenced mixes emanating from D.J. booths. St. Anton's favorite son, the skiing great Karl Schranz, is no stranger to run-ins with authority. In 1972, when he was the dominant skier on the international racing circuit, Schranz was banned from the Olympic Winter Games in Sapporo, Japan, because he had accepted a sponsorship from a coffee company — technically not allowed at the time, though the rule was said to have been widely ignored.

With the 2001 World Championships, however, Schranz — who headed St. Anton's bid for the event — and the village had a chance to redeem themselves. Millions of dollars were invested in smart new hotels and restaurants, as well as a slick news-media center at the edge of town that has been turned into a recreation and entertainment complex. A rail line that used to split St. Anton in two has been moved into a tunnel on the other side of the valley, pushing the noisy trains out of the way.

On my most recent visit to St. Anton last spring, my first since the World Championships, I was able to see the changes firsthand. The area left by the removal of the train tracks seemed more like a vacant lot than the intended park. And while hoteliers and their guests may have hated the trains click-clacking outside their windows, I always thought they lent St. Anton a bit of old-fashioned Alpine authenticity that its fancier neighbors lacked.

The new recreation complex offers nonskiers the choice of skating or spa treatments, and restaurants now serve everything from Argentine beef to Italian and Asian food, diversifying a culinary scene formerly limited largely to schnitzel and Tyrolean dumplings. Don't expect much chic shopping, though. St. Anton's main drag, between the onion-domed church on one end and the ski lifts on the other, is lined mostly with bars, hotels and sport shops, with a few boutiques sprinkled in. Fur coats are far more prevalent in Lech, a 20-minute drive away.

The same hard core of skiers still seems to be drawn to St. Anton: a few Americans in North Face gear, Britons in search of a party, helmeted Swedes hoping to test their off-piste skills and weekending Germans who roar down from Munich in two and a half hours in powerful Mercedes sedans.

In addition to its vast terrain — alongside the fearsome steeps, there are enough beginner and intermediate runs to keep anyone busy for a week — St. Anton has a reputation for consistent and abundant snow. The Arlberg Pass is a watershed between the western and eastern Alps, and its location along the northern edge of the mountain range means that storms often run smack into the pass and stall out over the town. Though St. Anton's altitude is modest — the town is at 4,265 feet and the top lift goes up to 9,222 feet — it frequently boasts the deepest snow base in the Alps.

That was the case last April when a friend and colleague, Jim Connell, and I made an unexpected visit. We had planned to ski in Italy, but a poor season was already drawing to a close there because of a lack of snow. So we checked a map, realized it was only five hours to St. Anton and snow, and got back into his car. Even without reservations, finding accommodations was easy; the Easter crowds had come and gone. We stayed in the Haus am Perg a simple but comfortable pension built around the remains of a five-century-old farmhouse. Everything was within walking distance: lifts, shops, restaurants and, yes, a few bars. But it was (mostly) the skiing that we had come for, and after a breakfast of rolls, cold cuts and cheese, we headed for the cable car up to the Galzig, the central point of the skiing above St. Anton and the Arlberg Pass. The lift swayed past a melting strip of artificial snow and into a thick whiteout that reassured us that at higher altitudes, winter was not over.

From the Galzig, a midstation from which you can ski back to St. Anton, we instead took another lift up to 8,700 feet. Just before the summit station, carved into a steep, rocky face, we burst out of the clouds and into sunshine. A small storm overnight had dropped a couple of inches of snow, and with perfect visibility and almost no one on the slopes, we let loose, heading down the front of the mountain through a wide-open bowl called the Schindlerkar. At the bottom, we hopped onto a fast chair that scales the steep rim of the bowl, ending at a rocky outcrop from which couloirs fall away in every direction. Because we were still getting our ski legs back, we decided to save these narrow chutes for another day and instead chose a long, wide, perfectly groomed intermediate run that provided turn after turn of cruising bliss down to Alpe Rauz, a stop on the road over the Arlberg Pass between St. Anton and Zürs.

The skiing in St. Anton is linked with that of Stuben, a hamlet down a side valley stretching into the neighboring state of Vorarlberg. With late-rising skiers finally filling the St. Anton slopes, we headed through a ski tunnel under the road for the comparatively empty runs in Stuben. There, at the top of the mountain, we found a broad, steeply pitched open face where the shade had preserved the snow perfectly. We made run after run down to the midstation, stopping just above a sea of clouds where a lift carried us back to the top. In between these tiring descents we sped down the deserted intermediate trails and stopped at a mountain restaurant for lunch in the sun.

That warm-up got us ready for the main event the next day — the long, steep off-piste route off the back of the Rendl, St. Anton's other ski area — best explored in the company of a guide. The front of this mountain is covered with mostly easy, sunny runs, but we headed off the back of the highest chairlift on the Rendl following what seemed to be a promising trail blazed by a few other skiers. Even on a warm day in a season marked by a lack of snow, the conditions were ideal — light, deep powder at the top, easy-skiing spring snow farther down. After the first, steep wall, the terrain eased up, and we swooped
over undulating meadows, slowing down only when we reached the tree line two-thirds of the way down. There, the tracks joined up in a narrow, bumpy
funnel that led eventually to a logging road, where we had to remove our skis from time to time to cross bare patches before we finally rejoined the main ski trail just above town.

Back up on the Galzig, the snow was getting heavy in the spring sun, and we quickly decided to call it a day. Conveniently, the Mooserwirt lay between us and St. Anton. This bar, several hundred feet up from town on a short detour from the main ski run, must be one of the most bizarre sights in the Alps. Until noon, it looks innocent enough — a traditional mountain chalet, with picnic tables outside where a few people eat lunch. But by midafternoon, when Jim and I arrived,
a transformation had taken place. Several hundred skiers and snowboarders had gathered outside, quaffing pints of beer and shots of schnapps. A D.J.
pranced along a balcony, singing along to a sped-up euro remix of John Denver's "Take Me Home Country Roads."

"The music is appalling, isn't it?" said an Englishwoman sitting next to us at a packed picnic table, though she looked far from appalled. Her teenage son climbed onto the table, ski boots and all, to join his dancing father. After a couple of hours, as the D.J. prepared to play the crowd's favorite German pop hits for a third time, we were ready for the greatest challenge of the day — putting our skis back on for the final few turns to St. Anton. As shadows grew long on the slope, the end of the run turned into an obstacle course, with skiers and snowboarders splayed out here and there in the slush. We picked our way around them, the thumping bass still heavy in our ears, and finally made it back to our hotel. Not every skier was so lucky. As we sat down to dinner in a nearby restaurant, we were distracted by an argument between the hostess and a late arrival clad in his ski gear, boots and all. In one hand he held his skis; with the other he pointed to the bar. Actually, she did most of the arguing. He simply repeated one word: "Beer!"

When his skis came clattering down amid the tables, the discussion ended. "Raus," the hostess insisted — "Out." The Mooserwirt syndrome had claimed another victim. Visitor Information Getting There The closest major airport is Zurich's, about 2 hours by train from St. Anton; the fast intercity trains stop there. Munich is about 3 hours by train. The trip is slightly shorter by car, and St. Anton can get uncomfortably crowded on weekends. Skiing Eighty-five lifts serve about 275 miles of skiing in the Arlberg region.

St. Anton is connected with the villages of St. Christoph and Stuben by lifts; Lech and Zürs are a short drive or bus ride away. Though St. Anton is known for steep runs and off-piste skiing, most of the marked runs are rated beginner or intermediate, as in Lech and Zürs. Experts can hire a guide and ski the "missing link" of the Arlberg area, a hairy, unmarked run from the top lift in St. Anton to Zürs (if you can find one; during our visit, the ski school was unable to despite several requests). A six-day ski pass is $170 at 1.04 euros to the dollar. There are prepared cross-country trails, a rink and indoor pools. Information: (43-5446)
2269-0, fax (43-5446) 2532 or www.stantonamarlberg.com.

Where to Stay
Like other Austrian ski resorts, St. Anton is full of relatively good-value garnis, or bed-and-breakfasts. We stayed at Haus am Perg, telephone (43-5446) 2810, fax (43-5446) 281020, a bit nicer — and pricier — than the average garnis. Though the building still has the weathered exterior of an ancient farmhouse, our pine-paneled rooms had been newly renovated, with well-appointed bathrooms and plenty of space to spread out a week's worth of soiled ski clothes. A double room is $84 or $92 with breakfast.

At the upper end in price is Raffl's St. Antoner Hof, Arlbergstrasse, 69; (43-5446) 2910, fax (43-5446) 3551, wwww.antonerhof.at. The location, on the busy bypass road, does not appear exclusive, but the hotel's 37 rooms are elegantly appointed, some with antique furniture, and it has an indoor pool and a spa. A double room, including breakfast and dinner, is $239 to $288.

In between, St. Anton has a variety of traditional hotels. An interesting, more contemporary choice is the xx-room Aparthotel Anton, (43-5446) 2408, fax (43-5446) 2408-19, www.anton-aparthotel.com, which opened just in time for the World Championships. Like the spare exterior, which stands out amid St. Anton's adorned facades, the apartments, suites and rooms are understated but chic. There is a good cafe on the terrace, only steps from the cable car up to the Galzig. Double apartments are $110 to $169, without breakfast.

Where to Eat
St. Anton's ski museum, in an industrialist's pre-World War I mansion near the main cable-car station in town, also contains an excellent restaurant in the building's elegant restored parlor and library. The Restaurant Museum, (43-5446) 2475, serves everything from game flavored with imaginatively spiced sauces to seafood. The Austrian blauburgunder (pinot noir) was surprisingly good. About $109 for two, with wine. Yuppies down for the weekend from Munich don't even bother to trade in their cufflinks and loafers for apres-ski gear before flocking to Hazienda, (43-5446) 2968, on St. Anton's main street. While the networking going on at the bar and the slick décor are far from my idea of Alpine charm, the Argentine beef is excellent. About $90 for two, with wine.

For something more traditional, there are plenty of choices. One of my favorites is the Fuhrmannstube, (43-5446) 2921, near the church in the center of town. After a day of skiing, quantity can be as important as quality, and the Fuhrmannstube indulges, with massive schnitzels, venison steaks and dumplings. You can also watch the locals get serious over a game of cards. About $45 for two, with wine.

ERIC PFANNER is the London correspondent for The International Herald Tribune.

Copyright The New York Times Company | Permissions | Privacy Policy