The views from the Obelix Café were equally impressive - up the mountain from where I had come; down to where I was going. It was the mid-point of the blue run and Tony, the ski-instructor, gathered his flock for a well-deserved coffee break.
His look was a contented one, or perhaps disbelieving. Only three days earlier, this bunch of misfits were emphatically placed in the 'Fragile - Handle with Care' category, but now he had safely negotiated his motley crew half-way down the mountain, as yet, unscathed.
But this was Thursday and while it was the six-man ski lift that carried us up the mountain, it was the three preceding days where that particular pass was earned.
Ski School began on Monday morning.
I, however, had procured my skis, poles and boots on Sunday evening and, in a shocking bout of punctuality, I found myself standing in the beginners' area with 30-odd minutes to kill ahead of the opening roll-call.
Feeling inspired, I watched with purpose as hundreds of skiers donned their equipment and set off, cross-country style, beyond the flat white expanse, disappearing as the gentle hill took them left towards the ski runs.
I had no intention of hitting the slopes, but how hard could it be to mosey over and back a few times, I thought, as I clicked into the skis and held myself upright with my trusty aluminium sticks.
Upon lifting the sticks out of the snow, I started to move slowly forward. It reminded me of an episode of 'Father Ted' where Jack's wheelchair magically rolls backwards up a hill.
Having made no effort to move I found myself sliding slowly towards a group of snowboarders. The group watched as I moved in slow motion towards them. Their collective look of disbelief was palpable as I continued into the middle of them and took my first hit of the week.
They laughed as they got me back on my feet and while my ego was definitely bruised, it was the stinging pain in my wrist that I was more concerned about.
And so the school bell tolled. Snow ploughs, side-stepping, sliding, slipping, stopping (eventually). It was hard work.
By Monday afternoon, after the second session of the day, I was convinced that the ski gene was most-definitely missing from my armoury.
But then, midway through Tuesday's session, coordination kicked in and a few trips up the magic carpet lift in the afternoon resulted in my learning how to turn left.
By Wednesday, I was still shaky like Stevens but the ski gene had been discovered and I was determined to nurture it. A confidence-building afternoon on the baby slopes and I arrived for my Thursday lesson raring to go.
And so we headed for the hills.
The journey up from the resort brought the experience to a whole new level. There had been several levels already. The coach trip up from Toulouse into the Pyrenees, the journey across the resorts of Andorra, the gondola ride from Arinsal up to the Vallnord resort; the sights and sensations becoming more and more incredible at every juncture.
The hustle and bustle of the resort and the beginner slopes was replaced by a fantastic silence as the open-air ski lift ferried us towards the summit.
Up there the slopes were wide and welcoming. All that hard work had eventually paid off. This was it, I was skiing. Meandering my way down the mountain, over and back, side to side, follow the leader. I was loving it.
The coffee break was both welcomed and deserved.
But I was eager to get going again and while the mind was still very willing, it soon transpired that the body, well the legs in particular, had become weak.
So still with a fair distance to go down to base camp, I took a trusty left turn to venture back across from whence I'd came.
Incomplete is the best word to describe that particular turn and now instead of gliding back across the slope I found myself hurtling straight down the mountain.
It's amazing how much goes through your head in those first few seconds, or couple of hundred feet, to give some perspective. Try to stop. Try to turn. Nothing works. Eventually some reflex action convinces you to take the hit and let gravity take its course as you come to a halt further down the hill.
I had simultaneously lost the use of my legs and what was left of my bottle. And I still had a fair way to travel to the bottom of the slope. My ski class were way back where I had started my fall so the only option was to go it alone.
Another turn, another lesson in how to fall at pace - this time, at least, I went down earlier. And so it continued. "Fall early, fall often" was my new mantra. It got me down in one piece.
The ski gear was put away and I ventured back down to Arinsal on the gondola. I knew a place where you could buy some bottle.
It was a good day.
About Arinsal
Arinsal is one of the main ski resorts in Andorra, with an altitude ranging from 1500 to 2500m. The village has more of a Spanish feel to it as opposed to the France-influenced Pas de la Casa on the other side of the Principality. Arinsal, and Andorra in general, is ideal for beginners thanks to the wide-range of slopes and excellent ski schools.
Intermediate and advanced skiers are also well catered for both in Arinsal and also in the neighbouring village of Pal, which is linked by the same lift pass. Speaking to some advanced skiers, I was told that the 'black' runs in Andorra would only be 'red' in Austria. On the other hand, other seasoned skiers said that Andorra's slopes were a lot more challenging that the Bulgarian equivalents.
Another great benefit for beginners is the value for money in Andorra. Ski school/lift prices are generally a lot cheaper than their French and Austrian counterparts, while food and drink are considerably less expensive. And if shopping's your thing, Andorra's tax free status is another reason to visit.
Aprés Ski/Nightlife
Reps from all the local bars will be waiting for you at the bottom of the gondola ride down from the mountain with offers of free beer, toasted sandwiches and tasty barbeques. El Cau, Quo Vadis, El Moli and El Derby get most of the Après Ski crowd where embarrassing videos of your respective ski group will be waiting for you by the time you finish skiing for the day.
Cisco's is another lively bar with a decent restaurant upstairs, while Bogart's, located in the Princesa Parc Hotel, was definitely my favourite bar in the resort with live music and good food available until late.
For an Après Ski alternative, pay a visit to the spa facilities at the Princesa Parc Hotel. A couple of hours soaking and steaming in here are well worth the €12 admission - your aching bones and muscles will thank you for it.
Eating Out
While there are plenty of restaurants in Arinsal, there is definitely a lack of top-end options available. There is a big Argentinean influence in the town, and sure enough, the best eatery is Surf, a traditional Argentine steakhouse. The food in Cisco's is also good and Quo Vadis is renowned for its early-morning fry-ups.
In general, the food is decent throughout, although when it comes to restaurant service, almost every place is sadly lacking. And to make matters worse, smoking is still not banned; in fact, it appears to be encouraged, which takes you back a few years when all your senses were overrun with tobacco fumes.
Getting There
Online ski holiday specialist Directski.com offers a week's stay at the 3* Hotel Club Daina Apartments in Arinsal from €359pps, including self catering accommodation, return flights from Dublin and transfers from Toulouse. Visit: www.directski.com or call: 1890 201 205.
Ed Leahy
Ed Leahy was a guest of www.DirectSki.com.
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