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SPAIN

The new Spanish ski hotel that’s drawing the Marbella crowd

Our writer swaps her beloved Alpine slopes to try something a bit different in the mountains of the Sierra Nevada

A deluxe junior suite at the Maribel
A deluxe junior suite at the Maribel
The Times

What is it that makes skiing in southern Spain feel so refreshingly different from the Alps? I am sitting on a sunny terrace overlooking a throng of skiers jostling their way on to a chairlift as I try to put my finger on an answer. Is it that my friend Sophie and I have just feasted on a lunch of sirloin beef carpaccio with parmesan and capers, wilted spinach with shimeji mushrooms and cheeses, and a huge plate of Iberian cured ham croquettes accompanied by glasses of rioja, and the bill has only come to £80? Or that a beer here costs £2.50 rather than £7? Perhaps it’s because from the top of the mountain we could see North Africa in the distance — and last night we were dancing to reggaeton in a bar still crowded at 1am with everyone from grannies to sleeping babies.

As a diehard Alpine skier, I’ve always been sniffy about other, smaller, European ski destinations. Last month, lured by a posh new chalet, I booked a weekend in the Sierra Nevada, southern Spain’s white-topped mountain range, but I had no real idea what to expect. Would there be enough terrain for an aggressive skier like me, or any decent snow? True, its ski area sits around the Iberian peninsula’s second highest mountain, the 3,394m Pico Veleta, making it one of Europe’s highest ski resorts. But snow wasn’t much on the agenda on my flight to Malaga — the people sitting behind me were talking about having lunch at the beach — or for most of my two-hour taxi ride from the airport, along a road lined with olive groves baking in the sunshine.

It was only after we had passed Granada, with 45 minutes left to go, and headed into the Sierra Nevada’s area of protected national park that the air turned crisp and the olive trees gave way to a wilder landscape covered in shrubby mountain firs, grasses and pine trees. Now skiing did feel like a possibility.

Pradollano
Pradollano
GETTY IMAGES

Pradollano, Sierra Nevada’s only ski town, lies at 2,100m, and first impressions were of a rather unprepossessing jumble of apartment blocks and three-star hotels perched on the mountain. From here two gondolas whisk you up another 500m to connect to some 70 miles of runs. Spanish weekenders love the resort — they drive up from Granada and the coast, leaving their cars in a giant multistorey on the hillside.

Until now five-star glamour was only to be found in Pradollano at a Nordic-style boutique hotel called El Lodge located piste-side on the town’s northeastern flank. A table on its sunny deck, where a DJ plays in the afternoon, is the most coveted après-ski ticket in town, says my friend Sophie (a Brit who has lived in Spain for 15 years and who is driving up to meet me).

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This season El Lodge’s owners have opened a sister hotel, Maribel, across the road. With just 29 rooms, it’s designed to have an intimate chalet feel. On arrival you find yourself in a wooden-floored “club lounge” with a pool table and library at one end and at the other an inviting bar lined with leather stools where carrot cake awaits next to a magnum of Pol Roger champagne chilling in a bucket.

Out on the terrace chairs are adorned with fluffy white sheepskins, and the tables sport flickering gas fires. Not that they are needed when I arrive. It’s mid-afternoon and I settle down in glorious sunshine to get my bearings. Directly out in front are rugged green slopes and along the valley distant mountain ridges. A gondola glides past from the base of town just down the hill. Normally these slopes would be white, the hotel manager laments. Oh well. For now I am happy to sit back in my sunglasses with a beer and plate of green olives and salted almonds, and wait for Sophie. As the sun drops, the rocky outcrops surrounding Pradollano start to glow ochre and the far mountains melt into a golden haze.

The bar at The Maribel
The bar at The Maribel

The Maribel’s rooms have faux-fur throws draped on king-size beds and retro ski posters on the walls. The bathrooms have flattering lights that come on as you enter and rainfall showers that gush with the push of a button. My room also has a mezzanine with twin beds, perfect for children — or, in my case, Sophie. Our window looks back to El Lodge, but most rooms have really pretty views of the pistes and the mountains beyond.

That evening we are first at the bar in the long dining room — the hotel’s main event, with floor-to-ceiling windows and circular glass chandeliers hanging over lush chocolate-coloured furnishings. As we sip lychee vodka cocktails the room quickly fills with diners, who make for some wonderful people-watching. A young, beautiful couple arrive, Instagramming their every move. A matching blonde mother and daughter order oysters in Russian. A group of impeccably groomed Spanish men saunter in, followed by some young, sporty-looking Danish guys — apparently the owners of the Porsches we saw parked outside.

The crowd here is “distinctly Marbella”, Sophie says. Indeed, the hotel’s owners also manage the Puente Romano Beach Resort, Marbella’s famous villa complex, which includes a Nobu hotel, a Sixth Senses spa and tennis courts where Novak Djokovic trains. The Maribel is partly intended to be a sister “club” in the mountains.

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We take advantage of the hotel’s chauffeur service and head to town to find a bar Sophie has heard of called Shaka; we discover it in the corner of an arcade of small tapas joints. Here a rather more down-to-earth crowd are celebrating the start of a ski weekend with dancing and shots all round.

Next morning, a little fuzzy-headed, we are back in the Maribel’s dining room, where a glorious pale light pours in, and we throw ourselves into one of those exquisite breakfast buffets that you only get in five-star hotels. This one includes not only homemade granola, overnight oats, local meats, cheese, pastries and fruits, but also a chocolate fondue.

And so to the skiing. The Maribel and El Lodge have on-site ski hire and storage and their own ski school, where everyone speaks English (hour-long individual lessons £60, or £310pp a day; surcharge of £9 for a second person). Since the slopes by the hotel are bare, we are driven to Pradollano’s base gondola. The queues here can be terrible, Sophie says, but we are early enough to beat the mid-morning rush.

Up at the Borreguiles central station you can link into six ski areas spread over four valleys when the snow is good enough. Normally there are 57 reds, 45 blues, 19 greens and 7 blacks. During our visit we have the option of skiing only the resort’s main slopes above Borreguiles; much of the snow on the lower slopes here comes from snow machines. Sometimes artificial snow feels like skiing on sugar, but not here — perhaps because it’s all groomed so impeccably. On some runs it almost feels as if we’re whizzing along on a fresh dusting of powder.

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Sophie, however, is disappointed that the neighbouring Laguna Valley isn’t open. Here, she says, you find glorious wild-feeling reds tucked away from the sight of the very busy main area. We make do with trips up to the top of Veleta, where you can look south to see a blue strip of Mediterranean and, in the far distance, the misty peaks of the Atlas Mountains. To the north you look down on the pink-tiled roofs of Granada and, beyond, the expanse of southern Spain’s interior. With views like this and not a cloud in the sky it feels churlish to complain. After a long, lazy mountain lunch at Alcazaba that would have set us back £200 in the Alps we have a perfectly acceptable swishy four-mile zoom all the way back down to Pradollano.

Were there better snow, we could have skied home. Instead we call the hotel chauffeur and strut, skis on shoulders, to meet him, enjoying the bustle of what feels like a genuine little Spanish town. Families promenade in the sunshine and the outdoor café tables are thronged with people enjoying tapas, cervezas and cigarettes (hand-rolled — no Gitanes here).

Bridget Harrison at the Alcazaba restaurant in Borreguiles
Bridget Harrison at the Alcazaba restaurant in Borreguiles

It’s time for some spa action. Too early for the Maribel, which will open a small indoor pool, outside hot tub, sauna and steam room next month, we head over to El Lodge’s steaming outdoor pool and its sauna and hot tub. The couple we saw Instagramming last night are already here striking poses. As I recline in the sunshine in my bikini, I can’t resist popping off a smug post of my own.

After all, for most of us — even me — the joy of a ski holiday isn’t just about zooming down pistes, but all those lovely bits that go with it: fresh air, sunshine, mountain views, delicious food, lazy afternoons when you feel you deserve to loll in a hot tub. For this the Maribel delivers easy luxury in an otherwise refreshingly inexpensive ski resort. And one that is a lot easier to get to than some parts of the Alps.

With decent snow there is certainly enough terrain to satisfy an expert skier, at least for a weekend — as long as you don’t mind a few hideous queues for chairlifts. If the snow isn’t playing ball, you can easily duck off early and spend some time in Granada on the way home.

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Typically, it snows ten inches two days after we leave. Five days later Sophie is back there again.

Bridget Harrison was a guest of the Maribel, which has B&B doubles from £418, ski hire from £30 (maribels.com). One-day lift pass £38. Fly to Malaga, from where transfers for four are £200 (simplyshuttles. com); car hire from£15 a day (cargest.com)

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