Day one. In search of the sun

"No, I'm not all right! What the hell is he doing up there, practising for the Marathon?"

It's 6.45am in a Gatwick Airport Premier Inn, and Marianne is Not Amused. Bigfoot in the room above has been stomping back and forth for half an hour; hell hath no fury like my wife roused prematurely from an already fitful sleep. It's not the most auspicious of starts.

Five hours later, life is considerably more rosy. Thomson Airways has delivered us to a blissfully empty Grenoble Airport. Our package operator YSE has, as promised, loaded us swiftly onto a convoy of coaches. Next stop Val d'Isere.

As we climb the precipitous mountain road, the trees turn powder white, the peaks reaching impossibly high above; late afternoon sunshine completes the picture postcard. We've seen winter wonderland before, but this view quickens the pulse like few I can remember.

By late afternoon, we're trundling up the familiar High Street with its wood-clad buildings, glitzy boutiques and hotels jostling for attention. Our chalet is a former hotel right in the centre, set back from the main drag. It's simple and comfortable and the young staff greet us like old friends. There's tea and cake waiting. Chalets aren't usually our thing - we've self-catered for the last five seasons after a bad experience - but by the end of an excellent (and boozy) dinner I'm won over.

Monday morning, 9am. Time at last to set skis to snow, and the mountains are toying with us. There's fresh snow on the ground and more falling, but as we gain altitude on Odyssey 2013's first chairlift, the visibility fades to white. We've chosen the Solaise area to start: an open playground of sweeping, undulating runs, it's perfect for finding your ski legs. The snow is glorious - as light and fluffy as Whistler's finest - and after the first tentative turns it all begins to flood back despite the visibility.

Cheryl, Simon, Marianne and I are joined by Cheryl's brother Carwyn, who hasn't skied in seven years. The rust takes its time to flake away, but he's hanging on gamely and copes well when we venture onto steeper, bumpier terrain by mid morning. It's still fairly tame compared with some of our antics in Whistler last year, but the week is young.

The sun intermittently makes an appearance, but the cloud is fickle; we quickly stop trying to second-guess it. But a late afternoon decision to head for the Glacier de Pissaillas lands us the jackpot: it's bathed in sunshine. The wind is howling, blowing snow in sugar-fine waves across the ground; with wind chill the temperature is twenty below freezing. The last drag lift tops out at over 3,400 metres above sea level, and the semicircle of jagged peaks encircling us defies description.

We sweep down the fast blue runs, occasionally foraying off into the powder fields on either side, revelling in the snow and being able to see it. Wonderful stuff, and a great way to sign off a fine opening day. On our previous visit we didn't often venture up into this part of the Espace Killy, and now I remember why: geography makes it disjointed and difficult to get around. It's far too easy to end up a bus ride from home, too.

But there's some fun terrain up there, and when the sun shines, the setting is magical. Day two beckons...