AFTER two years of being an accidental hermit during the Coronacrisis, I've appreciated being out in the world again more than ever.
So I didn't even bother complaining to myself, my wife or the cat when I crawled out of bed at 5am, then got a bus from Belfast to Dublin Airport, flight to Geneva and transfer to Morzine.
Anyway, it was all worthwhile when that evening I walked through the door of The Farmhouse, at 251 years the oldest building in town.
It was built in 1771 by Antoine Plagnat, a key figure in the Morzine slate mining industry.
He lived there for 25 years, then sold it to the Baud legal family, and over the years the rambling building contained an office, cobbler, carpenter, seamstress and even a jail when one of the Baud family was mayor.
Rather appropriately, the family motto on the sundial in the garden is Sic Fluit Etas; 'So passes time'.
Thirty years ago, it became a hotel and restaurant, with open fires, floors creaking with age and memories lurking in every corner.
The current manager is James Wakelin, a former London City financial adviser who came here for holidays for years and after the 2008 crash moved out permanently for a new life.
Dinner by candlelight at an ancient round table could hardly have been more atmospheric: cream of celeriac soup followed by lamb shank melting off the bone.
Next morning, how fine it was to soar aloft in a chairlift between the sparkling snow and the blue sky, drinking in the pine-sweet air.
And then, even better, since I hadn't skied for two or three years, managing to get off the chairlift without falling over.
I looked down at the slopes with some trepidation for that same reason, but all was well, although by the end of a morning bashing down assorted blue and red runs, my knees were telling me that after years of international volleyball, my days of skiing may be coming to an end.
Back then, when I played for Northern Ireland, Ireland and a team in California, I trained for up to eight hours a day and could do 56 press ups in 30 seconds, 300 sit ups without stopping and squat 200kg. Not surprisingly, I had the body of a Greek god, but these days it's more like a Greek temple. I'm thinking of the Parthenon after the Ottomans blew it up.
In any case, my sore bits were certainly glad of a rest at la Cremaillère in Lindarets for the best omelette in the history of eggs, stuffed with ham, goat's cheese and little nutty mushrooms.
By 6pm, I was ready to fall into the hot tub at the hotel, but the organisers had other plans, namely a forced march in snowshoes up a mountain led by a chap called Hervé who obviously ran ultra marathons before breakfast for a laugh.
At one point we passed six sherpas on strike, three mountain goats who had died of hypothermia, and a polar bear who was later taken away suffering from cultural confusion.
By the time we had climbed at least twice the height of Everest and I was losing the will to live, Hervé thankfully stopped, revived us with mulled wine, lit a flaming torch and led us down through the darkness to the Bec Jaune, a gastropub with its own microbrewery.
Never has a cold beer tasted so good. It was so good I had several more just to make sure, and I don't remember much after that.
I spent the next morning ignoring the polite requests of my knees, hips, thighs and pretty much everything else to act my age for once, but it was worth it when we met Jacques-Olivier and Fletcher.
He was a splendidly civilised chap with a girlfriend who looked like a 1950s film star, and Fletcher was a white-tailed eagle with a 7ft wingspan, part of a scheme to reintroduce 85 eagles into the wild in this part of the world.
Two thousand years ago, Fletcher's predecessors ruled the roost all the way from North Africa to Scotland, and like all birds of prey, he looked deeply annoyed at having to rely on humans, but what an astonishing sight it was to see him soaring above us as we skied, then landing delicately on Jacques-Olivier's arm for a tasty dead mouse.
Thankfully, we were set for something even more tasty on the last night: dinner at La Chamade of king prawns with chorizo then sea bream, washed down with wines from a list which had just been named one of the top 100 in France, which is pretty impressive when you consider there are 186,000 restaurants in the country.
Rather wonderfully, one of the desserts was called 'The Explosive': chocolate cream, marmalade and chocolate mousse.
Now if we'd had that instead of Semtex during the bad old days, life would have been a lot more pleasant.
The next day I rose at dawn, said farewell to the rose-tinted snowy peaks and fell sadly to the grey world below, thinking that when my knees forgave me, I may return after all.
FACTFILE
GETTING THERE
Aer Lingus flies from Dublin to Geneva (aerlingus.com/en-ie/flights-to-geneva).
When you get there, it's a 90-minute or so transfer to Morzine with Alpybus from €22.50 (alpybus.com/morzine), although we used M'Cimes (montblanc-vtc.com/en) and Skiidy Gonzales (skiidygonzales.com)
SKIING
A six-day ski pass is €295 per adult for the Portes du Soleil region (en.morzine-avoriaz.com/skipass-morzine-avoriaz.html). A six-day ski pass is €374, including instructor, from esf-morzine.com
WHERE TO STAY
The new three-star Hotel Névé is friendly, comfortable and stylish. Doubles from €170, including breakfast (neve.cool).
WHERE TO EAT
The Farmhouse, in a 251-year-old farmhouse, funnily enough, wins 11/10 for atmosphere, never mind fabulous food and wine. It's also an 11-room hotel, with stays from €1,400 for a week's half-board, including wine (thefarmhouse.fr).
La Chamade is slightly more formal, with a brilliant wine list (lachamade.com/en).
For more casual nosh, the Bec Jaune gastropub uses organic local ingredients and has some great beers from its microbrewery (en.becjaunebrewery.com).
On the slopes, la Cremaillère in Lindarets has a spacious open terrace and does magical things with mushrooms. No, not that sort of mushrooms (en.valleedaulps.com/la-cremaillere.html).
WHAT TO DO
Ski with an eagle then have lunch in the same spot at the Pointe de Nyon restaurant on the slopes (lesaiglesduleman.com).
Head off into the mountains guided by Hervé, who will get you into the spirit of snowshoeing and also show you the stars... (en.morzine-avoriaz.com/morzine/snowshoeing-556334.html)
:: More information at en.morzine-avoriaz.com/winter.
