Trysil - the magic mountain

They do things differently in Trysil: when they talk about temperatures, everything's below zero, so 20' means a bitter -20C, and when you ask the hotel to book a taxi to a local restaurant, a skidoo careers up to the lobby laden with thick blankets to motor you up the mountain.

Normally you're expected to ski back down after a bubbling pot of elk fondue (looks like beef, tastes like beef, and is delicious with a blob of lingonberry sauce) at the cosy, cabin-like Knettsetra restaurant, but after the enormous portions neither my boyfriend Javier nor I were capable of doing up our buckles, let alone plotting a course through the pine trees with only the moon as a guide, so we had to hitch another lift.

It was all the more embarrassing when some children one table along, still munching when we left, beat us back to the hotel.

Still, the next morning I was ready for some downhill action of my own. Sundra, a year-round Trysil resident, had agreed to show me the whole resort in one morning, while Javier practised toeside turns on his snowboard.

With 31 lifts, Trysil is Norway's largest resort, nearly triple the size of Lillehammer, which hosted the 1994 Winter Olympics. One of the world's oldest ski clubs was founded here in 1861,' explained Sundra, as we shared a T-bar up a steep slope.

He went on to tell me about a natural phenomenon in Trysil whereby it's warmer on top of the mountain, 1,100m above sea level, than at the bottom, due to the cold pressure that hangs in the valley forcing the warm air upwards. True enough, it was slightly less bitter
(-10C, rather than -15C) at the top of the mountain.

More impressive, though, was the panoramic view of snow-laden pine forests with only the occasional white hillock disturbing the endless blanket of silvery green. A far cry from the jagged grandeur of the Alps, but no less beautiful in its gentle, Scandinavian way.

Sundra informed me that Trysil survives on logging and farming, as well as tourism, as I spotted a factory billowing a ribbon of smoke into the valley following the winding Trysilelva river. This river, Sundra continued, was the last in Norway to use traditional timber floating as a means of transportation, although in winter the ice is so thick you can drive a car across it.

Before I had time to psych myself up for the descent, Sundra was off, carving up the black run, ferocious as Thor on skis. I hurtled down in his wake, enjoying the powdery conditions (low temperatures mean that the snow here doesn't melt, so there is never any ice or slush).

After being put through my paces by Sundra, I skied back to our lodgings. The Radisson Blu is a modern family hotel, one of only three in the area, with a lofty atrium where you can sit by the open fire and people-watch.