“Don’t speak,” said the guide. I quashed the impulse to break into a tuneless Gwen Stefani rendition, but couldn’t stop nervously monologuing under my breath. To anyone who can snowshoe blindfolded, hanging onto a rope whilst dragging flipper-like footwear over tree roots without nervous talking, chapeau. Sight, it turned out, wasn’t a sensory deprivation I responded well to.
It was like a corporate team building day gone organic, albeit more scenic, under the full moon in fresh powder snow in La Rosière, Haute-Savoie. Our snowshoe walk was to culminate in wine and fondue — my favourite kind of incentive — but before that we had to train our senses. First up was taste, which completely lost me on a blind tasting of rose hip jam. Smell went a little better when I correctly identified silage, and touch pushed me fully out of my comfort zone as I, a vegetarian, found myself clutching a severed deer’s foot.
