I am doing my best to fall in love with Céline. With dark features and
surprised eyes, she is 26 years old, petite and talking to me.
She is also pretty much the only person I have found even remotely attractive
at the Singles Week at Avoriaz ski resort, where I have come to meet my
perfect match.
Singles Week is a frenetic mix of speed dating, outdoor activities, games and
parties designed to bring greater love to greater Europe. The event is
organised by Meetic, a global family of dating websites that includes Dating
Direct in the UK.
Dating Direct claims to have more than 3.5 million active users, but only 40
Brits have made it to Avoriaz, of whom I have met precisely none. Céline
though: ah Céline, she of passable English, she of pleasant enough features,
she who is jamming a hotdog into her mouth as we warm ourselves by the
Finnish log that burns beside us.
I ask her whether she wants to partner me in the couples' log-sawing
competition that is about to begin. She smiles Frenchly and declines, which
only makes me love her more. Still, charming as Céline is, I have just been
spotted by the Belgian girl I have been running from since she grabbed my
bottom in a conga line two nights ago, and need to make a hasty retreat.
My near empty glass of lukewarm wine provides the perfect excuse and I slip
away or, to be precise, slip over. “Are you OK?” asks Céline. It's a very
good question.
Several factors stood steadfastly between me and true love in Avoriaz. First,
being 29, I didn't quite fit into the demographic, which hovered around the
mid to late thirties. Second, with the exception of Céline, I was attracted
to only one other woman, Laura, who had also come to make love to France,
but found herself an American snowboarder within five minutes of stepping
off her skidoo.
Even if I had been attracted to any of the assembled singles, I am fluent only
in English and Spanish and, powerful as the language of love may be, unless
you are trying to talk about sex it is no good to you with a French person.
The truth is that Singles Week in Avoriaz was populated primarily by French
speakers (67 per cent officially, but it felt like even more), which made
the notion of finding someone with whom I could settle down almost
impossible.
It also made following the rules of many of the Singles Week games
particularly challenging. The most impenetrable was the musical snowball
fight on Day Four.
When I saw the event on the programme I imagined a gay old frolic in some
scenic forest with no small amount of sexy rolling in the snow. When I
turned up I was faced with an incomprehensible gladiatorial death sport
where teams of four threw fist-sized ice bricks at one another until the
victorious players were signalled winners, removed their hockey masks and
punched the air shrieking.
I drank absinthe until I couldn't feel my lips any more and organised a small
breakaway group of new pals to make a dash for the closest mogul, where we
pelted one another with snowballs and lay on the slopes making snow angels.
I quite wanted to push Laura over playfully, but she asked me not to because
she didn't want to get her jeans wet.
Throughout the week I did everything in my power to fall head over heels with
someone, anyone. On the day I arrived I added my headshot to the Message
Wall, where one could leave sweet nothings or offers of sex for fellow
singles.
I left a heart-shaped note for Svetlana, who in hindsight looked suspiciously
as if she had been cut out of a magazine. She didn't have a chance to
respond, because when I returned two hours later my photo was gone. Was it
removed by a lusty singleton? A jealous fellow suitor? Svetlana herself? I
may never know.
I drank ruthlessly throughout the whole time I was there, in the hope that
with thus lowered standards I would no longer feel the need to converse with
my chosen belle. And I did my best to learn the borderline insane
choreography of hired party starter and dance instructor Michel Vedette.
I did air guitar when he shouted “geetarr 'ero” and I bumped butts with my
neighbours when he screamed “derrière”. Why love failed to flow naturally
from the raw pulsating erotica of such dirty dancing is frankly beyond me.
The idea of singles week holidays is not in itself a bad one, but people are
likely to want to find love with compatriots, if not people from their very
own city. It also seems slightly unnecessary to hold such a gathering in a
ski resort. The words “après ski” are practically synonymous with dating.
Indeed, the night I went to a regular bar in Avoriaz I saw more mingling and
interaction than I did at any of the singles' events. Nevertheless, while I
was there I did find one couple who claimed to be passionately enamoured.
The week itself was not expensive at £285 for six days, which included an
apartment for two people, opening and closing-night entertainment and lunch
on the slopes. Avoriaz is a beautiful resort perched high in the Alps, with
horse-drawn sleighs ferrying people around the town, the bells around their
necks chiming as they trot past. The crowd was a mixed bag, approximately
evenly split between men and women, and of varying heights.
But having had the chance to peek inside the world of singles holidays, I must
confess my original feelings have only been confirmed: that such events are
by and large for the luckless and/or foolhardy. That said, Céline, if you
are reading this, why don't you, er, e-mail me, and we can, um, cut wood,
or, you know, whatever.
Need to know
Dating Direct is free to join, but writing to other members costs money. The
website stages regular events such as speed dating and is planning another
singles week this year - details at datingdirect.com
Singles holidays: case study
Elizabeth, a 45-year-old advertising executive, went on a Solos Holidays tour
to Sorrento for one week in 2001. The holiday cost £600.
I wanted a good holiday - I had been working hard all year and was tired. But
I didn't want to go away alone, and that's how I ended up on a singles
holiday.
There were 11 women and five men on the trip. The age group was 35-55; there
was a range of professions - bankers, antique dealers, civil servants and so
on. The best thing about the trip was that twice a day we ate together. We
sat next to someone new each time and got to know each other. The rep acted
as our host, and made sure that no one was left out. Trips like this are
good because they act as a filter. Someone who isn't interested in history
and culture isn't going to book a holiday on the Amalfi coast going around
ancient ruins.
In that one week, three men asked me out - all of them very eligible. One in
particular, a banker who was ten years my senior, I was very drawn to. I
kept it fairly formal during the holiday itself but I agreed to meet him
again back in London. We married a year later, and are still together, very
happily, six years on. Singles holidays don't work for everyone, but that
one changed my life.
Solos Holidays: 0870 4992233, www.solosholidays.co.uk
