St Moritz
Once upon a time, not that long ago, St Moritz was the world’s greatest resort, an exclusive winter wonderland for royalty, aristocrats and shipping tycoons. I’d say the place reached its peak between the 1940s and the late 1960s; like the rest of the great old resorts around the world, it’s been downhill ever since. The reason for this is obvious: the newly rich barbarians outnumber the old guard, and resorts rely on big spenders. The big spenders live in hotels, eat every meal out, attend nightclubs, and enrich the boutiques that line the streets and sell only expensive bling. In St Moritz Dorf, down by the lake, yellow-stone apartment houses that remind me of council flats have proliferated since the last time I was here, arousing my suspicion that someone somewhere has taken a rather large bribe to allow these horrors.
St Moritz is now a large, traffic-choked town, but the slopes, the Nordic skiing valley paths, the ice-covered lake where polo and horse-racing take place, plus the bob-sled and cresta runs make it unique among ski resorts.
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