TA K I
JUST FOR KICKS Clockwise from left: Badrutt’s Palace Hotel; the Corviglia Ski
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 during the ’40s until the late ’60s, and 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 62 QUEST
the boutiques that line the streets and sell only expensive bling. In St. Moritz Dorf, down by the lake, yellow stone apartment houses that reminded 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, Nordic skiing valley paths, ice-covered lake where polo and horse racing take place, and bobsled and cresta runs make it unique among
skiing resorts. As I was there for only two days I had left my skis behind, and while speed-walking on the huge lake I heard English cries of yes, no, and how’s at. I looked and there they were, a bunch of Brits wearing dark coats over their whites playing cricket in the deep snow. They looked ridiculous but it was great fun, and they were having lots of it. A bit farther west of the lake is the 1864-built Grand Hotel des Bains, now the Kempinski, a graceful white belle epoque structure whose entrance adjoins
CO U RTE S Y O F KM U F OTO G R A F I E
Club; snow polo in St. Moritz.
