The village at Northstar was built specifically to create a ski resort near a hill that had snow on it, to make money from skiing. So whilst it has everything that the mind of an architect (or a computer programme) would imagine you would need on a winter holiday, it inevitably lacks the quirky charm of a real village which has developed iteratively over of the course of several decades (or centuries), mutating along the way to meet the changing demands of its inhabitants and clientele.

If truth be told, my impression was that Northstar village was really set up for a long weekend, rather than a week’s stay. There were only a handful of restaurants, most of which were shut by 9pm, and the nearest supermarket is 15 minutes drive back into the nearest town of Truckee (more of which later), so if you are intending to enjoy some of your own home cooking whilst in resort, it is a bit of a mission to get your olive oil and mushrooms if you don’t have a car at your disposal. If you are intending to make party like you were at the Mooserwirt in St. Anton…well, you won’t.

It could have been a function of when we were visiting, (i.e. Easter, not during the frat-boy/girl fest that is spring break), but the resort had a very low-key family-oriented vibe. The liveliest part of town was the ice-skating rink, which had been transformed into a roller-skating rink (which thus brought back childhood memories of love bites and being dared to snog people in West Wales) and was being heavily sessioned each evening by about 20 six year olds (and their wobbling parents).

You can’t say the village isn’t well configured, because it is, but it just lacks a bit of soul, which for me is a prerequisite for a legit travel experience. Were I to return next year, I wouldn’t stay in Northstar village, rather would base myself and family in Truckee, and drive the 15 minutes up to Northstar each day (thus sacrificing the ski-in/ski-out convenience in return for a more authentic taste of Americana).

“Truckee, a frontier-era town which is literally sliced in two by a river and the railroad, has a stetson-full of charm.”

Truckee, a frontier-era town which is literally sliced in two by a river and the railroad (around which it was built in the latter half of the 19th century) has a stetson-full of charm. It has classic Western architecture that will turn you into a photo-snappin’ tourist, a gaggle of great bars fuelling patrons with locally brewed Sierra Nevada craft ales, an awesome diner (Jax) which has one of the best burger and shake combos I have ever stuffed into my face, some great boutique shops, and a sprinkling of Californian hipster pixie dust which makes you want to roll up your jeans and buy an obscure brand of sunglasses. Importantly however, any high-falutin’ aspirations of the tattoo-wearers are grounded and kept perfectly in balance by the industrial grinding of the guffawing freight trains which lumber through the middle of the town, reminding anyone with moustache wax of what originally made America great.

Couple this with a macabre episode of cannibalism that is spliced into Truckee’s history, and you have the perfect recipe for a cultural exchange, not just a holiday. The most infamous moment in Truckee’s past to which I allude came when a group of settlers (now known as the Donner Party) who were travelling west from Illinois to Sacramento became snow-bound and stranded near Truckee during the winter of 1864. Several members of the party starved, and were then eaten by the surviving members of the group. A cautionary tale if ever there was one to make sure you brush up on your backcountry survival tips before you start your hike for fresh tracks.