Apres-ski till you drop

At least that's what I had been told. Frankly, I was skeptical.

As a former ski industry representative who traveled the world promoting US skiing, I have strong opinions about the differences between resorts in Europe and those in the States -- even though I had never actually skied in Europe. As part of that role, I circulated brochures containing a list of 15 ''Top Reasons to Ski and Snowboard in the USA," my favorite being ''mountains of lively apres-ski bars and restaurants." For years, I was needled by Europeans charging the inaccuracy of this statement. St. Anton, they said, would show me once and for all.

We start our journey on a train from Munich, riding three hours through snowy white fields that seem to lead nowhere, with the occasional horse, fence, or barn breaking the silent landscape. Small blips of towns -- each anchored by a spired or domed church -- whiz by. Near one village, mittened skaters crowd onto a frozen lake, in a scene reminiscent of those painted on the region's famous Christmas ornaments. Later, two parallel lines vanish into the distance, the distinct footprints of skis.

We reach our chalet-style condos in the Nasserein section of town, where other members of our group have begun trickling in. Our posse is a hodgepodge of 15 Americans: seven St. Anton veterans and eight newbies.

After a long night of sleep, and armed with bright yellow walkie-talkies, we take to the mountain. At the top of the Galzig lift, we get our first true view of the surroundings: miles of white, and a starkly contrasting blue sky. Steep and jagged in spots, most of the mountaintops below us resemble gobs of melted marshmallows topping steaming cups of hot chocolate.