The Red Army welcomes you

It felt more like going to war than going skiing, and I was terrified. The giant Russian helicopter had spotted us and was approaching fast. The throb of its rotors filled my ears and vibrated my bones, the downdraft sent snow and ice blasting into my face and every instinct screamed 'run away'.

I cowered, face down and eyes shut while the noise grew so loud it seemed clear the pilot was going to land directly on us.

It was never like this on Treasure Hunt. In that, I distinctly remember the chopper would never land unless it was 100 yards from the nearest person, before Anneka jumped out and ran to safety, dramatically bending double. This pilot obviously hadn't seen it.

I looked up to find the helicopter's nose four feet from where I crouched, rotors hammering the air above. Heart in throat, and buttocks clenched, I stumbled blindly on board.

Maybe I was being a wimp, but in my defence, my first taste of heli-skiing was happening not in some jolly, familiar Swiss resort, but in the far south of Russia. Here helicopters are not buzzy little things with names like Squirrel and Gazelle, as in the Alps, but giant warbirds. Ours was a Mil Mi-8, the kind that has prosecuted the Soviet cause from Afghanistan to Chechnya, with room inside for up to 30 troops. And it looked like it wasn't exactly new ...

We were staying at Krasnaya Polyana, the country's premier ski resort - where Putin comes to ski and several oligarchs have homes. It is spoken of as 'Russia's Courchevel' and is even bidding as a venue for the 2014 Winter Oympics.

The reality is somewhat less impressive. The town, high in the Caucasus and two hours' drive from the Black Sea resort of Sochi, has just four ski lifts and is mainly a ragged jumble of wooden houses, divided by mud roads.

Rubbish lies strewn around the verges, being picked at by scavenging pigs. Packs of dogs keep up a night-long howling rota. Gruff soldiers check your passport before you're allowed to ski each morning, and instead of rosy-cheeked chalet maids, there are fur-coated hookers.

Yet if you are here to ski, this is arguably the best resort not just in Russia but the whole of Europe. The terrain could scarcely be better for off-piste skiing. Above the town lie bowl after bowl of perfect, untouched powder. It's unglaciated, so there are no concerns about suddenly vanishing into a crevasse, and after 600m skiing down open powder fields you enter widely spaced silver birch forests.