Should we really take lessons in romance from the Eskimos? While the French lock tongues, they just rub noses - and it must be hard to persuade a lover to get their kit off when it's 30 below.
My boyfriend and I are about to find out: we are making our way to a Swiss igloo 1,500m up a mountain above Gstaad. We catch the last lift up. It's gone 4pm and as we swing through the trees, skiers sketch out the final tracks of the day on the pistes below. A devoted few are juggling their skis into the racks of the bubble lifts to catch one more run, but we're clutching overnight bags, toothbrushes and warm pyjamas tucked inside.
Heading uphill for the night is exciting whether you're staying in a mountain refuge or a luxury lodge, but now a handful of Swiss resorts - Zermatt, Engelberg, Davos, Zugspitze and Gstaad - offer a more unusual place to kip: an igloo. Everyone is welcome, but the company is keen to promote the experience as a romantic break for couples, especially around Valentine's Day.
The smiling lovers in the brochure look mushy enough, gazing at each other from piles of furs and heart-shaped cushions. But I'm not sure how it easy it is for love to burn in a cold climate.
There's just time for a quick vin chaud in Mountain Restaurant Eggli, where we sit on wooden benches wrapped in fleece blankets, following the sun's arc into the horizon behind the toothy mountains. Our guide and the other would-be Eskimos turn up for a brief introductory talk, then we slither down a gentle ski slope to the Iglu Dorf. From the front it looks like a wall of ice, and shadows and candlelight lick its decorative sculpted patterns. During the day skiers meet at the external bar here, but only guests are allowed inside.
Chunky stools are angled perilously a few meters up the slope, perfectly positioned (as long as you don't mind wobbling off them a couple of times) for sky watching. Glasses of Prosecco arrive with a plate of local ham and we gawp up at the encircling peaks, turning copper, orange, lilac and midnight blue.
WINTER WONDERLAND
Time to go inside, I think: it's getting nippy out here. But of course, it's no warmer in than out. Creeping into the igloo has the unforgettable thrill of doing something completely new and different. Sound stops. The wind hushes and the air slows down, and pale blue fills your vision. It's like going into a cave or behind a waterfall, inside a part of nature that we're not supposed to see.
Honeyed candlelight floods the grand dining room, softening its domed ceiling and pink-tinged alcoves. The smooth walls and curved roof are made by inflating giant balloons, covering them with snow and packing it down before the balloon is popped and removed, leaving the sturdy structure. Muddy streaks dirty the walls slightly - there was apparently a shortage of virgin snow - but it's still impressive and beautiful.
We are led along the corridor that rings the central space and couples peel off into circular bedrooms along its length. One, the romantic suite, has a Jacuzzi on a patio area, sheltered by a high ice wall. We don't expect to see much of that couple tonight. You can't make doors out of ice, so red velvet curtains hang across the doorways, but they don't quite cover the gap. People walking past will be able to see inside - is this to stop guests getting up to anything in the double sleeping bags?
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