Standing at the top of the Pitztal Glacier feels like you are standing on the roof of Austria. At 3,440 meters, it is the highest glacial ski area in the country, and the air up there is so thin and crisp it actually catches in your throat. You take a futuristic funicular through a tunnel inside the mountain to get there, and when you finally step out into the light, the view of the Wildspitze peak is enough to make you forget about your skis for a minute.

The snow here is different from what you find further down the valley. Because of the altitude, it stays dry and powdery long after the rest of the Alps have turned to slush. You can usually ski here from September all the way into June. It is a massive, open expanse of white where the runs are wide and forgiving, but the sheer scale of the landscape makes you feel very small.

One of the best things about Pitztal is Cafe 3.440. It is a sleek, glass-walled building perched right on the edge of a cliff. Sitting there with a coffee and a piece of strudel while looking across at the jagged peaks of Italy and Germany is a surreal experience. The terrace hangs out over the drop, and on a clear day, you can see for hundreds of kilometers in every direction.

It isn’t a place for the nightlife or the massive crowds you find in St. Anton. It is much quieter and more focused on the mountain itself. You go there for the high-altitude silence and the feeling of being completely disconnected from the world below. By the time you take the train back down the mountain at the end of the day, the valley feels like a completely different planet.

The Harakiri slope in Mayrhofen is the kind of place that makes your stomach drop before you even see the edge. It is named after the Japanese ritual of samurai suicide, and once you are standing at the top looking down, you realize the name isn’t just for show. With a gradient of 78%, it is officially the steepest groomed run in Austria. It is basically a vertical wall of white, and from the top, you can’t even see the bottom of the slope.

What makes it so intimidating isn’t just the steepness. Because it is so vertical, the snow has to be prepared by special winched snowcats that anchor themselves to the mountain so they don’t slide off. This usually results in a surface that is hard, icy, and unforgiving. If you lose an edge here, you aren’t just falling; you are sliding for a few hundred meters until the mountain finally levels out.

There is a strange sort of tension at the top of the run. You see people standing there for five or ten minutes just staring over the edge, trying to decide if they actually want to do it. Some people click out of their skis and walk back to the chairlift in shame, while others just go for it. If you have the technique, it is an incredible rush, but it is definitely more about survival than it is about making pretty turns.

The best part of the whole experience is at the bottom. There is a real sense of relief when the ground finally flattens out and your heart rate starts to drop. You can even buy a “I Survived Harakiri” shirt in the village afterward to prove you did it. It is one of those runs that every serious skier wants to tick off their list, even if they only ever want to do it once.

The MooserWirt is one of those places you have to see to believe. If you are skiing down the final run into St. Anton and your legs are already screaming, the sound of the bass hitting the mountain air usually does the rest of the work for you. You don’t really plan to stop there. The mountain just kind of funnels everyone onto that massive wooden terrace around 3:30 PM.

One minute you are clicking out of your skis and the next you are caught in a wall of sound. DJ Gerhard is a total legend in the Arlberg and he has been running the show there for decades. When he drops the first track of the afternoon, the whole place just ignites. It is a strange and brilliant sight to see hundreds of people in heavy plastic ski boots dancing on oak benches while the sun sets behind the peaks.

The service is absolute insanity. The waiters there are basically athletes. They weave through a massive sea of Gore-Tex jackets with giant trays of beer and Jägerbombs balanced high over their heads. They never seem to drop a single glass even when the crowd is jumping. By the time the sun is gone, there is a literal cloud of steam rising off the crowd into the freezing night air.

The real “test” happens at 8:00 PM sharp. The music cuts out and you realize you still have to get down the mountain. Watching a thousand happy skiers navigate that last 500-meter stretch into the village under the floodlights is the best free show in the Alps. Some people make it down gracefully and others end up in a heap of laughter in the snow. It is loud and expensive and your gear will definitely smell like beer by the end of the night, but you haven’t really done St. Anton until you have stood on those benches.