<b>Kishore Singh:</b> Why St Moritz is worth the francs

St Moritz is the equivalent of the Riviera in the Alps, only swishier. Our hosts chafe because bad weather caused their private plane to land at an airport a little further than the one from where they had intended to board their flight. Because not everyone departs on the same day, our hostess orders a "smaller plane" for her own journey home. In this enclave of the very wealthy, the size of the chalet you own and its address is the surest indicator of your status. We're in beautiful Surlej, overlooking the lake with the mountains behind, but true-blue requires you to be in Suvretta where Lakshmi Mittal has built himself a grand chalet that is the envy of the jet-set with its stylish interiors and indoor pool. Even if it was anything like the homes in our part of the valley, it would be enough to gloat over. We drive past it as much to admire the architecture as a matter of national honour - this, after all, is where Onassis had a chalet, and the Aga Khan.

Conversation at the dining table is about shopping and - I kid you not - "furs and diamonds". It's summer, but cold, and the entourage of ladies pulls out sables and minks to drape casually over spa-pampered shoulders. Tracksuits are cashmere, walking shoes are studded with rhinestones and what looks like but probably isn't Swarovski, which here would be considered tacky. St Moritz is about taste and abjures anything that might be considered loud. Visitors we meet have come to shop because the luxury stores permit quiet browsing, which the fashion capitals of Europe in Milan, Paris or London hardly allow. Jewellery is bought on casual strolls down the streets of the shopping district where "the jewels just pull you in, darling!"

Thankfully, my wife prefers walking to shopping. She's up and about the villages and trails, pillaging for what it's worth. She comes back with leaves and ferns, stems and flowers with which to "decorate" our hotel room - even she wouldn't have the temerity to smuggle them through Swiss customs. But, oh dear, the chocolate shops and the cheese factories, the absolutely delectable peaches and the blueberries! At a village shop in ancient Soglio, we're bewildered to find no attendant in the cake shop where we're shopping for preserves, so we leave the money in a box flowing with currency after noting down the names of the jams and jellies we've paid for on a slip of paper. We owe the Swiss a few francs because we didn't have enough loose change, but my wife doesn't think they'll mind the difference much.

Restaurants require reservations, even though the season has been lean. Those who occupy the chalets don't bother much with cooking, preferring to dress up for dinner in Michelin restaurants, or go rustic with bratwurst or fondue and rosti lunches in local diners. Our friends reserve a restaurant for a party, then play Bollywood music that must make the Swiss wince - but it does get everyone dancing, the Swiss included.

Everything here costs an arm and a leg - a short ride by taxi from one side of the lake to the other is the equivalent of our cook's salary for a month. Without a private jet to fly us out, queuing up for our economy flight back from Zurich, one can't help but feel that the fortunate don't just have it good, in St Moritz they also have it on a platter.