Skiing down to Val d'Isere. Photo / Val D'Isere
Expect champagne powder and champagne lunches at Europe’s famous ski field, Val d’Isere, writes Annabel Urquhart.
I long to edge further back into the chair but I’m too fearful to move. All I can do to prevent certain, unexpected death is grip the bar in front and pray the weight of my skis doesn’t pull me under.
This is no ordinary ski lift; it’s taken me entirely by surprise. The six-seater crests a ridge at nearly 3000m before plunging into the valley below. Of course it’s all in my head. No one has ever succumbed to this fate. The crew beside me are completely at ease, cheering at the chair’s novelty, then gasping in awe at the sweeping valley below.
They cheer at the novelty of such a daring ride and gasp at the opportunity unfolding in the vacant valley beneath.
I’m in Val d’Isere, a French ski resort perched high in the Alps and long regarded as one of Europe’s most glamorous ski destinations. I’ve skied in the French Alps before but it’s my first time in Val d’Isere, and it quickly becomes clear that there’s more to love than just its prestige and popularity.
My first impression is of an authentic French ski village that feels warm and welcoming. Built from stone, wood and slate, its old town dates back to the 11th century. Traditional chalets sit alongside pokey fromageries, ski rental shops and luxury fashion brands. Closer to the lifts, champagne flows and ski suits shimmer on the sun-drenched decks of elegant hotels.
Yet once we clip into our skis, the glamour all fades and it’s the mountains themselves – the snow, the scale of the terrain, the sheer quality on offer – that steal the show.
It’s 9am on a Monday. The sky is brilliant blue and the air perfectly still. As our chair descends, Le Fornet reveals itself – a hamlet on the eastern edge of Val d’Isere, dotted with forest and blanketed in snow.
It’s quiet at this early hour, though not for long. Beyond off-piste powder and tree skiing, Le Fornet’s biggest drawcard is the Pisaillas Glacier at 3456m, gleaming ahead.
Having never skied a glacier before, today I’ve set out to ski two. After Pisaillas, I’ll cross to the Grande Motte in neighbouring Tignes, which feels less like a neighbour than an extension of the same terrain. Together, the Val d’Isere–Tignes ski area is one of the largest in France. It’s also one of the highest and most snow-sure.
Up on Pisaillas, the snow is dry and squeaky and the runs are broad rather than extreme. The air is thin and the views vast – I can see into Italy. Spacious runs peel away from the peak, but most of the action lies in off-piste gullies, jumps and bumps.
When legs burn and lunch calls, we save time by cutting through mountains via polished funiculars and a seamless web of modern chairs and gondolas.
The Grande Motte glacier is more intimidating, rising up like a sharp wedge of Toblerone. I watch with trepidation as a huge gondola climbs skyward, suspended by a single arm. I’ll need to eat first.
At the base of the Grande Motte, lunch at La Panoramic is a must. A well-dressed ski caretaker stores my skis before I’m gleefully swapping boots for slippers and being shown to our table.
Servers in tightly knotted scarves and brown berets move swiftly between tartan booths and the open, fire-lit kitchen where meat reigns. A whole suckling pig or a cut of beef aged for weeks? We choose crispy king prawns with orange caramel and spice, mountain pork ribs, and spatchcock with deeply truffled mash.
The food is outstanding; we’d happily linger. But once the Gamay is gone, we’re ready to conquer more than just dessert.
Inside the packed gondola, a symphony of languages fills the air – British, Danish and French most of all. Funnelling out, the clanking of boots and skis joins sounds of awe and nearly everyone pauses for photos. We’re on top of the world, white meringue peaks set off by a bright blue sky as far as the eye can see.
Somewhere over the next few hours, I fall head over heels for this glacier and the Alps. The run is steep and wide and we schuss down again and again, while others disappear happily into powder at the edges.
On the way back to Val d’Isere, there’s one final stop: La Folie Douce, the slopeside apres-ski venue. As drinks land, the party ignites. For the uninitiated, something this big and this high borders on surreal. The mood is audacious, the altitude intoxicating, with a flash of Moulin Rouge – singers in top hats and feather-clad dancers.
As more skiers arrive, boots stay on but the skiing is done. Eventually, we surrender to the gondola and glide back down the mountain, delivered safely to bed – exhilarated, spent and charmed to have discovered there is far more to Val d’Isere than its big-name reputation.
The writer travelled at their own expense.