Skiing the southern Alps, Club Med style.
words :: Kristin Schnelten
Riding solo on a high-speed six-pack, I scan the treeless mountain ahead. I’ve been camped out at Club Med Serre Chevalier for a week, but have been too busy eating, skiing and eating even more to take a single photo. Today is my last chance. The gleaming background of blinding snow and sheer rock faces is ripe for the picking; I just need a skier. Turning my gaze back to the left, a dervish of red and blue catches my eye. The swirl of colour launches from high on the ridge, somersaults in slow motion and sticks a landing in the soft spring snow.
I think I found my guy.
Chasing him down (only possible because he’s at a dead stop), I discover Paul de Pourtalès is happy to be my model. And I’m over the moon to have found him. He’s patient and kind, happily pausing to wait out the passing clouds. He asks for direction, delivers perfect turns. Climbs back up, again and again. The guy is such a pro.
Wait, it turns out he actually is a professional skier, a newly minted member of the Freeride World Tour. I’ve stumbled upon one of the best freeriders on the planet. And honestly, the charmed experience seems the norm for this place.
Tucked into the far southeastern corner of France, less than an hour from the Italian border, Serre Chevalier is the largest ski area in the southern Alps and one of the best spots in the entire range for spring skiing. It’s the last week of March, and every day my friend Theresa and I find late-winter conditions on the top half of the mountain and spring conditions at the bottom. It’s sunny every day, the snow is like butter—and the entire experience is all tied up in a neat little Club Med bow.
It’s sunny every day, the snow is like butter—and the entire experience is all tied up in a neat little Club Med bow.
Once known for its beach-bound resorts and singles vibe, Club Med began reimagining itself around the turn of this century as a family-friendly brand, appealing to an upper tier of travellers. While the chain still has a foothold in warmer climes, it also boasts 17 all-inclusive hotels in the Alps (and one in Charlevoix, QC). Our iteration here in the tiny village of La Salle-les-Alpes has just emerged from an extensive remodel, reopening a few months ago with a bright, traditionally inspired motif.
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Because it’s late season, things are winding down at the hotel, where the high-season capacity of more than 900 guests is only half realized and the front-of-house staff chatters away about packing for their next assignments. Amélie, who helps with public relations, has been with Club Med for two years, at four resorts in three countries. Sally, who’s worked her way up the ladder at the sprawling daycare, has worked at nine resorts in six years.
We know their history because, at nearly every meal, someone offers to sit with us and chat. They love their jobs, they adore Club Med—but they’re also honest about their demanding work days, which begin before breakfast and end long after the evening entertainment peters out.
The front-facing staff—they’re called G.O.s, while cooks and housekeepers are G.E.s; as guests, we’re G.M.s (long story, just go with it)—are your point of contact throughout the day, welcoming diners in long, exuberant receiving lines at meals; staffing the desks at the reception, spa, bars, boutique and aforementioned childcare; performing at the evening stage shows; leading the Club Med Crazy Signs dances (no explanation, just play along) that spontaneously erupt during mid-day patio and at late-night dance-floor parties.
The only thing the G.O.s don’t do, it seems (besides sleep), is guide outdoor activities. Local pros take the lead for ski school, snowshoeing, Nordic skiing, sledding (the list is long, and much of it is included in the price of admission). Theresa joins a week-long ski lesson, which commences with a round of schnapps and leaves her not only a far better skier by the trip’s end but with connections to a multinational group of fellow skiers.
Activities aside, our days are primarily structured around food. An overabundance of food. Overwhelming selections of food. Stations stacked with choices span the dining room, each stop with its own rotating theme and much of it prepared to order. It’s a very “Poof! What do you need?” genie-esque experience, and we’re at first taken aback but eventually acquiesce. Breakfast, lunch, après, dinner. Plate after plate, bowl after bowl. It’s miraculous we don’t outgrow our pants by the second day.
We take a seat for a few after-dinner stage performances, including a full-costume hyper-speed lip sync of Beauty and the Beast and an adorable end-of-week production from the children. But most nights we head out for a much-needed after-dinner walk, roaming through the narrow, winding lanes of the old village.
A day visit to the ancient walled city of Briançon requires a quick bus ride, and we tick that box later in the week, feeling a bit guilty leaving the Club Med world behind but also refreshingly free, exploring on our own and making a day of it with a long, sunny mountain hike beneath paragliders shouting, “C’est magnifique!”
One afternoon we click in for a guided snowshoe adventure, rattling up the ‘60s-era two-person gondola to traipse through the woods above another village. Someone in our group makes a plea for special treatment while another woman fires off a difficult scheduling request. Our obliging guide flashes a wide grin and says, “Yes, of course!” and reminds us, “Everything is possible at Club Med.”
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