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What’s the buzz? In Courchevel a lot of money will take you a very, very long way. All the way to “Lord of Snow”, a brand new chalet on the slopes with six floors, a private chef and direct access to the piste. There’s ski-in, ski-out and then there’s “one wrong turn and that beginner could be on your drinks terrace”. Who wants to be a billionaire? Well let’s find out.
Location, location, location: By some measure the poshest, most expensive, oligarchiest or “best” ski resort in the world, beloved by royals, Russians and arms dealers, Courchevel 1850 is the Mayfair-en-haute of French ski resorts, perhaps the only one to rival Switzerland. It is the luxurious side of the Trois Vallées, the world’s largest linked ski area, boasting Brunello Cucinelli and Loro Piana boutiques where its more homely neighbour Val Thorens has Intersport and Superdry.
The town itself is somewhat subdued as its clientele has become ever richer and less inclined to do its partying in public. If your idea of après is a fondue and a yard of génépi in the Irish karaoke pub, you won’t want its Michelin restaurants and five-star hotel bars. But if you find even that somewhat common and public, welcome to Lord of Snow, a seven-bedroom chalet, newly built and opened to guests at the start of this year. It was designed by French architect Sophie Decoopman, tastefully perches beside the Bellecôte piste and boasts every comfort you could possibly imagine for the low low price of €140,000 to €250,000 per week.
Secluded at the top end of a private cul-de-sac, Lord of Snow, your driver may tell you, is next door to an even more vast chalet, “where William and Kate stay”. Your reporter tried several times to stand up this assertion and honestly for every wink and nod there was a firm denial. Probably best to assume that it’s the kind of place the Prince and Princess of Wales might stay, but not stray too close to the perimeter looking for clues. Given these houses are surprisingly close together, you might spot them on the terrace.
Courchevel is expensive for many reasons but its array of cruisey runs, plentiful ski-in, ski-out chalets and more “Palace” hotels than anywhere outside Paris, have helped garner a clientele that likes its outdoor activity exclusive and frictionless. The Altiport is just up the road from Lord of Snow, and the helicopter flight from Geneva only takes about 25 minutes: you can have Pierre whisking your bags away and ushering you to some refreshment before the rest of us have made it out of arrivals.
Checking in: You will be greeted by your chalet host, and a chauffeur and chef come as standard (though the actual food costs extra). Other services are all bespoke, the guiding philosophy being that if you can dream it — and it’s legal — it will be arranged. I heard that a client arrived with a beloved pet not permitted on the property and had it housed at a nearby luxury hotel, for example. And who among us hasn’t?
My suite has a walk-in closet with a mountain view, a bathroom with freestanding bath and quite a long walk to the shower, a suspended fireplace that I never quite get to grips with, and an aura of expensively inoffensive ecru which clouds around me for days. Upstairs in the vast living, dining, socialising area, the antler-centric art is more challenging and the fireplaces equally baffling. But the thing that will spoil you forever is in the basement. No, not the 10-metre-long swimming pool or the Jacuzzi, the cinema, the billiards room or the downstairs bar where we have a regional wine tasting, though they are all eye-opening.
The greatest luxury I can imagine in a ski resort resides in the boot room. It has a “zen-like quality”, I am promised. And it is the walk-in, ski-out closet of dreams. Picture a boot room that isn’t a seething multinational fistfight of sweaty morning chaos reminiscent of the January sales with extra hangover. Your skis do not need to be located for there they are; your boots, gently warmed, slip effortlessly on to your feet; your poles have not mysteriously become separated overnight. Fresh piste maps, lip balm, SPF and lift passes beg to be scooped up as your ski guide, part concierge part instructor, smiles winningly from the doorway to lead you out on to Courchevel’s famously well-groomed blue runs, which make everyone feel like a fantastic skier.
What to do? Tour the Trois Vallées, led by your expert guide. Enjoy chocolat chaud with minor celebrities — we encountered Trinny Woodall at 11am and sang boisterous international karaoke over lunch with what I strongly suspected to be minor Euro royals. Then retreat to what the operator, Bramble Ski, likes to call your “superyacht in the snow” for an evening of exquisite food, cocktails and wine tasting.
But what if you’re a non-skier? Rest assured you are not alone. I estimate that 30 per cent of the Moncler fur in Courchevel has never touched snow. Shop, spa, dine to your heart’s content. Wellness is probably your thing and this year everyone wants cold yoga. March up a slope clutching a mat, and downward dog at an Alp. You will, I’m assured, feel the benefit when you’re 107.
What about the food? Your own chef knows no limits. At this level it’s not a question of turning up and announcing your food intolerances — the menus are consulted on and designed in advance, the ingredients sourced and delivered via complex networks that there is no need for you to question. This is not a chalet staffed by a nauseous 19-year-old who has made you a cake and failed to put the dishwasher on. You’re having canapés and Crémant by the pool and sashimi tasting on the terrace.
Other guests? I will need you to sign an NDA.
Elevator pitch: Brookside Close for oligarchs.
Janine Gibson was a guest of Bramble Ski, which is part of the Paris-based villa rental company Le Collectionist
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