Disembarking from the telecabine that rattles up from the town of Les Houches, I find myself amid green pastures that dance with flowers, while swirling clouds allow tantalising glimpses of Mont Blanc’s white slopes. I wander down on a flank of the small peak known as Le Prarion, passing silent ski lifts, then following a track through shaded woods.
In a clearing, a chalet comes into view. Washing hangs on the line, boots and shoes lie outside, kicked off at odd angles. Wooden shutters are flung open to let light flood into the large living area, and through the window I see young men and women relaxing in the afternoon warmth.
This is the Chalet des Anglais, a quiet outpost of Oxford university in the shadow of the Alps’ highest peak. Every summer, groups of students come here to read, walk and enjoy the clean mountain air. Their stay is not luxurious: the building is without power and mains water, the only heating from a large wood-burning stove. But it might be the Alps’ best-value accommodation: visiting students pay just £7.50 per night.
The chalet’s story starts with eccentric British diplomat and MP David Urquhart, who moved to Geneva in the 1860s and discovered the joys of Alpine walking. Purchasing a plot of land in the wooded hills above the town of St Gervais, he built the first chalet in 1865. In the 1890s, his son Francis, better known as Sligger, began bringing student friends from Oxford’s Balliol College to stay, a tradition he continued as he became a lecturer, then a fellow and dean.
The original building burned down in 1906 and was rebuilt in 1909; despite repairs and additions it has remained much unchanged ever since. On his death in 1934, Sligger bequeathed the chalet to a colleague, who was to maintain it as a place for summer gatherings. In the 1970s, ownership was transferred to a charitable trust, set up to keep it open for use by students of Balliol, University and New Colleges.
Twenty years ago I was among the fortunate students who came here. On my return, I’m given a warm welcome tour by Pat, a graduate student, while the rest of the group engage in various activities. Shera stretches across a sofa, engrossed in her book, and Krysztof sits in the window, beavering away on notes. One gaggle of students is huddled around a never-ending game of Risk. The chalet usually hosts up to 15 young people at a time, along with an older member of the Chalet Trust.
Today is for rest. Everyone is tired, the day before having been occupied with a hike up to the Refuge de Tête-Rousse, near the small glacier of the same name. Attempting this route is something of a chalet tradition. No serious climbing is expected (in fact, it is frowned on), but plenty of walking is encouraged.
The students relish memories of adventures on the slopes, wolves heard at night, icy peaks. Charlotte laughingly tells of an encounter with falling rock, possibly an avalanche, perhaps a small tumble of stones. Some have been in the mountains before, but many haven’t. Alex marvels at the thrill of crossing a glacier, while Annabeth, shy but smiling, says she has never done anything like this.
After the customary pre-dinner seminar, tonight led by Mark Byford on the materiality of early modern books, we wander on to the lawn. The lupins have passed but meadowsweet and fireweed glow. The sun is on its descent, casting shadows. It’s quiet, serene.
Later, a game of Bananagrams shatters the peace. The accuracy of some of the words is questioned but we can’t check — though you can get a signal, phone use is not allowed. “No Google on the mountain,” pronounces Rhodri, and it’s a policy all the students abide by during their time here. Such attitudes seem like playful nostalgia but are underpinned by more serious intent; several students talk of limiting their phone use, discussing a recent seminar on the damaging, addictive presence of social media.
At around 7pm, dinner is served, chilli con carne by candlelight. The group take it in turns to cook, and everyone chips in, students and senior members alike. Communality and collegiality feel like a special part of this experience. Afterwards, we retire to the lounge to share life stories. There have been many famous visitors — Harold Macmillan, Lord Hailsham, Violet Bonham-Carter — though when they came they were, like this group, they were young people contemplating their next challenges. “I have seen many young people decide what they will do with their lives in this place,” says Stephen Golding, chair of the Chalet Trust.
The next morning is a slow one, punctuated by a minor emergency as the water heater is not working. Johnny jokes to Shera that it will be interesting to see whether the desire for a wash overcomes fear of the icy waterfall. Yet everyone seems relaxed, relishing their time, and a small party start a game of croquet.
Flipping through old visitor books as I prepare to leave, I find the entry from my visit as a student, unformed and hopeful, uncertain what would follow. For many just finishing degrees, the chalet feels like a deep breath before entering a more exposing, mundane world of work.
I walk up the track. Mont Blanc is covered in fresh snow; the sky is blue — a pristine Alpine morning. I sip an espresso at a mountain restaurant at the top of the telecabine, relishing the chance to think back to my experiences of chalet life. As one student remarked, “You never know when these chances will come.”
Kat Hill was a guest of New College (new.ox.ac.uk) and the Chalet Trust
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