Samoens

Winter has departed the small French mountain village of Samoens. The cold alpine mornings have slowly been replaced with the sights and sounds of early Spring. No longer does the icy white frost cling to the thorny branches of the gardens hedgerow and the car thankfully needs less excavation before the start of the day. By mid-morning, the warm Spring sunshine is working its magic across the valley. Creatures, great and small, seemingly invisible over the harsh winter months, are encouraged to make more and more daring ventures from the safety of their woodland homes. Under the morning mist voles and squirrels dart across the main road, blinking in the bright morning sunshine. Their movements are closely regarded by the majestic birds of prey, so prevalent in the valley. Eagles and kestrels perched on fence tops manicure their talons and stretch their impressive wings ahead of a day of hunting. In the woods opposite the chalet a small herd of deer venture on cautious journeys to the edge of their sanctum, waiting like children at a crossing, before dashing gracefully in unison across the busy main road.

The Giffre river, once barely an inconspicuous stream now thunders through the valley. Crystal clear water powers through the villages of Sixt, Verchaix and Morillon supplied by the melting snow of the slopes. Countless waterfalls, seemingly frozen in time, are reanimated by the warm spring sun and cascade off the limestone precipes to the valley floor below. Pastures, no longer buried under nightly snowfall, return to their vibrant green best, as great numbers of cattle emerge as if from nowhere, grazing on the sloping fields. It’s a wonderful natural evolution to observe, as this little town transitions and transforms, shaking off its winter skin and emerges through the sunshine to begin a new life, in a new form.

Within the town itself, there exists a strong sense of community, that is comfortably resistant to the force of overwhelming British tourism. They are a people that make you work for their acceptance and dare I say one season is not nearly enough time to make significant headway. To observe this pretty town prior to the onset of the season is to observe a working town with a strong agricultural influence and within it, a people bonded by their place amongst the mountains. To wander through its streets and passages you get an immediate sense of the history and beauty of this place. Cobbled narrow avenues lined with classically French patisserie and quaint little coffee shops, lead eventually, to wonderfully active open squares. Children gather around the bandstands, listening and clapping along to local musicians, while at the centre of this historical village a colossal lime tree dating back to the fifteenth century watches over the little market town.

In the mornings the valley is more often than not bathed in sunshine, illuminating the lily-white peaks of the famous seven mountains that surround and protect the town. To get to know and understand the locals takes time, but there are some true gems out there. The baker at La Jassinia certainly stands out. A man who loves what he does just as much as he loves welcoming his customers. Relishing in seasonal festivities like Easter and Christmas to wow the locals and tourists alike with wondrous displays of patisserie and chocolate work. With an omnipresent smile. he shakes my hand every morning without fail, as we practice our French and English on each other. Smiling and laughing despite the early hour, we have gotten to know each other over the course of the early morning bread runs, taking time to enjoy coffee and fresh-from-the-oven-croissants, should the schedule permit.

With all this life and colour within the valley community, it’s perhaps easy to forget this is first and foremost Samoens is a ski resort. At barely seven hundred metres altitude one could be forgiven for overlooking its low lying charms in favour of the ski in – ski out utility of the bigger more frequented destinations. However to bear with it, is again, to be rewarded. Snow came thick and fast this season, even down in the village with consistent weekly dumps measured in feet rather than inches. At times the ploughs could barely keep up as the valley roads were covered sometimes twice weekly with heavy snowfall, something that only served to illuminate the magic of this town further.

In order to explore the skiing of this collection of mountain villages, one must crucially ascend, and a short drive across the valley will land you at the foot of the impressive Grand Massif Express. This ten person cable car transports you in minutes, from the lush valley floor to the imposing peaks of Samoens 1600 and the gateway to France’s fourth largest ski area. Almost immediately I found my place on the mountain finding a new definition of freedom in my introduction to backcountry skiing. Spotting lines from chairlifts and gondolas we would spend our mornings and afternoons gliding through deep snow, off ridges and into new unexplored valleys. Luckily I was surrounded by similar minds in my team and we would hike up hills, get stuck in thick woods and traverse expansive river beds, all the while enjoying some of the best free powder I have ever enjoyed.

We quickly fell into a routine of almost daily skiing, loading our skis and boards into the back of the van, always someone hurrying someone. Sometimes many, sometimes few, but never alone. I enjoyed the company of my others far too much and skiing together was too rewarding to venture out alone. The mountain was our playground, often deciding half way up what to do, be that exploring the forests of Les Carroz, finding new lines in the Flaine bowl or locating that perfect inaccessible spot to sit down and have a rest in the snow. There is something uniquely beautiful about enjoying a season characterised not by hangovers and lack of sleep but rather by a group of people united by their love of the hill and unfazed by the towns quiet and unassuming demeanour.

Working for a small Chalet Company meant that I not only loved my surrounding but also my employment and it was managing the team around me that gave me the real sense of pride day-to-day. I was surrounded by young curious minds, emotionally intelligent, whom even at a young age were acutely aware of who they were.  The company viewed the preparation and presentation of its food foremost amongst its priorities and as such recruited qualified and capable chefs to lead the charge. Consummate professionals that were only too happy to share their own creative process with me. Our love of food united us often brainstorming new recipes in the aisles of supermarkets or as we ascended on chairlifts. These chefs adapted and embraced the limitations of our mountain home quickly, deviating from the menu template with natural ease and developing concepts that had seasonal, local produce at their core. Working alongside the chefs were four talented hosts who every night took pride in coordinating fun and sophisticated dinner parties, pairing cocktails with the five-course meals, and running the front-of-house like the patrons of their own restaurant. They engaged the guests in conversation, telling them about their plans after the season, making them laugh and always lending an ear to their tales of the mountain.

Watching them all develop over the course of the season was a genuine thrill, so to see them depart on a sunny Friday afternoon in late April was of course tinged with sadness. I had come to respect and rely on this collection of new friends and while perhaps some would continue on in seasons, I knew that most would go back to the UK to start their own careers. As the taxi whisked them north to Geneva I was left as I arrived, alone in this beautiful little village and that suited me just fine. After all, the grass needed cutting, chalets needed repairs and I as I glanced up to the peaks of Morillon it looked like there might be one more opportunity to get in some Spring skiing. Until next time Samoens…