Editor’s Note: This story originally appeared in Volume 6 of B.H. Magazine, pre-order your copy of Volume 7 now.
If Meribel is the buffet, then I’m the snow-dazed fat kid licking the platter clean. Gorging on pistes, guzzling génépi, and eyeing tomorrow like it owes me something.
Welcome to Les Trois Vallées, the world’s largest interconnected ski area and a hedonist’s playground carved into the French Alps.
Méribel sits dead centre, the heart (or coeur, if you paid attention in grade 8 French) of 600 kilometres of piste, 180 lifts, and 1,500 hectares of terrain you’ll tear through, then dream about, then tear through again. Every lift, every run, every après session is another chance to indulge – and I’m already lining up for seconds before the first bite’s even done.
Think of Les Trois Vallées as a crew of well-heeled characters: Courchevel is the show-off, draped in fur and labels. Val Thorens knows how to throw a party. Les Menuires keeps things family-friendly and functional. And Méribel? Méribel is the stylish, well-connected mate who knows just about everyone.
From Méribel, you can ski anywhere, drink almost everywhere, and spin stories like you mapped it all out. You didn’t. That’s the beauty of this place – the magic lies in the unexpected. You’re carried across valleys, chasing runs and detours you never planned, but will definitely brag about later.
The British had a heavy hand in Méribel’s development a century ago and you can feel it in the chalet laws – pitched roofs, materiality that doesn’t steer too far from wood and stone, and an avoidance of concrete carbuncles (we’re looking at you, Flaine). Méribel is basically the European ski village in your dreams – warm lamplight under eaves, a church spire, and a permanent aroma of chocolate-filled pastry.
From Méribel Centre (1,450 metres), you climb to Mottaret (1,750 metres) – and from there, choose your character arc. Turn left over the jagged spine of Saulire and drop into Courchevel 1850, where the skiers sport actual fur. Here, luxury doesn’t whisper – it shouts in full designer chorus. Louis Vuitton, Dior, Cucinelli, and Rolex crowd the central lift, while Moncler wraps both the gondolas and those who can’t ski. If you’re feeling bold (or ironic), you can even buy a snowboard at the Jacquemus boutique.
Courchevel is worth a look and your time – its pistes are wider and, broadly speaking, easier in their collective offer. Skiing up to the famous Courchevel Altiport is a worthy detour, too, offering a chance to watch Bombardiers, Gulfstreams and their ilk test air brakes and reverse thrust on the world’s shortest runway.
Turn right on that same arc and it’s over Mont du Vallon – the highest peak – before dropping into Les Menuires or climbing into Val Thorens, Europe’s highest ski village and a thrill to descend into. Out back, a string of chutes and punchy red and blue runs awaits, with the area set for an upgrade this season via a new gondola replacing the Côte Brune chairlift, linking Val Thorens, Méribel, and Les Menuires.
Skiing Méribel proper follows a pleasing rhythm – long, expressive blues like Lapin or Crête link to fast-dropping reds that fire the thighs. Saulire’s face serves up some genuinely extreme descents, while the sweeping blue of Biche is a standout – a fast, playful groomer that links neatly into the red of Sanglier on the run back to town.
For the ultimate bragging rights – and the rare chance to say, “I once skied off a French mountain” – sign up for paragliding. One moment you’re carving snow, the next, you’re airborne, soaring above the valley with a grinning Frenchman holding the reins. It’s reckless, ridiculous, and the kind of thrill that makes après drinks taste like an angel’s tears.
Two on-mountain restaurants worth noting serve up distinctly opposing energies. Tucked among snow-dusted firs, Le Blanchot serves roast sea bass and rare calm on its hidden deck. And at the other end, La Folie Douce – a famed, on-piste venue that spins food and live entertainment at high altitude. A late lunch on the wide terrace delivers sweeping alpine views and an afternoon that spirals from choreographed Euro numbers into a table-top frenzy of excess. Accents from every corner of the continent mingle here, all generously soaked in booze. It’s peak ‘la folie’ – jeroboams of Dom ferried above 400 revellers’ heads to VIP booths by a smoke-belching drinks gondola, to be sure nobody misses the spectacle.
Meanwhile, beers are poured from ski boots as tables groan under dancing feet. It’s one of those ski-town parties that feels slightly forced – peacocking blow-ins trying to outdo each other, before turning into a tumbling mess of garish gear barely making it home upright. Still, it’s a sight.
Of the après spots, Le Rond Point (c’mon, grade 8 French) is aptly named for its position and offers the best on-slope action, while Jack’s (note the English heritage) is another celebrated end-of-day meet-up.
Being in the Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes means indulging in cheese. Often. It means more gooey fondue than any life really needs – though the melted mix of Beaufort, Comté, and emmental has a warming charm that’s impossible to resist.
Surprisingly, it was a night of Italian at Fifi that stole the show in Méribel. Housed in a cosy two-storey wooden chalet, its warm service, relaxed vibe, and salmon and sea bream ceviche proved a winning combination. Forgoing dessert, I made for the Olympic Stadium – home to several 1992 Winter Games events – to catch some robust regional ice hockey, plus a rink-side hot dog with a croque monsieur twist.
While Hôtel Le Kaïla is a peerlessly positioned luxe offering with an impressive indoor pool and spa, nothing comes close to the ski-in ski-out charm of Le Coucou. Perched mountainside and one of only eight hotels in Méribel, this distinctive property could easily pass for a contemporary Bond lair – if Wes Anderson ever got the keys to 007.
It’s cool yet quirky, luxurious yet lived-in, and gorgeously overstuffed with Pierre Yovanovitch flair. The balconied suites are vast, the guest slippers extra plush – know they got us through this year’s rubbish Sydney winter. There’s a Technogym-stocked wellness space, a Tata Harper spa to restore knees, and two pools that arguably set, and sell, the elevated scene.
As for dining, Monaco’s famed Beefbar lives here with its extensive selection of Japanese wagyu, so too does in-house, seafood-led restaurant Biancaneve. Then there’s the exclusive cheese room – because, France – plus gratis evening cake and wine at the bar, and a snow room where they’ll rent you decent gear, clean your goggles, and lace up your boots each day. Honestly, the only real danger at Le Coucou is you might never make it out to ski.
For that – and for all that Méribel offers – we raise another glass of génépi. Because like that wide-eyed kid at the buffet, I’m already lining up for more.
Know Before You Go
Fly into Paris with Emirates Settle in for a meal at Parcelles and a night at Hotel Costes before grabbing the TGV from Gare de Lyon to Moûtiers – approximately four hours. From there, Méribel is an easy 25-minute shuttle.
85 per cent of Les Trois Valleés terrain sits above 1,700 metres. It means you’ll be skiing above the clouds in brilliant sunshine.
Get a private lesson – if only to unlock the mountains and find the best runs. This place is immense and local guidance is invaluable, with private lessons able to accommodate up to six.
First Tracks runs on Thursdays with limited spots. It includes breakfast at La Folie Douce and some damn fine corduroy.
