by My son returns to the hotel just after 3pm on our second evening in Méribel, dying of all the swing and swagger a nine-year-old can muster while wearing a pair of rented ski boots by him. As he stumbles towards the equipment room, he gives me the update – amidst the breathless excitement, and general glee – of his day’s success so far.
“After lunch, Denis and I did a black run,” he says. “Three times, actually. So yes, I’m already on the black run. Did you think that would happen? Running black? Just like that?”
My silent pause – as I screamed for the right words – betrayed me. Before I can express my suspicions, Hal has mounted a vigorous defense of his supposed victory. “We did! We did a black run!” he half screams, a wet sheen of frustration – disbelief at my disbelief – forming on the surface of his eyes. “We did a black run. Ask Denis! Ask him! Ask him!”
I don’t need to ask Denis. For Denis it is Denis Gacon, the instructor with the Méribel branch of the École du Ski Francais (CSE) who got the task of teaching my son the basics. I only met him recently: yesterday morning, and again today. And we talked very little, apart from me explaining that in terms of winter sports, Hal’s experience amounted to one morning skating at a municipal ice rink in east London.
But during our conversation, I have realized a few things: that Denis, despite his classic Gallic gloom, is an excellent instructor for absolute beginners. And that, with many winters of Alpine professionalism behind him, the chances of him taking my child to the top of the black piste after two sessions on the nursery slopes are less than zero.
Hal is still insulting and persuasive as I go down the complicated path of explaining that even though his whole big achievement is not what he thinks it is, it is still a big achievement; Skiing so fluently (as Denis would later do) less than 48 hours into his first time on any mountain is something to be very proud of.
He won’t hear it. “Yes. Was. A. Black. Run,” he says, all youthful certainty. As he storms upstairs into the body of the hotel, the little part of me that never likes me whispers: “Well, that would be typical. And he would be doing better than you, wouldn’t he?”
Because I’ve been here before – two days into a week of learning to ski in Méribel, and its neighbor Courchevel, thinking about a black run. Twenty years ago, I was the initiator. And there were tears in my eyes too. Although it was probably just the wind.
Back then, in the mists of the early Noughties, I was a young-ish writer in the feverish world of men’s magazines. It was another time, with dubious jokes, little regard for health and safety – and goods based on the big spin of taking a twenty-something ski virgin to the Alps to see if he could run black managed after a few hours of instruction.
Not surprisingly, in my case, he couldn’t. Barely able to stand upright, I made my way to the top of one of Méribel’s most impressive challenges – La Face, the massive descent that hosted the women’s downhill events at the Olympic Games Winter 1992 (not to be confused with its name La Face de Bellevarde in Val d’Isère) – and I made a fool of myself.
Frightened by the gradient, I hesitated, crouched and managed, then sat down on the snow and refused to move, prompting shouts of French from those whose skill level gave them the right to be there. Finally, I hit back to the Olympic gondola, retreated into the valley, and spent the next few hours in a bar. This was for the best. I didn’t die. And there was a lot of humor when the group approached me. A lot of the jokes were very beer-y – and ultimately, my failure made for a much more entertaining story than I somehow created as the new Hermann Maier.
But why, you might ask, would I decide, two decades later, that the sight of that ignorance would be the perfect setting for my son to take his first lessons?
Well, because – despite this shame – I am did learn to ski in this amazing part of the French Alps. Leaving the black runs to more capable colleagues, I spent the rest of the week practicing at a more believable pace – more instruction, plenty of pottering on the pleasant Méribel lawn, and, after taking the gondola over the ridge, a few chases careful down Courchevel’s. beautiful wide piste.
I wasn’t a flawless skier (I’m not to this day), but by the end of the trip, I had slowly finished red Courchevel, heading home knowing that these few Alps are a great playground for those who starting from scratch. . Cut to 2023, and Hal’s requests to learn, and I knew when I could give him.
Not admitted, to the luxury chalet with a fridge with little more than vodka and schnapps, but to somewhere more suitable. The Hotel Le Mottaret is such a place – tucked into the mountain in the village of the same name, with nursery slopes just behind its door, and a long easy passage to Méribel proper (La Truite) tapering below.
Part of the property portfolio run by winter sports experts Ski France, the hotel is a medium-sized three-star (of 77 rooms) aimed at breaks with children – pool in the basement; another kind of pool, table, in the lobby. Hal forgets his anger when he has the opportunity to push a few balls on the latter; even more so when we turn into a hotel restaurant where the evening buffet caters for all tastes.
On the one hand, steaks that are truly rare are essential to satisfy the most demanding French chef; on the other, plates of sausages, chips and chicken nuggets designed to fill junior stomachs. Breakfast is a similar feast: heaps of crêpes and waffles – but also delicate slices of charcuterie. Over four days, I do not hear a single young voice crying, in any language, that he is still hungry.
After three days when I go back over the piste twenty years ago, and my son finishes his lessons with Denis, Hal has reached a level where he can ski with me (in truth, not too difficult a task). Still baffled that I will not accept his black-run mastery with paternal grace and surprise, he gives me in search of his location. The thing, without a doubt, is La Face.
Rather, it is “La Piste Des Animaux” – a side route off Méribel’s smooth green Blanchot run, which takes a winding path through the tree line. It’s a magical trail, an Alpine Narnia. Each of their snow curves is decorated with a statue of a creature of the forest or mountains – some of them molded from black (fuzzy) plastic.
“Look!” Hal said, gesturing at the wolf that waits for one turn. “Running of the Black Beasts.”
I don’t count the extra word he suddenly added to his story, or a correction to his wider misunderstanding of it. He is so proud of being able to slide between the trunks with reasonable speed and control that the truth, whatever that is, is not important.
Instead, we continue past this strange blog – the golden eagle, the ibex, the fox – then return to walk another four hours. And it’s magical, the winter sunlight streaming through the pine trees, their light frosted branches glowing gold. Life throws you a few experiences that, for all their wonder, can only happen once.
And while your first ski run with your baby isn’t really the first word, the first step, the first Christmas gift from a mythical benevolent Scandinavia, it’s a special moment nonetheless – this thing you’ve changed nappies, cleaned his knees scraped and plastered, now agile and alert; slipping and turning where, recently, he couldn’t even really walk.
There is a last minute under a spell. At the foot of Blanchot, the Altiport de Méribel offers 15-minute sightseeing flights that show the whole picture with great clarity. From the sky, to the right is Courchevel. Then, after the dip of the wings and a turn around to the left, there is Méribel, whose slopes are alive with Alpine ants in their bright clothes. And there, too, is La Face; still too much for my nerves to ski, but maybe, at some point later, not Hal. Maybe, pushing, sometime in the near future, we could tackle it together.
Fundamentals
Staying there
A week at Hotel Le Mottaret costs £701, B&B, (from £829, half board; from £1,000, all-inclusive) with Ski France (020 3475 4756). Children (under 18) stay free on the same program as their parents. Flights and transfers are not included.
Skiing there
Ski lessons cost from £219 per week with the CSE. Les Trois Vallées six-day lift passes start at £258 per person for a family of four (children aged 5-17).
Flying there
Jet2 and British Airways operate winter flights from the UK to Chambéry, an hour and 20 minute transfer from the resort. Holiday scenic flights cost from £60 per person with L’Aéroclub de Meribel.
