We stayed in a chalet in Méribel, the ski
village across from Courchevel. “But Méribel is more intimate. Courchevel is
more how do you say, ‘bling-bling’ and filled with Russians?” This was informed to me by a
Hungarian-born French bourgeois lady in her mid-60’s. Her name is Anastasia,
but she preferred to be called Anjou, which more or less means ‘maman’ in
Hungarian. It was her chalet we stayed cozy in, also endearingly referred to in
Hungarian as Mókus, meaning écureuil, meaning squirrel. Each room had a Beatrix
Potter-styled squirrel painting on the outside of door. There were storybook charms in all
of the details, even the wooden beams securing the structure of the chalet were
not forgotten and were added to with intricately painted, stacked Russian
dolls.
Such a cozy atmosphere surrounded by the snow-covered
Alps made the two settings of interior and exterior a challenge to choose
between. Méribel was founded by a Scotsman named Colonel Peter Lindsay. He
wanted a place to escape each winter, but wanted to avoid Austria and
Germany, which were both becoming increasingly occupied by the Nazi regime. After
his first visit to the town of Les Allues in 1936, he imagined how the town
could become a ski resort to fulfil his needs, and allow him to separate himself
away from any unwanted Nazi affilation. The development of Méribel began in
1938, after the first ski lift installment. After that, chalets designed in
harmony with the Savoyard-style began to be constructed and scattered
throughout the mountain. The Savoyard-style includes wood and stone used for
the walls, with slanted slate roofs. The result is a harmonious scatter of cozy
abodes that blend well with the snow-heavy evergreens.
Les pauvres sapines, la neige est si lourd. The evergreen branches burdened by the increasing
snow fall of the weekend had the children empathetic but it was something that
I just thought added to the atmosphere. It efforts to relieve the weight I
helped shake off some of the heavy set snowflakes on the lower limbs. We stayed
cold outdoors by breaking off icicles and eating them only to go in to get warm
by sitting by the fire and drinking spiced tea.
To be snowed-in, enneigé dans les Alpes,
far from Paris is all I need for a weekend retreat.
Bisous,
Reba
