If there were one resort that could best encapsulate all the wintry enchantment of an Alpine village, it would be Zermatt. Like a flock of choir boys clutching their candles in song, the resort’s chalets illuminate the valley amber at night and, by day, sit obediently under the menacing gaze of the Matterhorn. The gravity-defying Gornergrat train offloads skiers into this car-free scene. They duly slip into horse-drawn carriages before taking on Zermatt’s abundant, cruisey slopes that spill into Italy (run 52 being a firm favourite). They also devour an inordinate sum of truffle-doused pasta, tartiflette and rosti, with Zermatt’s obscene profusion of gourmet
restaurants, including piste-side legend Chez Vrony and Alpine classic Zum See. Many of these remain open in summer when the resort’s thick, pillowy white thaws reveal a hiker’s paradise of wildflower meadows, pine forests crisscrossed by twinkling streams and trails skirting glassy lakes.
Aside from the snow-sure skiing and Narnia-like scenery, what sets Zermatt apart from its glitzy neighbours is that this is a village that played a seminal role in the development of winter sports and has managed to keep the glitzy designer glem of,
say, Courchevel and St Moritz at bay, preserving its old school spirit. It all started in the late 19th century with Alexander Sellier drawing in mountaineers and the Alpine-obsessed aristocracy with two hotels – Monte Rosa and Mont Cervin Palace (now Zermatt stalwarts who’ve, indisputably, still got it). Only a brave handful of hotels have since moved in on the Matterhorn action – along with a protected cluster of chalets (notoriously near impossible ‘buy into’). Zermatt is hush-hush high society and high altitude – the highest in the Alps, in fact.
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