One Night in a High-Luxury, High-Adventure Ski Lodge in the French Alps

Welcome to One Night In, a series about staying in the most unparalleled places available to rest your head.

Ultimately, there is no way to tell people you’re going to the Alps to ski for a month without sounding obnoxious. "Skiing is actually cheaper there!" I exclaim. (True, ski passes at the largest resorts in Europe are less expensive than those at my local hill in the Hudson Valley.) "I’ll be working the whole time!" I insist. (Also true, the blessings of the time difference with the east coast means that I can ski all morning and work all afternoon, ideally with an Aperol spritz…I mean, a glass of water.) But at the end of the day, you must accept and admit that being able to do such a thing is an extraordinary privilege.

Still, on my own monthlong Alps ski trip, that privilege has limits. For the first three weeks of March, I’m staying at the cheapest Airbnbs I can find. I’m dragging my just-under-50-lbs-to-avoid-overweight-fees-baggage on trains and buses all over Switzerland and France. I’m partaking in a few nice meals but mostly buying sandwich fixings and yogurt from the grocery store. Please applaud my thrift.

Yet in the final few days, at the very end of the month, I get the opportunity to rocket myself into the upper echelons of the European Ski experience. Eleven, a hospitality company with a dozen lodges scattered worldwide, many in remote locations, has caught my eye for its stated mission: a desire to blend adrenaline-pumping activity with luxury accommodations—an all-inclusive experience that starts at several thousand dollars a night. Though you can go to one of their lodges just to unwind, Eleven courts a particular breed of high-rolling but high-energy guest. The brand name itself originates from the scene in Spinal Tap when Christopher Guest tells the camera the amps go up to 11. Each day at an Eleven lodge comes jam-packed with a tailored outdoor adventure—depending on the location and season, a blend of guided skiing, hiking, fly-fishing, mountain biking, and mountaineering.

"What we tried to create was, you have an amazing adventure and then you come back to an equally well-designed, layered space," says Blake Pike, who founded Eleven with her husband Chad and handles the brand’s design through her studio, Twelve Interiors, when I speak to her after my visit. "I wanted to feel almost like you’re coming home."

Conveniently for my purposes, Eleven has two chalets close to where I’ll already be in France during my marathon ski month. When I write to them on a wing and a prayer before the trip, suggesting I cover the chalets for Dwell’s "One Night In" series, I expect to either not hear anything. I’m thrilled when they write back to welcome me for a comped multiday stay. 

Thursday

3 p.m.: The first luxury, in four days of luxuries, is that Eleven has sent a driver to pick me up at my previous location in Meribel Motarret. We drive for an hour and a half into the scenic Tarentaise Valley before we arrive in the village of Saint Foy. Eleven owns two neighboring properties, Chalets Hibou and Pelerin, which sit near the top of a narrow and winding stone road in the small hamlet of Le Miroir.

Stepping out of the sleek black sprinter van, I immediately note that there is no flashy signage or garish parking lot, no locked gates or high fences the way you might expect from a luxury resort. Laundry hangs on a clothing line next door; a chicken roams in the neighboring yard. The chalets are at once stately and beautiful, yet unobtrusive. I notice their sturdy stone bases, their wooden upper floors and dark slate roofs. The exterior wooden stairs and balconies are being allowed to weather naturally into a dark charcoal. I initially assume the chalets were built several hundred years ago, contemporaneously with much of the surrounding architecture. I’m surprised to learn, several days into my stay, that they actually encompass work from three distinct periods, across three different centuries.

The initial construction of Hibou, the chalet I’ll be staying in, likely dates to the 1700s, and would have originally been used as an actual farmhouse, complete with wooden haylofts, a stone basement for the animals, and a living area for the families. Pelerin, on the other hand, was built in the 1950s. When Eleven bought the properties in the 2010s, they renovated and expanded both, bringing them into the modern era with geothermal heat pump technology and smart home integration, while maintaining the spirit and bones of the original designs. These choices were made in part due to the brand’s desire to honor the character of the area, though also due to local regulations: the hamlet of Le Miroir falls under the purview of the Architectes des Bâtiments de France, an authority for national heritage and preservation that has strict rules around building exteriors. John Featherman, Eleven’s managing director of assets and development, later told me in an email that following these constraints required careful work with a local architect. "It’s a negotiation, but a healthy one: the regulations protect the very sense of place that drew us here."

At the door, I’m greeted by my "Experience manager," Emeline, who will spend the next several days coordinating every detail of my stay. She’s the picture of calm, friendly competence and she gives me and my fellow guest—another solo female traveler—an initial tour of Hibou.

Walking into the chalet, I’m struck by the most wonderful smell of a flickering candle on an entryway table. While Eleven aims for each of its properties to lean into the local environment and culture in their respective designs, there are a few consistent features that unite all locations. These candles are among them. (In recent years, I’ve tried to "get into candles," thinking, perhaps, that this is what an evolved adult woman should appreciate and also that maybe lighting a scented candle in the evening would magically melt away all my anxieties. The habit has never stuck, although this scent, allegedly "Japanese Quince," may make me a convert.) 

Beyond the smell, the entire vibe of the chalet immediately puts me at ease. This is an alpine lodge at heart so there’s of course no shortage of wood—hardwood floors, ceilings, and beams, with some wood-paneled wainscoting, but it doesn’t overwhelm, balanced out by sections of exposed stone. I feel, more than anything, like I’m walking into a home. Emeline shows me to my room. Inside, there’s a vintage armoire, a padded headboard and muted gray walls, thick patterned drapes that match the bed’s bolster pillow, and a fur blanket folded on the foot of the bed. The bathroom has a vintage pull chain toilet (the bathroom fixtures, interestingly enough, are another consistent feature across all Eleven locations) and the floor is a locally sourced stone, Bleu de Savoie.

Joni Mitchell is playing throughout the house speakers, including those in my room, which you can toggle on and off independently in both the bathroom and the bedroom. Prior to my stay, Eleven sent an extensive questionnaire which had some practical questions—ski size and ability, allergies, etc.—but also went further: the lodge uses the music tastes and food preferences of its current guests to curate a chalet playlist and guide menu planning, respectively. Terrified that someone would judge my music taste, I’d left that section blank, though I was very happy to have Blue as the soundtrack to my unpacking.

5 p.m.: There are four floors at Chateau Hibou and it will take me my full four days to really spend time on each. The chalet is grand but never feels overwhelming; each level its own self-contained swaddle, and there are only seven guest rooms. With a couple hours to kill before dinner, I ascend to what will prove to be my favorite area (save for my bed and the hot tub), the high-ceilinged top floor, which houses the kitchen, dining room, and a sunken lounge. There are several seating areas, each framed around coffee tables and fireplaces. "I think it’s important to create a lot of places to sit, because people do like to move through the property," Blake tells me. "It’s not like everyone is congregating in the living room at all times. It’s nice to enjoy different parts of it during the day."

When decor items match, it’s subtle. The pieces, from the lamps to the chair to the art, are a blend of vintage and new buys and custom builds. There’s no copy paste here, and yet the design never clashes or feels kitsch. Many pieces were sourced from a (now sadly out-of-business) secondhand store in Albertville, a 30-minute drive away. "That was just a treasure trove," Blake says. "We’d drive down there and load up just van after van after van. It was as if this entire generation of people were unloading these traditional Savoyard pieces. I was so fortunate and I was able to scoop up so much locally." A good portion of the decor was also sourced from England, at a pre-Brexit time when many French antiques were still flowing into the U.K. (This includes a beautiful flame-stitched Os de Mouton sofa in the Chalet Hibou dining room.) 

I settle into an armchair in the lounge, and am approached by Marjorie Dussarrat, another Eleven Experience manager who offers me a glass of champagne and a plate of boquerones. I accept. When in Le Miroir! 

Soon enough I’m joined by Mike Hattrup, Eleven’s director of skiing. Mike, chatty and warm, is based in the U.S. but will also be staying at the Chalet over the next few days. He notes my shoeless (but sock-covered) feet. "I wasn’t sure if that was okay!" I say. Normally, I would not walk around a hotel without shoes, particularly one this nice, but Hibou seems to encourage a casual relaxation. This is one of the things he loves about this place, Mike agrees. It’s elegant, but also feels like a place where you can put your feet up on the coffee table. 

6:30 p.m.: The Eleven Experience is all-inclusive—meals, ski passes, and private guides are included in the price of accommodation—with a few exceptions, such as alcohol, heli-skiing, and dog sledding. When I corresponded with the PR representative weeks before my trip, they helpfully laid out what would be covered for my press stay. At the time, there was no mention of heli-skiing, which is why I’m shook when, after the rest of the guests arrive, we’re introduced to Eleven’s head guide Jean-Noël Gaidet, and he casually asks, "Should we fly tomorrow?" 

Luckily for me, 12 hours is probably the absolute maximum advance notice you’d want before stepping into a helicopter for the first time to be flown low over a glacier and dropped off at 12,000 feet on a wide expanse of snow with no other way to get down other than narrow sticks strapped to your feet. Any longer than that and you may start second-guessing, weighing your desire for that fresh untracked pow against your desire to remain on this earthly plane.

We descend to the basement-floor media room and stretch out on a comfy wraparound couch. (Off of the media room is a bedroom with built-in bunk beds, each their own private nook with a curtain, so cozy I almost wish I was a child of the age these are generally reserved for.) We’re shown a thorough safety video. When that’s over, I text my family that I’ll be heli-skiing tomorrow. "Does that mean they drop you out of a helicopter?" my mom texts back, concerned. I realize it probably would’ve been better to tell her about the helicopter only once I was safely back on the valley floor.

8 p.m.: We head back upstairs for the first of what will be several days worth of some of the best meals of my life. The chef, Etienne, presents a beetroot appetizer prepared like a ceviche, a leek confit galette, and a local lake fish served whole for each of us. While there’s a kitchen just off the main dining room, most of the meal prep for both chalets is done in a shared chef’s kitchen next door. Etienne points to a chalkboard and tells us that each morning he and the day chef, Ben, will list the dinner menu—and that if we have any issues, to let them know and they would be happy to modify. (Needless to say I will have no issues).

By this point, I’ve met the five other guests, all Americans—the aforementioned other solo traveler, along with a husband and wife traveling with their adult daughter and her childhood friend. Despite the luxury and growing portfolio, Eleven seems to still be a largely word-of-mouth experience—both other groups knew Mike independently, which is how they came to hear about Eleven. The family has also been to and raved about Deplar Farm, Eleven’s arguably most high-profile property on a remote northern Icelandic peninsula.  

For most of the summer and winter seasons, Chalets Pelerin and Hibou operate primarily through full buyouts, but for a few weeks at either end of each season you can reserve by individual room. Prior to my arrival, I had no idea what the set-up would be: Would I be alone in the chalet? Would I be surrounded by families and couples but doing my own thing? I’m now discovering that my stay will be primarily a communal one—shared meals at the long farmhouse table, and joint ski excursions.

To be sure, Eleven offers the opportunity for guests to do their own thing: they ensure one guide per group, in case you want to split off, and if I really wanted to make things weird, I could request to eat my meals alone. However, having spent a good portion of the previous few weeks traveling solo, and feeling that my fellow guests are all quite lovely, I’m not at all upset to break bread and adventure together.

10 p.m.: Back in my room, my phone lights up with a WhatsApp message: Emeline has sent along an hour-by-hour schedule for the next day. As someone who has traveled alone a lot, I’m very used to being responsible for the vast majority of my logistics and planning. I hadn’t expected to find it so relaxing to have all that coordinating done for me. I crawl into bed, fall asleep almost immediately, and dream of helicopters.

Friday

9 a.m.: After a delicious breakfast of pastries, quiche, cured meats, and somehow the best fruit salad I’ve ever had despite it being March in France, we gather in the first-floor ski room to get ready for the day. The ski room has roomy cubbies for each of the guests, with hanging rods and boot warmers, our names written in chalk above. We’re also each given an avalanche transceiver and backpack, fitted with a shovel, probe, and airbag you can inflate to pull you to the top of the snow in the event of a slide. Today we will be skiing on a glacier, which means we must also wear harnesses in case we fall into a crevasse. I decide not to text my mother about the crevasses.

Top of mind for many of us is the recent deadly avalanche in Tahoe, during a season of unusually high-avalanche activity in both the U.S. and Europe. Risk is inherently part of the calculation of being a skier, particularly one who partakes in backcountry activity, as well as of operating a lodge geared around outdoor adventure. On top of that, as climate change progresses, glacier melt and freak weather make it increasingly difficult to accurately evaluate risk, which means having competent, skilled guides becomes ever-more valuable.

Thankfully, our guides for the next few days, Jean-Noël Gaidet, Benjamin Bucci, and Laurent Ottobon are phenomenal; instructive, careful, fun. They help me with my form, with my equipment, with my avalanche gear. They seem to coordinate seamlessly across all six guests and I always feel perfectly safe. To legally ski guide in France, and much of Europe, you need to be IFMGA-certified, which means rigorous training and testing in not just skiing, but rock climbing and mountaineering. Needless to say, these guys are absolute pros.

10 a.m.: We load into the sprinter vans and wind our way up the valley to the resort of La Rosière, passing a local historic church which was a waypoint on the Tour de France last year. Because heli-skiing is not permitted in France, we take a series of gondolas and lifts up and ski over the border into Italy, where our helicopter sits waiting, a blip of bright yellow on a sea of white.

Heli-skiing is banned in France due to both the noise nuisance and environmental concerns, though helicopters are still used extensively on mountains for rescue and transporting supplies to alpine huts and restaurants. (Eleven, to its credit, offsets all flights taken by employees and gives guests the chance to offset their own stays, though it should be acknowledged that the efficacy of carbon offsets remains up for debate.) Indeed, there is a nonzero amount of cognitive dissonance involved in being a skier: for many of us, what we love most about the activity is that it allows us to be intimately connected to the outdoors. At the same time, the activity itself—even if you aren’t getting in a helicopter—has a role to play in climate change.

We go over avalanche and helicopter safety and load in, lifting off and cutting smoothly through the bright, snowy valley. "This is insane," I keep saying, though I’m barely heard over the sound of the engine. "Isn’t this insane?" For my fellow guests, heli-skiing is not a novel experience, nor is flying in small aircrafts—two have their pilots licenses—but perhaps my unfettered glee is allowing them to see the experience through fresh eyes (or so I like to tell myself).

Though otherwise mostly uncoordinated, I pride myself on being a fairly competent and advanced skier. Today, the conditions are variable and I fall five times. Nevertheless, I’m in heaven. 

2 p.m.: By our third "drop" (note to mother and other concerned parties—again, we are not actually dropped), I am feeling dangerously like I could get used to this. We ski down to Chalet Eden, an Italian restaurant where I scarf down an eggplant parmesan that’s way more refined than my palette or appetite requires. Then we clip back into our skis and take a series of lifts back to France, and ski down to the awaiting sprinter vans. Because it’s late in the season, the snow line stops higher in the valley, but the guides tell me that during heavy snowfall, it’s often possible to ski all the way back to the chalets.

5 p.m.: Back at Hibou, bone-tired and slaphappy, we put on our bathrobes, and head to the second floor, which contains a few guest rooms, a small spa with a sauna, steam room, and bookable massages, and a patio with a hot tub and cold plunge. I slide into the copper hot tub, which is built into the deck, sheltered halfway by the roof’s eaves. It has a beautiful view across the valley. Though I don’t consider myself particularly woo-woo, I’ve regrettably been cold plunge-pilled and gird myself for a couple dips into the freezing water in the adjacent tub.

9 p.m.: After another banner dinner—I’m not even really a mushroom person and the morel pasta almost moves me to tears—a few of us retire to the Bunker Bar on the ground level, which sits tucked away off the ski room with a small sitting area, a dartboard, and ring toss. It’s here in the Bunker Bar that Eleven leans a little more into mountain hut kitsch, with a few pairs of retro alpine skis placed along the wall, and a ski boot decorated in mirror tiles from which you could chug a beer. In this bar and the one upstairs, liquor is left out for guests to make drinks when staff isn’t around, along with a notepad to record what you’ve used. The honors system prevails. I make myself a Manhattan and then crawl into bed, exhausted.

Saturday

8:30 a.m.: After breakfast, I head back behind the chalets to the ski shed, where the guides fit me for touring boots and skis. I traveled with my own alpine boots and skis, but ski touring requires a different set up.

I’m having a bit of a Goldilocks situation with the touring boots, so the guides improvise by pulling the liners out of my alpine boots and sticking them in the touring ones—something I didn’t even know was possible, which proves to be the correct solution. As I wait, standing between both chalets, Jean-Noël tells me that not only do he and his wife, Julie, now live next door, but that he actually grew up next door and that his father, Michel Gaidet, was involved in the initial build of Chalet Pelerin. 

Julie, who is also general manager for the chalets, later relays the whole story: Over a decade ago, she and Jean-Noël were living next door, operating an activity guide company called Tarentaise Tours, when Chad Pike purchased what would become Chalet Pelerin and began renovating. When Pelerin opened, Eleven contacted Jean-Noel and Julie for their guiding services—not knowing they were neighbors or that Jean-Noel’s father helped build the original. Ultimately, Eleven purchased the tour business from the Gaidets, and officially brought on Jean-Noel and Julie. "They really want the experience to be local," Julie explains, from the design to the people they hire.

11 a.m.: In ski touring, you "skin" uphill by attaching grippy fabric to the bottom of your skis; at the top, you pull off your skins, lock your heel into the ski, and ski downhill, often on untracked terrain that can’t be accessed by lift. We take the lifts up as far as they go, ski down to the bottom of a ridge, and unclip our skis to convert into touring mode. 

Most days of touring involve hours of uphill skiing for just a few minutes of descent; hence the phrase "earn your turns." Over the next hour, we ascend to the top of a narrow ridge with a beautiful 360 view of the surrounding valleys. The sun is bright and warm, I strip down to my base layer. At the top, the wind kicks in, my sweat cools and I bundle up again, inhale a granola bar and peer over the edge into the untracked bowl below. I am exhausted. I’ve never been happier.

2:30 p.m.: We have a late start and spend more time on the mountain than expected, so by the time we’re ready for lunch, the restaurant where we have a reservation has closed. Instead, we’re driven back to the chalet and presented with a (quite extensive) a la carte lunch menu. Everything is the picture of calm, but it’s here when I realize how much work goes on behind the scenes to keep a guest experience like this seamless. I have French onion soup and a bit of salmon. It’s delicious, as always.

Sunday

9 a.m.: We embark on another ski touring adventure—I have barely three days of this sport under my belt and I’m already irresponsibly daydreaming about all the expensive gear I can buy and definitely 100 percent need.

5:30 p.m.: I’ve spent the last four days in Chalet Hibou, but Emeline graciously takes me on a tour of Pelerin for comparison. Though there’s a continuity across both chalets, each of course has its distinct energy. Pelerin is slightly smaller and more intimate, though it also has a small indoor pool and large deck. It’s equally lovely, though I remain partial to Hibou which, if it’s possible to develop a parasocial relationship with a building, I’m doing.

7 p.m.: My final night happens to coincide with a novel dining experience: the guests and staff hike half an hour up a trail behind the chalets to an alpage (high mountain pasture) with a few structures owned by Eleven. In their original incarnations, these 17th-century stone shepherds’ huts served as simple summer residences for farmers and their families to follow their herds as they migrated further up the valley to graze.

The alpage is, notably, not accessible by car. During the summer, staff bring up whatever nonperishable goods, wine, and water that they are able, but any fresh food is ported up in backpacks the evening of by Eleven staff. The stove is powered by propane and the toilet is a compost system—if it were ever possible to call a compost toilet "elegant," this one certainly is.

We arrive at dusk to tea lights leading down to a roaring bonfire, surrounded by long benches with fur throws. We’re served a gin cocktail in copper mugs; Etienne passes around appetizers and we each try our hand at axe throwing.

8 p.m.: Inside the alpage, it’s dark, but lit by candles. The stone walls are softened by thick woven textiles sourced from a local mill, Arpin, that’s been spinning wool since 1817. There’s a tiny kitchen, in which Etienne has somehow managed to prepare another phenomenal feast: we start with fondue and cold cuts around the fireplace, then descend a narrow ladder to the dining room and sit along a long farmhouse, where Etienne serves prime rib and swordfish that’s been cooked over the open fire.

9 p.m.: Buzzing happily from the red wine and copious food, and equipped with head lights and hiking poles, we walk back down to the chalet under the bright moon and smattering of stars. In 50 years, perhaps, I’ll still be talking wistfully of the four days I spent in absolute luxury in the French alps and my grandchildren will be all, okay grandma let’s get you back to bed. For all intents and purposes, this has been a perfect stay. Maybe, at the price point Eleven touts, this should be expected. And to be sure, this is an experience that’s financially unavailable to the 99.99 percent. But if you have the means to do it—luxury, and extreme adventure—this seems, surely, its best manifestation.

And while there was no doubt absolute decadence in being able to return to such a beautiful space in the afternoons, eat brilliant meals, and stretch out under a fur blanket, the luxuries were not what I’ll take with me most. Earlier in the month, in Chamonix, I spent a decidedly much more rustic night at the Cosmiques Hut before skiing the Vallé Blanche. Europe has a vibrant tradition and culture of mountain shelters, and rates for the Cosmiques, and many others, are under 100 euros for room and board. There, I slept curled in a sleeping bag on a thin mattress and woke at sunrise. I would do it again and again. Ultimately, what I appreciated most from my stay at Chalet Hibou, and will surely remember most vividly, was the commitment to a full, lived-in adventure of a day, eight hours of lifts and skins and drops, deep turns in untracked snow under a bluebird sky.  

Top photo of Chalet Pelerin courtesy Eleven

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