SILVER white winters that melt into spring’ are, canonically, favourite things when it comes to the Alps, but perhaps Messrs Rodgers and Hammerstein could have spared a verse for the summertime, too. After all, a linguist (or a pedant) might tell you that the word ‘alp’ means a high mountain pasture for grazing livestock in season, rather than a mountain itself, so there’s always been more to these peaks than ski runs and raclette.
It’s not that going chronologically off-piste is a new idea or that we’re letting you in on a secret. In the early 1800s, summering in the Alps was de rigueur. However, there has been a boom in recent years, fuelled by a number of factors: pandemic-era rediscovery by locals, those seeking (relative) respite from scorching heatwaves inland, active types biking, hiking and flinging themselves off high things and those seeking some real R&R. More hotels are opening for, and actively promoting, the summer season. Restaurants, too, with a veritable constellation of Michelin stars on the French side alone (to quote Anthony Bourdain: ‘God bless the French. They can’t go too long—not even down a mountain—without eating well’).
Jetset-magnet towns, such as Chamonix, St Moritz and Gstaad, are transformed in T-shirt weather, with lively shopping streets, alfresco dining and nary a salopette in sight. The weather’s great, the air is clean, the wildlife is plentiful and there are some spectacular panoramic train routes, so you can dispense with hire-car stress or even airports, if you so wish.
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