Winter Magic in Megève, France

From left: Emily’s winter holiday in Megève captured by photorapher Stephanie Branchu
From right: Audrey Hepburn in the 1963 film Charade (Photo by FilmPublicityArchive/United Archives via Getty Images)

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A scene from the 1963 film Charade captures Audrey Hepburn dressed in a chestnut-colored ski suit and mink sweater designed by her dear friend Hubert de Givenchy. She casually dines on an outdoor terrace overlooking the Mont d’Arbois ski resort in Megève, France, an ensemble and location that would inspire the 2024 Netflix series Emily in Paris. As Audrey’s co-star Cary Grant approaches with a young child, he asks if he belongs to her:

“Where did you find him? Robbing a bank?”

“He was throwing snowballs at Baron Rothschild.”

The film intertwines the resort’s history into comedic banter.

The name Rothschild is synonymous with luxury. Originating in the 16^th century from Frankfurt, Germany, the Rothschilds were a Jewish family, historically pioneers of banking businesses that were instrumental in supporting the industrialization of Europe.

Following the First World War, Noémie de Rothschild, a mountain enthusiast, left the glitz of Switzerland’s St. Moritz ski station to avoid bumping skis with the Germans. She opened a hotel in her native home country of France which soon flourished among high society and was later accompanied by golf courses and Michelin star restaurants.

According to The National Geographic, Megève remains a Rothschild stronghold, under the guidance of Baroness Ariane de Rothschild, whose family has an estimated net worth of 5 billion euros¹. Following the passing of her husband in 2021, the Baroness became the first woman CEO without a Rothschild lineage to run the family-branded institution.

From the outside looking in, Megève resembles the inside of a snow globe, with attributes that distinguish the winter magic of French Alpine resorts. Shops are disguised as wooden chalets. The air smells of bonfire and melted Comté cheese. While it is well past the twelve days of Christmas, a large fir tree decorated in blue twinkling lights illuminates the cobblestone square, surrounded by Victorian lamp posts covered in holiday holly.

Megève is how I envision Santa’s workshop, but instead of Polly Pockets and Legos, his team of elves produce Rolex watches and Dior sunglasses.

Tourists stroll in neon shades of Moon Boots and glossy fur coats, taking in the views with as much expression as their fillers and Botox will allow. A Porsche 911 is parked outside the main city center, within walking distance of restaurants advertising caviar coated crepes and small spice shops selling foie gras and white truffle oil.

Despite our slim pocketbooks, Megeve was a weekend destination that struck a chord with childhood nostalgia of Christmas – dreams of dancing sugarplum fairies and rich hot chocolate by a fire after a day in fresh fallen snow.

Seeing if reindeer really know how to fly at Domaine le coulairon

We did not initially venture to Megève for the pristine skiing experience or a seven course Michelin star meal.

We came for the reindeer.

My search for a reindeer farm began a few years back, when we contemplated travel to Finland to experience an atmospheric winter around the holiday season. To my surprise, we found a piece of Lapland a mere hour’s drive away from home at the Domaine le Coulairon.

Property owners Magali and Jean-Marie, experienced in raising other types of livestock, decided to transform their land into France’s North Pole. In 2009, they purchased a small herd of reindeer from Sweden, and constructed a small forest on their property to help acclimate the animals to their new environment.

I knew of Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen, but had yet to meet their French counterparts Tornade, Danseur, Furie and Fringant. Two reindeer greeted us at the farm, Comète and Jean-Jean. The pair seemed to relish in the attention, getting fed several handfuls of lichen, a type of coral-like fungus found in the alpine tundra.

After a visit with the reindeer, we headed into a wooden Kota, a traditional Finnish tent serving as a place to gather in the wilderness following a long journey or hunt. We warmed our hands next to the fire, sitting at tables formed in a circle and eating a French goûter, a light snack served at 4pm typically for children, with plates filled with warm brioche and start shaped brownies, cups of hot chocolate in hand.

Learning to ski at 34-years-old

While my office mate hailed from the warm winds and highlands of Kenya, and I from cornfields reminiscent of a Grant Wood painting, there was one element that solidified our bond as two foreigners working in Switzerland:

We never learned how to ski.

“Skiing? You might as well check yourself directly in the slaughterhouse,” my colleague once rightfully said, tapping away at her keyboard, eyes wide at the idea of purposely plunging forward down a mountain on two pieces of wood.

In my twenties I lived in a mountainous area of France and tried taking advantage of the surrounding landscapes. I dreamt of one day reaching a point where I could enjoy skiing and contribute to coffee break room conversations at work.

Yet each attempt with a guide ended in frustration, beginning the moment I hastily put on ski shoes, to finding a way to attach the shoes to the skis, to the panic attack of carrying said skis on the lift, to mentally preparing the logistical arrangements to get from the lift to the snow, before the chair moved and I fell, hitting my head on the oncoming metal lift behind me.

Could it be a fear of heights? A fear of falling? A fear of not being in control? Or simply a fear of colliding into those around me? Perhaps my fear of skiing is a strong concoction of all the above.

The knots in my stomach began the night before our planned class with ESF Megève. As I gazed out through the hotel window, I noticed it lightly starting to snow. I felt like an alcoholic who one day decides to go all in and completely give up the last drop. Tomorrow I was cutting this fear cold turkey.

2025 is the year that I learn to love to ski.

Before peeling my eyes open for the day ahead, I repeated a mantra to myself that I set as an intention for the day ahead, a technique that has gotten me through several bouts of airplane turbulance, uncomfortable medical appointments, and bad dates: “I am calm. I am learning. I am present.”

The sun shone that morning, reflecting on the fresh fallen snow. Instead of fear gripping its icy claws over my peace of mind, I tried to take in the view from the cable car hovering above towering pine trees. How could I be afraid when the world seemed so peaceful at such high altitudes?

My husband Laurent, a Swiss native, also joined me in a two-hour beginner’s class, despite learning how to ski since he could walk. With our patient guide, we paced ourselves down the bunny slopes, one chasse-neige after another, with five- and six-year-old children whizzing past us. Learning to ski as an adult, like learning a new language, is a very humbling experience.

While I slowly made my way down the mountain, I tried repeating my morning intention of remaining calm. It seemed to work, as I found myself enjoying the experience. Perhaps one day we will be those people who join friends in a chalet for ski weekends and attend ski after parties to talk about…well, whatever it is skiers discuss (snow)?

I’m not there yet, but maybe hope isn’t so away in my efforts to become an Alpine girlie.

Following the class, Laurent went to try out more challenging slopes, while I got a coffee and sat upon a rock. As I gazed out at the landscape ahead, a sharp cry caught my attention, as a woman who appeared my age slid into the rock I was perched on, unable to stop her skis.

Without knowing her name or her story, I felt somehow connected with her in attempting to glide down a mountain on skis, overcoming the unpleasant sensation of losing all control. In a strange way, I felt less alone in a country where skiing is as commonplace as brushing your teeth. Seeing her reaffirmed my belief that it’s never too late to try new things – in fact, it’s encouraged.

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1. Ariane de Rothschild et sa famille: fortune et classement – Challenges. (n.d.) Challenges. https://www.challenges.fr/classements/fortune/ariane-de-rothschild-et-sa-famille_26559 ↩︎