I told a travel writer friend I’d be joining a press trip to the Haute-Savoie, staying in the Alpine villages of Le Grand Bornand and Les Contamines and hiking in the shadow of Mont Blanc. “That will be wonderful,” she said, “but it won’t be easy to write an interesting piece. Who wants to read about all those majestic peaks and spectacular vistas? What can you say that hasn’t been said already?”
But this trip will be a bit different, I said, hopefully. There’s a fondue picnic and something called Toumo Yoga in the forest followed by a dip in an icy river. She shrugged. “Middle-aged man discovers cold-water plunging and describes how it feels to be cold. Wow.”
She had a point. Hiking in the mountains is like skiing or scuba diving: tremendous fun to do, but deadly dull to read about. Who cares about all those postcard-perfect villages and snow-capped mountains? A younger me might have thought it clever to write “at this altitude the views literally take your breath away” but now that sounds like a tired and lazy cliche.
At least this trip was topical. It was July 2026, when much of Europe was on fire. London was roasting and French cities such as Montpellier and Nimes were again enduring temperatures over 40ºC.
The mountains offered a genuine escape. As a rough guide, temperatures drop about 0.6ºC for every 100 vertical metres you ascend. Both Le Grand Bornand and Les Contamines sit above 1,000m, providing at least 6ºC of relief. But humidity too is lower in the Alps, and breezes feel cooler, further bringing down the “real feel”.
Even so, I was not brimming with confidence about a 15km hike up to the Col de la Fenêtre, a famous viewpoint at 2,250m, and then down through the Reserve Naturelle Contamines-Montjoie, the highest nature reserve in France.
We were a group of four UK journalists and a PR from France Montagnes. Some of us were kitted out in technical hiking gear, others in T-shirts and trainers. Our guide for the day, Laetitia Duperthuy, looked us up and down, handed us each a pair of poles and said: “Okay, I guess we’ll be fine. Drink lots of water.”
Beside us, Laetitia looked a picture of health and vitality, slim and fit, with good teeth, good skin and bright eyes. The product of a life lived outdoors, perhaps.
Like many people raised in the Alps, Laetitia had started skiing at the age of three and was fitted for hiking boots around the time most British kids get their first iPad.
We took a series of ski lifts to a breezy ridge, then hiked up a rocky path lined with wild flowers to an altitude of 2,000m, past lakes and incongruous patches of snow.
We gazed across the valley to the summit of Mont Blanc which looked oddly close. It’s not a classically beautiful peak like Fuji or the Matterhorn but remains a powerful presence, constantly looming over us, almost 5,000m above sea level.
I asked Laetitia if she’d ever climbed Mont Blanc. “Of course. Usually I paraglide on the way down.”
She stopped to point out some rare alpine flowers and medicinal herbs. Like many young people who choose a life in the Haute-Savoie, she works long hours at multiple jobs, guiding hikers in the summer months, leading snow shoe treks in winter and working year round on a goat farm. “I love it,” she said. “The goats are so cute, and their milk makes the best cheese.”
I thought about my pampered life in London with our food deliveries and e-bikes. Would I have been happier if I’d been born in these mountains? Certainly I’d have stronger glutes.
However, it’s not easy for young people to settle down in these alpine villages as property prices have soared in recent years. Typically, they leave school to study at university in Paris, Lyon or Grenoble and return home to find that houses and apartments have been snapped up by investors or second home owners. Local building restrictions maintain the beauty of the valleys but allow few opportunities for young first-time buyers.
We reached another ridge with views down into a wide, lush valley with few signs of habitation. The distant chime of cow bells drifted up on the warm air. Vultures circled overhead.
We scrambled up the last stretch to the Col de la Fenetre and sucked in the panoramic views. Laetitia pointed to the snow line beneath Mont Blanc. “The melt is six weeks ahead of normal for this time of year. We are all worried.”
We dusted ourselves down and hiked down for another hour to reach our lunch stop, the Refuge des Prés, which had recently been converted from an ancient cow shed into a hostel with 30 beds, a cafe and sun terrace. I ordered one of the staple dishes, an omelette with cheese and bacon, served with salad and baguette, which was as perfectly cooked as at any high-end brasserie in Paris.
At the next table, a rare sight: British tourists. A retired couple explained they had bought an apartment down the valley in Saint Gervais. Nice people, but part of the problem.
Les Contamines, once a village of dairy farmers at the head of a steep-sided valley, is now a year-round resort with gentle ski resorts in winter and an impressive array of sports and activities in summer. A small lake with imported sand and water slides is especially good for young children.
It’s also a centre for biathlon, a sport that captured the public imagination at this year’s Milano Cortina Winter Olympics. Competitors alternate between lung-bursting cross-country ski circuits and precision marksmanship, shooting targets 50m away with a .22 rifle.
Stephane Grosset, the ebullient owner of the biathlon centre and a former world-class athlete, taught us to shoot pellets with an air rifle at a distance of 10m. “Okay, not bad,” he grinned. “Now let’s use the proper rifle and real bullets at the Olympic distance.”
It was great fun, and surprisingly affordable. A private session with a professional coach starts at €23 pp, or you can join a group session on Wednesdays at 5pm for just €15.
Across the road from the shooting range is Biche, a restaurant and day spa set up by a young local couple in 2024. The spa (€36 for 90 minutes) had high windows with mountain and forest views, and my lunch - tenderloin steak followed by summer fruit tart - was sensational.
These small French mountain resorts can’t compete in size or reputation with the huge ski domains like Les 3 Vallées and Paradiski which boast hundreds of miles of piste and massive marketing budgets. But they really come into their own in summer with their independent shops and restaurants, well-marked hiking routes and authentic village atmosphere.
On the other side of the Aravis mountain range, Le Grand Bornand is a shining example. With a year-round population of 2,100, it has 25,000 tourist beds. That might sound overwhelming but 80% of those are in private homes and as many visitors come in summer as in winter. In the summer months, 85% of visitors are French.
Grand-Bo, as it’s known to locals, is famed for its Reblechon cheese, made from the milk of local dairy herds. Forty farms in the village produce Reblochon and many of the farmers are young - their average age is around 40, according to the local tourist board. There’s also a growing population of young artists and artisans.
One of the attractions is that Annecy is just 45 minutes away, and it’s only an hour’s drive to Geneva airport. In the 1960s, the mayor of Grand-Bo rejected a proposal to raze the traditional wooden buildings and replace them with concrete blocks. Today, about 400 wooden houses remain, some dating back to the 17th century.
In the early evening we drove up the Vallee de Bouchet along narrow switchback roads to the Col des Annes, a mountain pass with a handful of rustic restaurants. We met our guide, handsome blue-eyed Victor, who took us to a picnic spot.
Along the trail, he showed us wild blueberries and the gentiane plant which is used by locals to make a terrifyingly strong liqueur. We were quietly observed by a herd of Abondance cows with distinctive white faces and brown-ringed eyes.
Victor carried a huge backpack which he disgorged at the top. The contents tumbled out: portable gas stove, two wheels of Reblechon, local craft beers, bottles of water, apple juice, bread, cutlery, plates. He told us that earlier in the week he’d completed an 80km trail run. It took him 11 hours and he came 8th out of 400 entrants. Hearing that, I didn’t feel so bad about him carrying my dinner.
We ate the fondue - which was delicious - as the sun set, illuminating the jagged peaks of the Aravis mountains. Although this treat was laid on for our group of journalists, it can be booked through the tourist office, at a cost of €43 pp including dinner and transport.
We woke early and met the yoga teacher, Alexia Vulliet, who walked us into the forest. We stopped at a clearing in the trees beside a stone bridge over a clear mountain stream. Barefoot and a little chilly, we huffed and puffed our way through a series of stretches and breathing exercises to generate an “inner fire”. Then we stripped to our swimsuits and plunged neck-deep into the water. “We stay in for 11 minutes,” said Alexia, cheerfully.
I managed seven minutes before I could take no more. And, yes, I was positively buzzing afterwards as all those “feel good” hormones coursed through my bloodstream.
Alexia said she did this every day, even in the cold depths of winter. I wondered whether, if I did the same, I’d be as full of health and vitality as these mountain people. It seemed an awfully high price to pay for good skin.
More information
I was a guest of France Montagnes. I stayed at Chalets Láska in Les Contamines and Chalet Valora in Le Grand Bornand. The Toumo Yoga experience can be booked through the Tourist Information Centre in Le Grand Bornand tourist office. The tourist office in Les Contamines can organise numerous guided hikes including to the Col de la Fenêtre.
A version of this article also appears on 101 Holidays (where I actually make a living). Unless stated otherwise, the photos are by me.