Escorts, drugs and sleeping under the stairs: The reality of living in a ski resort
I should consider myself lucky: on graduation, I landed straight onto the bottom rung of the ladder climbing steadily towards my dream job. A blossoming career did little to subdue the pangs of jealousy that hit when I spoke to friends drifting about on various gap years though. I grew up having eagerly anticipated this rite of passage – my sights firmly set on the snow-capped mountains – but with my adult life galloping on at pace, I believed that ship had sailed.
Last year, however, chance and circumstance aligned, offering me another bite of the seasonaire cherry. With less than a month’s notice, I relocated to France to live out my ski season dreams. Here’s what I learned about life in the mountains behind closed doors.
1. Work hard, play harder
Is there anything more hideous than someone who can barely afford to eat (seasonaire pay is still roughly £100 per week), having to pour vintage Bollinger for a hot tub full of multi-millionaires? After witnessing it, in properties that cost over £150,000 a week, I’m beginning to think not. Within weeks of arriving, I saw frequent drinking and drug-taking among staff during shifts, to cope with the pressures of delivering such demanding service. The more naive guests were oblivious to this debauchery, while wilder holidaymakers actively encouraged it.
One chalet girl told me she hides her work uniform in one of the kitchen cupboards. This enables her to party all night and then go straight into serving breakfast the next morning, before returning home to sleep once her guests head up the mountain. She insisted it is far less painful to be making eggs benedict whilst still trollied than on a killer hangover. One friend, who we nicknamed Harry Potter, made himself a small bed under the stairs, so he wouldn’t have to walk back to his accommodation after nights out.
Maximising recovery time is essential, especially when guests have expectations that are borderline insane. One group requested a particular variety of strawberry be made available for breakfast. A hapless driver had to make a nine-hour round trip to collect them from a supplier in the south of France.
2. Relationships are catalysed
Across the globe, dating apps provide almost immediate access to anyone single or sociable, but the catchment area in my small alpine town is confined by the very mountains themselves – a few swipes and it is game over.
Budding relationships are intensified by this propinquity and develop over the short season at an enhanced pace – I remain amazed at how guests, who are here for just one week, squeeze in time for dalliances.
A few weeks into my adventure, four male friends from the city came to visit for a holiday. Despite their long-term relationships back in London, they all hooked up with other women. Much to the amusement of the rest of us, one member of the group was cornered by two of these newly acquired flings in the same après bar.
Do relationships born in the mountains last? It’s perhaps too early for me to say conclusively, so I defer to my English ski instructor confidant (let’s call him…) David and his expertise: no, generally they do not.
3. A different hierarchy applies
In the mountains, a different social order is at play – ski instructors are king, ski patrollers are princes, bands performing at night are court jesters, while non-skiers are mere peasants.
Certain fashionable resorts attract crowds keen to be seen rather than ski – they arrive at the equally fabulous restaurants on foot, looking like they’ve fallen from a page of Tatler. In normal life these people, dripping in fur and diamonds, usually have high status, wealth and power. Out here they are just wimps.
One afternoon I spotted one of my favourite popstars drinking shots at a bar, half the way down a black-graded piste. I adore his music, but lost all respect for him when I realised he had taken the chairlift lift there and back.
To some extent though, money will always equal power. Another group, who arrived by helicopter, confided in me over champagne and oysters that their concierge had offered to provide escorts, even though their wives and girlfriends were with them. Another concierge worker I spoke to sounded traumatised on recounting the night he was asked to call and dump a guest’s boyfriend. Apparently, she wanted to enjoy her evening and couldn’t face the phone call herself.
4. Misbehaving is normalised
Is it the altitude, the adrenaline or the majesty of the mountains? Perhaps this otherworldly winter wonderland gives people the license to behave differently than they would at home. Tales of all-night parties resulting in trashed chalets have become so frequent I pay less and less attention to them as the season progresses.
Another ski instructor I dated once told me that he regularly has women place their hotel room keycards into his pocket or enquire as to the cost of an overnight lesson. I asked David if this has happened to him: “Not yet,” he replied, looking slightly disappointed.
At the more juvenile end of the spectrum, I encountered a group of men in their thirties, all with high-paid and important jobs back in the UK, doing parkour in the middle of the night, in freezing temperatures. I stood aghast watching them, in turn, running at a massive heap of snow left by the piste bashers, before belly-flopping in.
5. The economics don’t add up – but it’s worth it
During my time here, I have met seasonaires of all ages – from teenagers to over-70s. The main caveat to this brilliant life is that for many, the accommodation is, to put it frankly, grim and the economics simply don’t add up. Unless accommodation and food are included with your job, you will struggle – a box of eggs costs about £3.80 in Alpine supermarkets.
A pack of nannies chirpily told me that they are crammed six into a room with one tiny bathroom to share. I estimate their average age to be 23. They didn’t seem too worried – most young people are only able to subsist due to wage-enhancing uplifts from the bank of Mum and Dad – and their youthful optimism is admirable.
My slight maturity proved to be a sizable advantage – both emotionally and in terms of funds. If you can just about afford to do it well, these may be some of the greatest months of your life.
For the youngsters, it’s chaos, fuelled by stressy bosses, heartbreak and a bank balance pushed to bankruptcy. But I’d bet my heated ski gloves on them coming back next year. With heartfelt apologies in advance to my savings, I think I may too.
