#loumltschental

#loumltschental

The Surselva region is best known for its wintertime skiing and snowboarding opportunities, but there's a wealth of things to do throughout the year, including hiking, swimming, and biking.

Ski Vallée Bleue is a new addition to Indy Pass for 2025-26, promoting itself as 'Le ski, sans stress.' The atmosphere is relaxed, and the lift attendants are friendly.

The Theth-Valbonë trail in Albania connects two breathtaking national parks via a scenic mountain pass, suitable for all kinds of hikers.

Both days delivered clear skies and cold temperatures, with hardly a cloud overhead and almost no wind. Despite the strong alpine sun, temperatures remained below freezing, keeping the snow in excellent shape across the mountain.

Les Deux Alpes keeps unfolding lap after lap, zone after zone, until you realize you've spent the entire day chasing terrain that never really ends.

Lacum Respira is a lakeside pavilion by .ket bureau on the shore of Lake St. Moritz in Switzerland. Set at the water's edge, the timber structure addresses a landscape shaped by seasonal rituals and a long tradition of outdoor life, where the lake acts as both foreground and horizon. The calm setting is defined by open air and backdropped by dramatic mountains. Any architectural move here carries weight.

Standing among the Alps, it's easy to believe that they will last forever. They seem too big to fail, too old to change. This illusion of permanence has long entranced travelers who have visited to experience the intoxicating feeling of being daunted and dwarfed by a landscape's authority. But even mountains move: This past May an avalanche of ice and rock tore through the Lötschental Valley, erasing the village of Blatten in less than a minute.

The sport originated thousands of years ago in Europe by necessity when hunters used long skis to travel and explore over mountain passes, placing animal skins on the bottoms of their skis for traction when climbing. Military units used similar gear to patrol the Alps in the late 1800s, sometimes engaging in speed competitions, which were likely the prototypes for the format of the Olympic skimo debut this February.

On the approach to Arosa in the Graubunden Alps, the road is lined with mountain chapels, their stark spires soaring heavenwards; a portent, perhaps, of the ominous route ahead. The sheer-sided valley is skirted with rugged farmhouses and the road twists, over ravines and round hairpin curves, to a holiday destination that feels like a well-kept secret. On the village's frozen lake, young families ice skate, hand in hand.

Although these attractions are beautiful, the crowds they drew during my trip put a damper on the experience. I preferred sights like the Lagazuoi Tunnels, Monte Civetta, and Cinque Torri, all of which were less touristy but still had equally showstopping views and hikes.

In reality, most French people do not spend their summers chasing iconic landmarks or ticking destinations off a bucket list. Their idea of a successful vacation is quieter, slower, and often much closer to home. Rather than Paris or Saint-Tropez, they favor rural regions, discreet coastlines, forested hills, and mid-sized towns where life moves at a gentler pace, often staying in family homes, rented gîtes, camping sites, or small guesthouses.

While most are familiar with the world-class Mont Tremblant, the route there is dotted with independent resorts-each with a distinct vibe-that light up the Laurentians ( Les Laurentides ) like constellations against an ancient sky. These ranges offer something different than towering peaks: intimate terrain steeped in character. They tease the eye, spark the imagination, and possess a certain magic for producing champion skiers and snowboarders. Their ancient geology creates a singular landscape of rolling, forested hills and tight tree runs that feel worlds away from the mega-resorts.

The alpine terrain is pure diesel. Jagged peaks, spires, massive couloirs, tons of snow, and hanging platforms all accessible via tram, gondola, and chairlift. I skied a small couloir I spotted under the gondola, then gawked at the terrain attached to the Saulire tram. I was gobsmacked. I zipped up the tram, crossed the "Closed" signs (these are to keep folks out who don't have the gear and training), and delved into the unknown.

We loaded the chair around 10:30 a.m. and followed a new local friend, Luke, into a wild pillow-stacked gully. That first run showed us exactly how deep and perfect the snow really was. I lapped the chair twice more before noticing a sign saying another, higher chair would open at noon. It was 11:24 a.m. Perfect timing. I headed over to wait for the Marquise chair, which rises above treeline into mellow, rolling alpine terrain.