Europe > France > French Alps > Pralognan > Articles > Summer in the Alps

‘Stop, did you hear that?’ We hold our breath, listening out for the barely audible twittering of marmots watching us from the slopes. Camouflaged almost to perfection, they peep behind the rocks, standing on their hind legs, warning each other of approaching danger.

Here winter is for ski and after-ski but summer is for those who love nature and peace, a time to enjoy the wildlife as you ramble on scented trails, sail in the breeze on vast translucent lakes, relax in a spa or soak in the sun in flower-strewn meadows. The French Alps have myriad Nature Reserves, six Regional Parks and three National Parks, a riot of colours in the short but beautiful summer season. In the footsteps of French holidaymakers who return year after year, we headed for the Vanoise, the country’s oldest National Park tucked away to the east, in the shadow of the jagged Grande Casse, towering 3852 metres above a pristine wilderness. This is a land of steep pastures and bristling peaks, rushing streams and waterfalls and glaciers where serious hikers set off on week-long guided tours, huddling for warmth at night in the rustic lodges scattered along the way.

But for the less adventurous, there are 500 kms of footpaths and graded trails and the chance to spot a few of 1200 species of plants, including the rare Martagon lily and spotted orchid, 200 of birds, maybe golden eagles or great bearded vultures if you’re lucky, ibex, chamoix, marmots and deer.

Pralognan was our base, just a stone’s throw away from the famous resorts, but we could have been on a different planet, mountains and southern sunshine all in one, without the crowds. Sheltered by the Belledone range, on a ‘distant meadow’ as its name implies, this little gem of a place claims only 500 residents and at over 1400 metres marks the end of the road climbing from Moutiers and the entrance to the Vanoise National Park. Guarded by cool strands of conifers, flower-draped lodges and Alpine chalets mirror themselves in the Doron while down by the church, the statue of an ibex reminds passers-by that around here, these agile creatures outnumber the villagers. Every morning, we woke to the smell of freshly-baked bread and croissants and views of Petit Mont Blanc, all white gypsum glinting on its slopes. From the top, you can see the ‘real’ Mont Blanc. What shall we do today? Walk up the valley, picnic in the forest, take the cable car to Mont Bochor? Up there at 2003 metres, mountains rise all around you and far below, Pralognan is no more than a toy town sprinkled in a glacial cirque, at the meeting point of three valleys.

Our favourite was the Chavière and its silvery brook rich in trout, meandering past the hamlet of Les Prioux. There we met Samantha who left the bright city lights to make cheese in the mountains and revel in a new life among the lush pastures fragrant with wild flowers and herbs. The snowy top of Peclet Polset kept watch at the head of the valley and ibex and their young gambolled high on the slopes. We followed an up and down trail lined with yellow gentians and delicate ladies’ slippers, blue thistles, pink carnations, wild rhubarb, saxifrage and great swathes of buttercups and campanula. Butterflies hovered, blue, white and gold and now and then a kestrel glided in the sunlight. The air was crystal clear, nothing disturbed the peace but the tinkling of cow bells and the occasional rustling of the breeze.

At the Roc de la Pêche, we tiptoed into a lonely chapel glowing with wood carvings and gazed at the dazzling Genepy glacier, while the mountain rescue dog took a nap in the sun. Lunch was a mouth watering feast of mini-sausages flavoured with herbs and ‘planche’, cold meats served on a wooden board with green salad and a bowl of grated cheese.

Together with the wines of the Savoie province, cheese holds pride of place in local cuisine, from the delicious ‘fondue’ (melted cheese and wine dip) to ‘raclette’ (melted cheese with potatoes, pickles and meat) and reblochonade (cheese cooked in the oven with garlic and wine). Try blueberry tart for dessert and finish off with berry liqueur and coffee mixed in a traditional ‘grolle’, a multi-spouted vessel passed around the guests.

But beyond the cosy inns and the winding lanes, Pralognan has more to offer than rambling and food. In 1992, the village co-hosted the Winter Olympics and ever since, athletes have come here to train and champions have been made. The Olympic flame holder may be extinct but it still stands, sure to inspire as you try your skill at curling or ice skating in the Pré’lude sports centre. Unless you prefer pony trekking, mountain biking, paragliding or scaling the vertiginous Via Ferrata suspended above the waterfall of La Fraîche.

Not so far away the Route des Grandes Alpes winds up to mountain passes with wonderful views. Trails beckon in every direction, skirting peaceful lakes in shades of emerald and blue, sleepy villages gathered around spectacular Baroque churches, forlorn chapels and hamlets and pastures where farmers milk their herds. Life is relaxed in summer and there’s always time to share a few words, or a smile, and join in seasonal celebebrations.

From the Feast of St John and the Cultural Week to the Mountain Guides’ Festival or the Barioz Fête, famous for its donkey races and craft workshops, the summer months are a showcase of Savoie folklore and a golden opportunity for villagers and their guests to get together. There’s music and dancing, fine wines and hearty food, and you’ll find no better place to buy a carved walking stick or a genuine cow bell to hang above your front door, a jar or two of blueberry jam, honey, Beaufort cheese or gentian liqueur.

Then when night comes, the secret valleys return to their slumbers, lulled by cool mountain streams tumbling over the stones and rocks. Lights go off one by one and up on the slopes, the marmots have gone to sleep.

Articles

• More from Solange Hando