Why Serre Chevalier is great for a family ski trip

When Eric Peythieu was growing up in Chantemerle in the French Alps, he and his friends had a simple way of deciding whether you were a proper skier. “We came to the top of this slope,” the 58-year-old ski instructor remembers, as he gathers his class above the final stretch of the black-rated Luc Alphand piste. “Then we skied straight down. No turning. No stopping. Back then, the piste wasn’t smooth like it is now — it was covered in bumps. Only if you made it down without crashing did we reckon you were any good.” We stare at the mind-bendingly steep stretch of snow below us. He smiles. “Times have changed, haven’t they?”

He’s not kidding. Back then, in the early 1970s, Chantemerle was one of three ski areas along the Guisane valley, 45 miles south east of Grenoble. Now all are part of Serre Chevalier, 250km of pistes set along the valley’s northeast-facing slopes. Just over half are smooth, broad and gentle, aimed at beginners and early intermediates. Meanwhile, the École du Ski Français (ESF) — of which Eric is a member — will never point you, or your children, straight down a black-rated piste and tell you to let rip.

Another sign of how far Serre Chevalier has come is its vast Club Med hotel, which opened in December 2024. It’s a reboot of an earlier property owned by the brand but, even so, the project cost £40 million. And it’s not the only hotel in the area that serves families. Of the four accommodation hubs along the valley, the middle two — Chantemerle and Villeneuve — are the stars of the scene, largely because their lifts whisk beginners up to mid-mountain areas of nursery slopes, where they can ski soft, grippy snow long into spring.

In Chantemerle the four-star Grande Hôtel, opposite the lift station, has a range of family suites, and over in Villeneuve, the UCPA (National Union of Outdoor Sports Centres) is part of a network of no-frills hostels hosting several family skiing weeks. Just before Easter 2026, £714 per person will buy a week’s accommodation, three buffet meals a day, ski passes, kit hire and four half-day lessons.

None, however, offers the all-enveloping, child-focused environment of Club Med. Over five floors there are kids’ clubs, a spa, pool, yoga studio, giant lounge, self-service restaurant, ski hire centre and a boot room. There are 349 bedrooms, too, which every morning decant their occupants onto the piste running alongside.

If that sounds hectic, that’s because sometimes it is — especially at the end of a skiing day in a peak season, when half the guests pile into the bar and lounge and tireless staff begin serving pancakes to a queue of kids. But the paradox is that, within this tumult, our holiday is almost friction-free. My wife Vera and I have brought our two boys — Sam, who’s 16, and 10-year old Ben — to see just how hassle-free a ski holiday can be. Most striking of all is getting everyone onto the slopes each morning, of which I have 13 years’ experience. A low point, on a self-catering trip in 2017, saw me trying to run down a piste carrying Ben, his skis and, because I’d gone to the bakery and lost track of time, some baguettes. Dripping with sweat, I delivered him 15 minutes late for his lesson. It was another hour before I was on the slopes myself.

Here, with everything on site, the whole process takes minutes. Not least because the ski instructors come to meet the younger kids outside the boot room. As a result, Vera and I have more time on the slopes ourselves and, because our all-inclusive package includes tuition, that means five mornings and afternoons with Eric. We’re in a class of more experienced skiers, and Eric goes easy on the drills and tips. Clearly, his plan is to ski every ripple and curve of Serre Chevalier’s piste network, gently increasing the level of challenge as we go. Whenever one of us is struggling, he’ll offer a single, laser-focused tip.

Occasionally we cross paths with the boys. Sam’s class of accomplished teenagers is fixated on the terrain park, and by the end of the trip he lands his first 180-degree airborne spin. Ben, meanwhile, is mastering his short, fast turns, en route to earning his ESF bronze star. We start to realise that Eric’s extraordinary skill as an instructor rests, in part, on his ability to channel his childhood into his teaching. Never more so than on the day he turns away from the groomed slopes, and dives into little chutes of bumpy snow lurking in the trees.

This, he says, is how he used to ski as child — when he wasn’t bombing down Chantemerle’s home run — and it’s still how he builds skiers’ skills and confidence. “Nothing teaches you like the lie of the land,” he says. “Here, there’s only one route. If there’s a jump, you can’t avoid it. You have to jump. If there’s a branch you must duck.”

I too am 58, just like Eric, an age when I’m not expecting to see significant improvement in my technique. But by the time we reach the bottom I’m skiing over bumps and between the trees more fluently than ever. Clearly, the spirit of the 1970s is moving within me, too.