Perched on a granite cliff edge deep in the French Alps, the ski resort of Avoriaz – accessible only by cable car – is an architectural gem. In 1964, a visionary young developer named Gérard Brémond – the son of a rich industrialist, with a passion for jazz and film – wanted to create a glamorous, purpose-built resort in this hostile terrain, later nicknamed the “Saint-Tropez of snow”. He hired a trio of young, idealistic architects, led by Jacques Labro, then in his late 20s, and gave them free rein.
Inspired by the work of Le Corbusier and Frank Lloyd Wright, their idea was to create buildings that reflected the mountain setting. Apartments, chalets, shops and restaurants have steeply pitched roofs, to mimic the terrain and to avoid a buildup of the snow that blankets them at this time of year. They are clad in red cedarwood tiles, left untreated to weather with age. The shingles facing south have turned a mink grey over the decades; those facing east and west have warmed to a chestnut brown.
Avoriaz is car-free: buildings are connected by wide, ski-able paths through the trees; people also get around by horse-drawn sleigh. Every structure is designed to optimise the sun and the mountain views. Every front door is ski-in, ski-out, opening to a piste down into the town; the cable car carries you and your shopping back up again. Capitalising on the resort’s slightly gothic spookiness, a fantasy film festival was held here from 1973 for two decades, attracting David Cronenberg and Steven Spielberg.
The resort’s first building opened at Christmas in 1966: the angular, pyramid-shaped Hotel des Dromonts, whose recently revamped interior still has a strong 60s vibe – all bright colours, cowhide pouffes and Egg chairs. This snowy cabin, nestled like a gingerbread house in the forest, followed a year later, and is one of Avoriaz’s first private homes. It, too, has been faithfully restored.
Owner Marie Querton, who lives in Brussels with her husband and four children, bought the house in 2007. She enlisted the help of an old friend, architect Caroline Notté, asking her to preserve a piece of architectural history, but also to create a place for her family to spend time together.
Inside, Notté kept the original layout and windows (a series of different shapes and sizes, rather than the huge picture windows you see today) but stripped back 50 years’ worth of wood cladding, paint and plaster. As a result, the rooms felt instantly “lighter and more spacious”, Querton says. She and Notté settled on a limited palette of materials – local slate, dark wood panelling, white walls – that felt mid-60s without slavishly adhering to the period. “Everything had to be drawn from the style Jacques Labro initiated,” Querton says.
In the angular south-facing living room, Notté remodelled the fireplace and window seat. Storage was an issue, so she designed built-in drawers beneath the seat. “It’s not a big chalet, and there’s not one room that is square or rectangle-shaped – it’s higgledy-piggledy,” Querton says. The walls were originally clad in wood, but Notté replaced that with lime-washed plaster. Furniture is in shades of brown, including a set of vintage tan leather Togo sofas by Ligne Roset, designed in 1973 (scour ebay.co.uk or buy new at heals.com). Throughout, she has furnished the house with period pieces, including an Achille Castiglioni Parentesi floor lamp (try skandium.com) from 1971, and stools by French architect Charlotte Perriand in the kitchen/dining space.
New additions are designed to reflect the style of the era: bespoke wooden cabinetry in the second bedroom follows Labro’s clean, unadorned lines; and in the entrance hall, Querton designed simple storage space inspired by Perriand’s functional style. Outside, a rustic terrace has breathtaking mountain views, and is furnished with sheepskin and cowhide throws for outdoor dining.
The chalet’s remote location was its big attraction, Querton says. “You have to work hard just to get here. We arrive at the car park [at the foot of the mountain], we put our backpacks on, the children carry what they can, we take the cable car up the cliff face, and then it’s a solid 30-minute walk through the snow up to our chalet.
“We fell in love with the spirit of the place,” she says. “It’s laid back, it’s not too refined, it’s old school and authentic. It corresponded to who we are. We like nature. We like walking in the quietness of the snow in the mountains. The hustle of the modern world is down there somewhere.”
