Motorhome Life at the Ski Resort of Puy St Vincent

It was so hard to tear ourselves away from the Col du Lautaret, but we needed to move on. Time feels like it is starting to tick. We have a couple more weeks left on this trip, but as we now like to stay for at least two days in each place, that’s only a few stops left.

Rolling off the aire, we turned right and headed towards Briançon. A left turn there would have seen us reach Italy in just a few hairpin bends and less than 20 kilometres, but instead we carried on south, stopping in Briançon to top up our refillable LPG system.

The gauges on the bottles mysteriously ‘worked, but then didn’t work’, in Jay’s words, after he tried to remove them whilst checking for leaks. We’d spent a couple of weeks off grid in Whitby since we last topped up. Then these past two weeks in France where we’ve had a few hook-ups, and certainly haven’t needed the heating on, but as we’ve run out of gas before we didn’t want to do that again.

It was Saturday and felt like the entire world was in Briançon filling up with fuel. The petrol station wasn’t massive, and we certainly didn’t help matters as it took us ages to decipher that we needed to pre-pay for the gas. Well we actually worked that part out pretty quickly as there was a sign, but what we struggled with was the attendant telling us the pump had to be disconnected from the van before we pre-paid. Eventually we started to fill up, and almost immediately the dials stopped turning as we’d only used just over seven litres of gas, so still had loads left.

After a fifteen minute wait to get out of the petrol station, because we had to queue our way through the pumps, all plans to nip to the supermarket were abandoned and we set off south on the N94. Our destination was the ski resort of Puy Saint Vincent. Jay had already been on Google Street View to check out driveability of the roads, and we were good to go. Only no one told satnav. She decided we’d be much better off taking the small twisty white D4 road, rather than the longer route on the nice big red N94. We’ll never learn.

Arriving at Puy Saint Vincent we drove up through the old village at 1400, past a huge accommodation block at Station 1600 and arrived at the patch of flat ground that is the motorhome aire. We stopped at the service point on the ramp up to the parking and took in the stunning views around us. We might have to start a ‘best view from a service point competition’.

The only down side with the service point was that the fresh water tap was a normal bathroom sink, inside a cabin that housed a loo and a chemical toilet point. It wasn’t the most pleasant smelling place, but I managed to refill our 5l drinking water bottle by filling smaller bottles first, whilst trying not to breath through my nose. Fortunately we had half a tank of water in the van (we don’t drink directly from the tank anymore unless it’s been boiled), so we didn’t need top up Zagan.

We drove up onto the flat patch of land, parked up and hooked up to the electricity. A sign on the toilet cabin door had told us it was €10 per night plus €0.60 per person tourist tax. Figuring this would be the ideal opportunity to get rid of some ‘shrapnel’ (low value coins) I counted them out and left them on the side for them the person to collect. We then headed out for a look around the place.

I’ll admit it, while the views were lovely, I wasn’t initially taken with the place. We’d walked up to Station 1800 and it seemed like a ghost town. The brown wooden accommodation blocks were mostly closed up, and there was one chair lift going to take mountain bikers up the slopes. There were so few people around it felt so lifeless – which isn’t how a ski resort should be.

We decided to walk down past the aire to Station 1600 where my views of the place totally changed. This is where everything was. Shops, restaurants, a swimming pool, archery classes (that were worryingly close to the path we were walking along) and life. That’s how these places should feel. The resort instantly changed from a one nighter to staying a couple of nights at least.

After an early evening run where I struggled to find anything flattish to run on, we headed out for a Saturday night nosh up at a restaurant back up to Station 1800. At first we were unsure if we’d got the right place. Looking through the window all we could see was a deli, but feeling brave we stepped inside and just past the deli was a typical alpine restaurant – lots of wood, and for some reason photographs of squirrels.

As we didn’t have a reservation, we were put on a small table by the deli, but we didn’t care, we were in. When we ordered a raclette, we were given an upgrade to a table for four – mainly because it was next to a plug for the raclette machine, but also to fit all the food on.

If you haven’t experienced a raclette, I seriously recommend it – unless you’re vegan. First to arrive was the raclette machine, pre-loaded with a huge wedge of cheese. This version had two wings on either side that contained heating elements which you lower towards the cheese wedge to melt it. A platter of cured meats and pickles, a bowl of boiled potatoes and a token salad fill the rest of the table and you are ready to go.

Simply melt yourself some cheese, then scrape the melted cheese off the wedge with your special cheese scraper knife and pour it onto your plate. I tend to put mine over the spuds. Repeat until all the cheese has melted, or your stomach is about to burst, whichever comes first. There’s no way I’d normally eat 200 grams of cheese (yes half a pack) in one sitting, but it is so tasty that it just vanishes.

After a great nights sleep we got up bright and early the following morning and walked down to Station 1600 to buy tickets for the chairlift. We were tempted by the summer luge, but instead opted for the longer chairlift which would take higher up the resort so we could go hiking, and burn off some of that cheese.

The mountain bikers had their own routes back down the hillside, so we found ourselves alone after getting off the chairlift and hiking a bit further uphill. The air was clear, the sun was warm and the views were amazing.

The camera never does these things justice, but if I tell you it took us about an hour to hike a mile you get an idea of how many times we had to stop and stare. Below are a few of the zillion photos we took to give you an idea.

It took us several hours to wind our way back down to the motorhome aire, and we probably only saw around 30 people in that time. I suspect these slopes are packed in the winter, so it was nice to have them all to ourselves.

That afternoon we were tired and aching, so we did very little. The satellite dish miraculously picked up a signal despite trees and mountains being in the way, so we got to watch the Diamond League athletics (which saw two world records) then the SoapBox Cart racing from London. Extremes of athleticism, but plenty of determination from both.

This morning it was time to head off again. We dropped back down to the service point and while Jay emptied the toilet cassette, I held my breath and refilled our drinking water bottle. Emerging for some fresh air, I notice our French neighbours filling large water bottles from a tap tucked away inside a white box next to the toilet cabin. On closer inspection it even had a thread on it to enable a hose to be connected to fill the van. I don’t know how many service points we’ve used over the years, probably hundreds, and yet I still get caught out from time to time.

As we made our way slowly off the mountainside and back down into the valley (on the route that would have been much easier satnav!), the jangle of shrapnel next to me reminded us that no one had been to collect our money. Maybe the aire is free in the summer, the sign stating the costs on didn’t specify. If it is free, and it includes free electricity, it’s now gone onto our list of favourite stops.

Following the Durance river along the valley we spotted another town name sign that had been turned upside down. We’ve seen loads of these on this trip, and finally got around to looking it up. French farmers have done it as a protest – you can read more about it in this BBC news article.

We spotted the fortified town of Mont Dauphin looming over the road a rocky plateau, but were a tad too late spotting the UNESCO signs that went with it. We’ll add it to the list for next time.

Pulling into a nearby Intermache for a stock up, it was shuttered up. A sign and photos taped to the door explained that in December 2023 it had rained. It had rained a lot. The rain even fell above 2300 metres, which then melted the snow at that height and caused a massive flood to wash down the valley. You could still see the marks on the outside wall of how high the water got, it must have been terrifying.

The store had temporarily moved across the road and was lacking a bit in choice, apart from its range of crisps – Pastis flavour anyone?

The Durance river becomes the beautiful turquiose Lac de Serre-Ponçon, with the help of a dam (which had to be opened to relieve the flooding that wiped out the Intermarche). We crossed the lake on a bridge, later discovering that the village next to the bridge had to be blown up and a new one built when the dam construction flooded the valley.

Arriving at our destination campsite just after 11.30am, we made it before reception closed for lunch. We also bagged the last motorhome pitch in the place. We’re at Camping Baie De La Chapelle which is mainly lodges, but a small area of woodland has been terraced for tents, and a few of those pitches will fit a small motorhome. There are probably only six Zagan suitable pitches in total, so we really did strike it lucky.

We’ve booked in for three nights to enjoy the tree-shade, relaxation (as it all looks a bit steep for running) and to maybe paddle in the lake glistening below us.

Ju x

PS – nearly trod on this little fella as he wiggled around next to our van in Puy Saint Vincent – we think it might be a Elephant Hawk Moth?