Ski the Pyrenees in Cauterets

Fringed by the tall, snow-capped peaks of the Pyrenees, the French village of Cauterets is a perfectly picturesque resort destination, famed for its seasonal recreational activities. In the winter, Cauterets is almost always shrouded in a thick blanket of snow, and entices skiers and snowboarders of all levels to hit the slopes carved from the surrounding mountains. This year's scant snowfall has compelled most French ski resorts in the Pyrenees to close-- with the exception of Cauterets, of course. So, during the week after Christmas, the crowds flocked. And despite the artifical snow-making at night, we still had to dodge the rocks and rough patches on our descent down the mountain. (The town's proximity to some of the best hiking trails in France (the National Park of the Pyrenees straddles the Franco-Spanish border and boasts a wealth of natural beauty) ensures plenty of summertime visitors as well.)

I fell in love with Cauterets. The days were warm and full of sunshine as we walked around the village and discovered artisanal boutiques, caves stuffed with bottles of Madiran and Jurancon, Le Pavillon des Abeilles (organic honey and soaps galore!), and fragrant boulangeries. A river flows through town, and you can hear its swift current (and white water rapids) from your window at night. Above, the white-capped Pyrenees loom. I recalled a town in western Sichuan, China, modeled after a European ski resort village, and Cauterets could be the exact stereotype of how it should be.

There is a fast-moving gondola that carries you up, up, up from the village to the resort's base in the mountains. It moves at an incredible speed; on my way back down, the French ladies with whom I shared the gondola gasped and covered their eyes as we dropped over the precipices. From the highest chair-lift, the views are absolutely stunning. We stopped to eat a picnic, skis and snowboards discarded in the snow, overlooking the surrounding peaks and valley below. The sun was warm on my face as I stuffed myself with good cheese and I couldn't have been happier.


We indulged ourselves with a day at Les Thermes, the Roman style bath complex fed by hot springs. (The naturally-warm water may reek of rotten eggs, but the jet pools and showers are divine.) My favorite treatment was a shower with jets, where the bath assistant-- armed with two scary-looking hoses-- aimed the fierce flow of water at my body in the ultimate massage.

We sipped chocolat chaud at a cozy bar with warm, wood paneling; a small toy train followed a track around the ceiling. At the small covered market, I drooled over perfect wedges of local cheese, homemade blueberry torte, and seasoned charcuterie. (I made the rounds every evening. I promised just to look, but then ended up buying a new sliver of cheese or sausage to try each night.)