In 2003, sitting on the sun-terrace of Le Rond Point, I vowed never to come to Meribel again. On the long tables around me, the recent products of Britain's finest public schools were passing round shots of toffee vodka and chanting "Down it, Down it". Their friends Chopper and Toby stood at either end of the terrace and repeatedly threw a rubber chicken between them, rugger-style, guffawing uncontrollably at the hilarity of it all. Though there's nothing clever about inverted-snobbery, and though the view was wonderful, I simply couldn't take it any more.
Founded by a British colonel shortly before the second world war, Meribel remains Britain's favourite place to ski. The resort claims to have welcomed 400,000 of us last year, Brits make up 64 per cent of all its foreign visitors, more than 50 British tour operators offer packages there, and there's even a branch of Pizza Express. On busy weeks such as this one, it seems you never hear a French voice.
So far, so ghastly. But of course there is a reason we all cram into the place - the skiing is unrivalled. Meribel sits at the centre of the Trois Vallées, the world's biggest ski area, with 183 lifts and 600km of pistes. Intermediates can spend a week blasting about and never do the same run twice. Better still, there's incredible quality as well as quantity - the lifts are fast and modern, the pistes wide and well-marked and the quality of grooming sets the standard worldwide.
Last weekend, I decided to give Meribel another chance. I was lured partly by the pull of those pistes, partly to test out the claims of the tourist board's marketing officials, who, aware that the resort's Britishness is starting to put people off rather than attract them, are attempting to promote the fact that, deep down, Meribel remains a traditional French mountain village.
It doesn't start especially well. In the village square, a crowd is listening to a jazz band. My friend Paul and I go to investigate - perhaps this is a quaint village fair, celebrating a saint's day or some such. But no, it's actually the prize-giving for the British Inter Services Ski Championships. Above the crowd a colossal illuminated sign attached to the side of a building dominates the square. It says simply "Pub".
The next day, though, things take a surprising turn. It's foggy, so we avoid the high peaks and the busy routes to Courchevel or Val Thorens, and our ski instructor, Philippe Laissus, takes us on a tour of the tiny villages that dot the lower part of the Meribel valley and see no more than a trickle of tourists. Sometimes we ski over farmers' fields, sometimes on tracks through the forest. Philippe stops us to point out the beehives hidden in the woods, and the tracks of an injured deer, dripping blood in the snow, probably limping to its death after being attacked by a lynx. None of it is difficult skiing, but you do need a guide to avoid getting lost.
Some of the villages are too small to appear on the map, but many are home to restaurants that are celebrated among locals though all but unknown to British tourists. Locals speak of Le Plantin, in the hamlet of the same name, as arguably the best restaurant in the valley. It's not connected to the lift system, but after lunch a waiter will drive you back to the bottom of the nearest chairlift.
Philippe, whose family has lived in Meribel since the middle ages, doesn't think Meribel is a British resort. He doesn't actually think it's French either. "We are Savoyard!" he insists, before giving us a demonstration of the local patois, which still thrives. He lives in the village of Chandon le Haut, which, despite being just a few minutes' free bus ride from downtown Meribel, remains a tight-knit, traditional and fiercely independent community. So much so, in fact, that in the summer of 2005 the residents (jokingly) erected signs declaring it an autonomous republic, and declared each of their houses to be a ministry. Plaques outside every front door now announce the Ministry of Humour, Ministry of Love, Ministry of Vodka, Caviar and Beautiful Women.
That night, instead of hitting the Rond Point or the Barometer ("all major matches shown" says the sign outside), we head to the Bar à Vin, just up the road. It's a tiny place, lined with wooden crates and maps of the terroirs, and a blackboard on the wall offers at least 34 whites and 68 reds. There's no après-ski euro-pop, and, apart from us, not a single Brit. It starts to become clear that with a bit of know-how, it might actually be possible to enjoy Meribel's sensational skiing while swerving its Chelsea-on-snow side altogether.
On Sunday, we head over the ridge and ski down into the St Martin de Belleville valley. It's dominated by Les Menuires, a big purpose-built resort regularly judged Europe's ugliest. But again, there are ways to avoid the crowds. Philippe (Ministre de l'Apéritif) takes us over gentle slopes to the villages of Béranger and Praranger. From both you need a taxi to take you the few minutes' drive back to the lifts, but it's a small price to pay for the long runs during which we don't see another soul.
Lunch that day tops the lot. We veer off the piste just above St Martin, and head down a short path to La Ferme de la Choumette, a dairy farm with a restaurant attached. From the tables in the restaurant you can look down to where the animals are overwintering in the barn, and anyone that's interested can pop down to stroke and feed them.
"The young don't want to be farmers any more," says Jeannot Humbert, the owner, as he leads me down to meet the animals. "It's too hard work - there's no Saturday, no Sunday, and no holidays."
He shows me how he makes cheese in the dairy beside the barn, then takes me inside and points out the different cows that produce Tomme de Savoie, Reblochon and Beaufortin. He seems delighted that someone is taking an interest, then just as I'm about to leave, rushes off to fetch something. He returns with a beautiful five day old goat, which he hands over for me to cuddle. Chopper, Tobes, and the toffee-vodka crew seem a very long way away.
• Swiss (0845 601 0956; swiss.com) flies from London City and Manchester to Geneva from £82, including transportation of ski equipment.
A taste of authentic France
Refuge de la Traie Alone in a peaceful pine forest at 1,650m, La Traie is an hour's walk up the mountain from Meribel Les Allues, or can be accessed off-piste from Roc de Fer (you'll need a guide). Owner Pascal serves traditional mountain dinners, after which you can stay overnight in the dormitory or toboggan, ski or walk back down.
• 00 33 6119 50890; refuge.latraie.free.fr
Le Plantin Ski down through the forests from Meribel Village towards Brides Les Bains, and you'll stumble across a hamlet that's home to this renowned restaurant. Don't expect rustic farmhouse cooking - this is stylish haute cuisine.
• 00 33 479 041211; leplantin.com
Bar a Vin A tiny bar on Route du Centre, it's by far the most authentically French drinking spot in town. There are more than 90 wines on offer, and at €4 for a glass of Sancerre, prices are reasonable. Being French, it's busier around aperitif time than après-ski.
• 00 33 479 00 35 27
La Ferme de la Choumette Close to St Martin de Belleville, the dining room of this farm-cum-restaurant has large windows through which you look down on the cows, sheep and goats in the barn below. The menu features cheese made on the premises, but thankfully the steaks come from elsewhere.
• 00 33 479 400042
Le Poste de Secours The classy alternative to Brit aprés-ski favourites Le Pub and La Taverne, Le Poste has been extensively redecorated, and is now an intriguing mix of rustic and ultra-modern.
• 00 33 479 007431
Les Cretes A short ski from the top of the Tougnete lift, Les Crêtes is the nicest of Meribel's high-altitude restaurants and one of the oldest, having opened in 1964. Try local specialities such as Diots au vin blanc (pork sausages in wine).
• 00 33 479 085650
Les Glaciers The owners of this bakery, at the top of Route de la Montée, came to Meribel when the resort was in its infancy and have provided its best cakes ever since. Buy delicious sandwiches and cakes here for picnic lunches, or come for afternoon tea in the cafe upstairs.
•00 33 479 08 6027
Hotel Allodis The Allodis boasts the best restaurant of any Meribel hotel. It's full-on French haute cuisine, with foie gras, fine wines and a top-notch cheese trolley.
• 00 33 479 005600; hotelallodis.com
• For more information, see meribel.net
