This is a pretty, blink-and-you-miss it resort tucked in between the giants of Tignes and Les Arcs. It has just four chairlifts and around twelve beautifully groomed pistes. But it's the terrain in between - the sweeping powder fields, deep-cut gullies and thickly forested lower slopes - that have garnered it a cult following. Rumour has it that the ski instructors in the big resorts come here on their days off.
After a reasonably straightforward trip yesterday (Winchester-Heathrow-Geneva-Ste Foy), we're first in line for the chairlift - ten minutes before opening time. That could be a first, and is largely down to our trip organiser Ben. As far as Ben's concerned, if the lifts are open you should be skiing. Works for me.
It's a different vibe to the first half of Odyssey 2013 (in Val d'Isere three weeks ago), as expected. Without chalet food and freeflowing wine, rousing ourselves in the morning is a little easier; our cavernous accommodation (a detached chalet belonging to a friend of a friend) is comfortable and relaxed.
It gets off to a great start - fresh snow, sunshine - but day 1 turns into something of a baptism of fire. Just sixteen days since I last skied, my confidence is high as we set off down our first run.
Too high, as it turns out. As we venture off-piste into a tricky mix of soft powder over hard-packed bumps, I find myself struggling to stay upright as my skis thump over hidden obstacles. Shortly afterwards, I'm flat on my face, having flown straight over the edge of a hidden, metre-high precipice.
Once I've found my lost ski, we head down between the trees - swapping pinch-yourself views of the Tarentaise valley for a postcard setting of snowy glades. Breathtakingly beautiful, but seriously challenging. By morning's end, I've fallen three times (having not toppled once in a week in Val d'Isere).
After lunch, the ante is upped further. Even Marianne is caught out, crashing hard enough to catapult her five metres clear of her skis. As we begin to explore the slopes at the opposite end of the resort, I'm pushed too far outside my comfort zone. In two feet of powder on a shit-the-bed steep, boulder-strewn slope, I freeze up. It's the first time I've been genuinely scared this year.
The trees below offer a little respite - but I'm battling to turn in the deep snow while trying to avoid a myriad of obstacles, and the fall-line is veering from manageable to insane. Eventually, we find our way back to a piste. Sighs of relief ensue.
We finish the day with a couple of fast cruises - easy, confidence-building stuff. Day one in a nutshell is too much, too soon. This place is nothing short of breathtaking - it reminds us strongly of Whistler - and like Whistler, it demands commitment and respect. Tomorrow, we'll dial it back a notch. A little less terror, a little more fun.
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