Skiing with a Campervan

A Campervan Ski Trip

The thing about camping in the Alps is that you never really know what you might wake up to. Sometimes it’s rain hammering on the roof. Sometimes it’s fog so thick you can’t tell which valley you’re in. And sometimes, if you’re lucky, it’s deep, silent snow and not another soul in sight.

On this particular morning, it was the latter.

We always check the weather now, ever since a near-death experience in the Catalonian mountains (a story best told over a drink, at a later date). But even with the forecast checked and double-checked, the Snow Gods still found a way to over-deliver. Pulling open the rear hatch and seeing the van half-buried, wrapped in fresh snow, felt like a quiet reward. This is why we do winter camping, not for comfort, but for moments like this.

We were parked in a simple car park in the ski region of Montriond. No postcard views. No luxury chalets. Just mountains, silence, and a short glide down to the lift. That morning we clipped into our skis at the van and slid straight down to the chairlift. Skiing, for me, is very much a downhill sport, taking in bars, restaurants and the odd disco en route. So a day that began with minimal effort was always going to be a good one.

If you’ve ever thought about skiing, or taking your campervan on a ski holiday, there are a few things worth knowing before you point the bonnet towards the mountains.

Location

Across Europe, there are plenty of ski towns that quietly welcome motorhomes. Campsites, aires, dedicated winter parking spots, and entire online communities exist around it. Campervan skiing isn’t new, and it’s certainly not rare.

Is it cheaper? Sometimes. But not always. When you add up fuel, tolls, parking fees and the occasional frozen mishap, it doesn’t necessarily beat a cheap one-bedroom apartment for a few nights, complete with unlimited electricity, running water and a toilet that won’t freeze solid at 2am. We sometimes book an apartment for 2 nights somewhere random to do laundry, have a 30 minute shower and do some batch cooking!

Winter campervanning isn’t for the light-hearted. But then again, neither is skiing. And if you learned to ski later in life, chances are you’ve already accepted a certain level of discomfort in exchange for fleeting moments of joy and control on a mountainside.

What the campervan gives you is freedom. You can move valleys overnight. Chase snow. Avoid crowds. Wake up where you want, when you want. And sometimes, that freedom is worth more than hot showers and dry slippers.

Equipment

If you choose a campsite with electric hook-up, life is easier, especially if there’s a heated shower block involved. If you opt for a regular parking spot or wild camping, preparation matters.

Fuel is everything. Heating fuel especially. Carry more than you think you’ll need. Snowstorms don’t ask permission before arriving, roads close without warning, and resupply isn’t always simple. A winter shovel and a telescopic ladder are essential. Clearing snow from your roof isn’t optional, it’s survival.

Snow melts slowly as it touches the warm roof of your van, then refreezes overnight into solid ice. Left alone, it builds. Ice creeps into seals, jams doors, cracks windows. Ignore it long enough and you’ll find yourself stuck.

External water tanks will freeze, even with heating elements. If you’re not fully winterised, run a dry van. Bottled water inside. Waste water kept internal. It’s not glamorous, but neither is dealing with frozen pipes in a snowstorm.

If all of this sounds like hard work, there’s no shame in choosing spring skiing instead. The snow isn’t always perfect, but the mornings can still be great, afternoons turn sunny, and beers taste better when you’re not worrying about frozen batteries and dead solar panels.

Food

The food scene on a ski holiday is gloriously excessive. Cheese dominates. More cheese follows. Occasionally a mountain burger appears.

You burn calories fast in the mountains, whether skiing, walking, or simply existing in cold air. I’d easily consume 3–4,000 calories a day and still lose weight. The history of dairy farming here runs deep, as do the bottomless glasses of Aperol Spritz and Mutzig. Both are dangerous. One numbs your legs, the other convinces you they work better than they do.

Having worked as a private chef in ski villages for years, there’s one dish people always ask for. As dependable as shepherd’s pie. The meal that appears when everyone’s tired, happy, and done pretending they want something light.

Tartiflette.

It’s the dish that signals the evening is officially off-duty. The one where I finally relax, pour more wine than I should, and stop caring too much about presentation. Tartiflette isn’t just food in the French Alps. It’s a religion! “In Tartiflette We Trust” isn’t a joke slogan. You’ll see it written in chalk, unironically, outside bars and restaurants.

Everyone has their own version. Families, chefs, villages, all slightly different, all convinced theirs is the correct one.

For me, tartiflette belongs on a campfire. It keeps you outside longer, soaking in the mountains while the fire does most of the work. It’s the dish you need after eating snow on a chairlift, questioning your life choices halfway down a black run, and promising yourself that tomorrow you’ll ski more sensibly.

It’s always the first thing I cook when I arrive in town.

Simple ingredients. Minimal effort. Maximum comfort. And when you’re sitting in a campervan, snow falling quietly outside, boots steaming by the door and cheese bubbling away over the fire, it becomes very clear why a campervan ski trip feels less like a holiday and more like a small, well-earned victory.

Campfire Tartiflette

A French Alpine classic for cold nights and tired legs

Ingredients (serves 2–3 hungry people)

• 800ish grams of waxy Potatoes
• 4 Shallots finely sliced
• 200g of smoked bacon lardons
• 1 Reblochon Cheese half wheel - don’t be tempted by cheap imitations, you want the real stuff!
• 150ml of Double Cream or Creme Fraiche
• 2 clove of garlic
• 1 large glass of white wine
• Thyme and a bay leaf

Method

1. Light the campfire and let the flames settle down.

2. Thinly slice the potatoes into a pan of cold salted water. Place them on the fire and bring them up to a gentle simmer before draining.

3. Thinly slice the shallots into a pan with the lardons and soften on a gentle heat before adding garlic. Deglaze with the wine and let it reduce. Add the cream, thyme and bay leaf and let it gently simmer. Do not rush the shallots, this is what gives this dish the deep flavour you want.

4. Add layers of potato with layers of reblechon cheese to the cream mixture. Try and alternate them so the cheese is submerged into the dish.

5. Top the pan with long slices of reblechon. You have used all of the reblechon at this point, try not to worry about your cholesterol.

6. Place a lid on top of the pan and top with some charcoal and kindling. This will be your campfire grill.

7. Bake the dish for around 20 minutes. This will give your tartiflette a crusty cheesy top. Remove from the heat and let it rest slightly. The potato will soak up all of the flavours.

8. Make up a charcuterie board, a side salad with a french dressing and took in next to the campfire!