Les Fermes de Marie

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Make no mistake about it: my architecture, with its materials weathered by generations of downpours and storms, may be one of the most sought-after in the world, but at the turn of the nineties, it was utterly unfashionable. Only an eccentric could have grasped the value of an alpine farm and converted it into a travel destination. But nothing would have been, had it not been for the enthusiasm of loyal guests who helped me to blossom into the place that awakens the senses at dawn. I wasn't conceived in a design studio on the springboard of Alpine style; I owe it all to you! You, who know that the character of my dwellings was already quite tanned by the time I blew out my first candle under the name of Les Fermes de Marie.

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My hamlet, through thick and thin

As you retrace the paths of my history, you'll get lost in fir forests that have seen the passing of generations of farmers and peasants. On the rings of my old wood, sawn into beams and planks, transformed into facades and furniture, you'll read stories spanning a hundred years. For before I unfolded into gardens and chalets, before I welcomed guests with warmth and cheerfulness, I was cottages and attics, shacks and ramshackle farmsteads stuck in the impenetrable tracks of the two Savoies. So a couple of hoteliers had to reunite what was scattered and make me a mégevan, me who came from regions whose picturesque heritage is my essence - from Passy to Chatel, from Manigod to the lands of Abondance. But it was with a handful of strong men from La Giettaz that Jean-Louis dismantled, stored, numbered and consigned every single part destined to perfect my frame. The aim remained unclear, but the obstinacy quite clear: to dismantle some fifty properties. I'm not ashamed to say, with a touch of mischief, that my refinement was built on bartering. Cubic meters of planks for pallets of cinder blocks, a quantity of abandoned clinker for a slap on the wrist, and always a glass of moonshine to warm bodies and seal agreements. My construction was epic, led by a team of furious builders ready to increase my scale when I was just a cardboard model. While the roof of one of my houses was emerging here, the foundations of another were being poured there. And soon, the entire Sibuet family was posing with me for their first farmhouse photo, in which I proudly stood in a cottage surrounded by a blazing lawn. I can tell you now: off-camera, cement mixers and shovels were still busy on the building site as my hospitality finally blossomed.

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At a time when the hotel business was confined to summary overnight stays, I was designed so that my guests could enjoy entire days at my place. Jean-Louis' hollow nose and Jocelyne's full head enabled me to grow at a rapid pace, exploring new frontiers through my emblematic tower and underground corridors. I still needed to fill my jewel box with the seal of approval, to breathe into it the tumult of what we call real life! For more than a decade, Nicolas and Marie's life consisted of crossing my hamlet from one side to the other, with interiors embellished by treasures from another age that their parents had brought back from distant chinages. My mistress of the house, for her part, fashioned my rooms one by one, so that they resembled none other. Expressing her instincts as an apprentice stylist, Jocelyne dressed my walls in her naive Douanier Rousseau-style paintings, and dressed my light fixtures in shades woven with wool and subtlety. These adornments refined my elegance, harmonizing chests, cupboards and shelves from another era. A way of playing with yarns and fabrics, of subduing my rusticity without ever stifling it. That's how the panache of my art of living was imprinted on retinas and glossy paper, from Europe to America.

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Made of the same wood

I have a solid reputation as a hedonist, and my grand restaurant, like its variations, never ceases to cook the crowned quartet of my terroir: for crozets and cheese, I'm the apologist! For mushrooms and polenta, I'm the specialist! I can't be too formal when it comes to indulging in gastronomic joys. There's always room for an extra plate of food, and the occasion is always ripe for a casual outing or for dressing up in your best evening gown. In addition to the knowledge of bombast, I also learned about rejuvenation. If my spa became as famous as my meals, it's because I was one of the pioneers in the field. In response to the hustle and bustle of the kids, the grueling sessions of skiing and hiking, I was given a temple of silence, well-being and anti-stress, with the scent of edelweiss. The voluptuousness of birch has joined forces with magnetic granite in my alcove dedicated to Pure Cosmetics. My energy is similar to that of the teams who, for decades, have spared no effort to look after me. Together, we joke and like to say that some of us are almost part of the furniture! And I already feel indebted to these future talents, who will enable me to grow in age, without ever growing old. The Sibuets also know how to take special care of me.

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In my early days, they even took up residence on the upper floors of my main building, before moving away to one of my adjoining cottages. But they can attest that leaving the nest is not synonymous with respite. My alarms used to rouse the whole house from bed, which was then dedicated to the role of lookout, a role Nicolas and Marie never shied away from. In fact, I remember that these two helped with the preparations for the deadlines that cadenced my years like a ritornello. At Christmas, each of them would work hard to turn the oranges into amber apples with a few cleverly planted cloves, which were enough to fill me with the scent of the festivities.

I confess to having stolen many a reunion from this family, so that others could enjoy exceptional moments. To make up for my childhood spent between two doors, the siblings made my morning buffets and afternoon tea an extension of their cellar. And so it was, when I was both office and home. From this eventful youth, I draw the bubbling that continues to animate me. What a pleasure it is to shelter the dreams of new, ephemeral occupants! What a pleasure it is to watch staff tending to my aisles and atmosphere!

More than a hundred of them carry my voice as an affable Savoyard, embodying the diligence of my welcome to the customers who cross my threshold. With them, I've experienced the emotion of seeing genealogies grow that have remained loyal to me, of seeing Marie and Nicolas turn thirty and gain in responsibility, to the point of seizing the reins of my destiny. Certain that it's easier to build than to maintain, their parents have told me how proud they are of them. It's true that I'm growing old, but with my feet firmly planted in the soil that saw me grow. For example, my sister, who used to enjoy coating the rims of glasses with sugar, is now responsible for the smooth running of my business. Her palate ensures that my gratins are just like Granny Fernande's, and that my thick apple tarts continue to be gourmet. I'm also reminded of the intrepid brother who would leap from my snow-covered roofs, then from post to post, accepting any job I had to offer. He learned to make two out of one, carrying out timely work with the sole aim of rehabilitating me while preserving the tenants of my identity. A balance to which I owe my longevity.

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I marvel at the sight of you

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It's hard to escape the sirens of standardization. However, I have earned my five stars by taking care not to fit into all the boxes of this distinction. So to speak, I never shine brighter than in contrast, by respecting the rebellious spirit that founded me; by letting my tenants taste the jolts of adventure in my seasoned Land Defenders; by preferring the patina of antique furniture, even if it means putting its functionality to the test; by letting the woodworm carve its work in my woods, and assuming their apparent irregularity. Underneath my impeccable looks and expert service, imperfections and the familiarity of the family boarding house come to the fore. Oh, I know that my habit of nestling luxury in simplicity is a bit dramatic for some, but I reaffirm that these are the attractions of my charm. A charm modelled on that of the seasons, whose succession allows me to enshrine my traditions. As soon as the winter chill takes hold of my exteriors, the aura of the mountain commands me, and fairy tales seem to engrave on my features the backdrop of their legends. I'm filled with the exploits of freestylers and the bowls of snowplough pros recounted by the crackling fire. And in the intimacy of my little bar, good-natured folklore takes root. Families celebrate with freshly-picked herbal teas and tempting sweets, the new Flocon flanking their overalls. Nearby, friends toast the sight of me bundled up in a thick white coat, delighted to enjoy the milder temperatures when the weather conforms to their Dark'n'Stormy. Then my driveway locks and my windows close as the general thaw sets in, only to reopen to the summer panorama. The geraniums devour my balconies and look down on their companions growing below - gentians, rhododendrons and arnicas.

While the Sainte-Marie festivities get underway, with their more guinguette than stilted atmosphere, I finally inaugurate my banquets at l'Alpage; a stretch of terrace closely watched over by the valley's peaks, which one would reach with applause, so deserving is the effort required to climb it. Here, my guests enjoy casseroles, grilled meats and a view that convinces them to come back the following year. Although the falling leaves and the arrival of the autumn glow signal the departure of my last vacationers, I wouldn't dare take leave again. This is the time for insiders to discover a confidential beauty written in ochre within my walls. In the end, I don't care about the cycle or the harvest, the desires or the reasons. The only thing that matters to me is the astonishment of my elders as I watch them slip back into innocence; the only thing that matters to me is the wonder of my young residents, for whom I'll always be one step ahead. From the dreamers who find me on a pilgrimage to their childhood memories, to the regulars whose friend I am, always ready for a little fun; from the impatient who use my place setting between two social events, to the couples who discover me for a moment devoted to fidelity, there is no encounter that I cannot honor. I'm not a loner. I do my utmost to ensure that everyone finds in me what is theirs. My Farms are so many fields where you can cultivate the present without worrying about tomorrow. And if goodbyes are inevitable, I'm left with the certainty that attachments are too. A conviction strengthened by this gentle nostalgia - believe me, it takes hold of all those who pack up and leave me, leaving behind them a last wish: to stay a little longer.