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Immediately upon arriving in Megève, France (pronounced meh-JEVE), my attention was caught by the horses.

Well, you could hardly miss them.

These were big, beautiful steeds. These equines pull brightly-painted sleighs (or wheeled carriages when there’s no snow in town), driven by local farmers. You can tour the town. Or use one as a pricey taxi.

If the idea of horse-drawn sleighs serving as taxis—or just plain apres-ski entertainment—strikes you as quaint, you’d love this town. For that matter, that's true, too, if your cup of tea is

• skiing as relaxed, wide open cruising
• high-end shopping
• antique buildings
• or excellent culinary indulgences.

If it’s rip-roaring, double-diamond downhilling or exuberant nightlife you’re after—not so much.

Megève was put on the map when the Rothschilds, the great 19th century banking family, came here to build a mountain retreat. They ended up with a whole town. The village, anchored by a pedestrian-only central zone, remains upscale today. But, it does so in a quiet, unpretentious way. The narrow, cobbled side streets exude just the right historic ambience.

The central square is bordered by well-preserved 18th-century buildings, a fine medieval church, and the Aallard Department Store, where the world's first, form-fitting, stirrup-equipped, ski pants were tailored.

Expensive is the retail by-word, but the window shopping is free. All the big outdoor clothing and equipment names are here, making prime time window shopping, and food indulgences include cakes at Le Refuge du Boulanger, a national award-winning patisserie; and to-die-for chocolates called Glacons that are made and sold only in Megève.

You can readily miss the tiny Musée du Val d’Arly, the local historical museum, tucked away as it is on a side street. Don't. It's a great place to get a sense of Megève before skiers arrived, when it was just a small farming village.

Meanwhile, a few blocks away, the ultra-modern, glass-facade Sports Center is impossible to miss. Inside: ice skating, two swimming pools, saunas, fitness rooms, and indoor tennis, golf and a climbing wall. There's another outdoor ice rink at the center of town, as well. And, from right there, you can access 50 kilometers of footpaths suitable for winter hiking and snowshoeing.

To the Slopes                           

We were given no time to acclimate. We were given no time to acclimate. After all, there were 276 miles of pistes and 107 lifts to explore.

We were immediately led to the hill by the Visitors Bureau marketing manager Adrien Duvillard, a former French national ski team member.

Three gondolas and a chairlift ride later we were introduced to Adrien Duvillard. Adrien Duvillard, the dad, that is.

The senior Adrien, too, is a former French national team guy. He raced at the 1960 Squaw Valley Olympics and was a three-time world champion.

Adrien senior led us for three hours of high-speed skiing on Mont D’ Arbois. He pointed out a local farm where buffalo are raised. He showed us land his family had owned for several centuries. He skied fast. He may be a 70-something grandfather, but I couldn’t keep up with him. Not even close.

Megève skiing stretches over massive amounts of terrain, and is accessible from several base areas and even other towns. It sits amidst mountain ranges that spiral unendingly into the distance, yielding unrelentingly spectacular views from the lifts, the trails, the on-mountain restaurants and even through the windows of mountaintop toilettes.

We stopped to catch our breath (or, at least mine) and, oh yes, for lunch, at Les Mandarines, an on-mountain fine dining restaurant. "Depuis 1934," said the menu. "Since 1934".

A congenial attendant checked our skis. A congenial waitress took our order. She delivered wine. The food came. More food came. Still more food came. Dessert came. Digestifs came. Then we rode the gondola back to town and called it a day.

The French, heck the Europeans, are so civilized about their skiing. Slide a bit downhill, eat a leisurely meal, go home to rest—unless they’re indulging their mountain-adventure craziness. Like guiding you to outlandish off-piste adventures like the Vallée Blanche. Or ice climbing sheer, frozen granite cliff faces.

Or, as we learned that night, donning snowshoes and trekking to dinner.

A Grand Finale                           

The final Megève day was bright and sunny.

Guided by yet another former French national team member, Andre Bachleda, we took on the peaks Alpette and Cote 2000. But, really. What’s in a name? I didn’t care what they called it. I just wanted to ogle the mountains. The stark granite walls. The faraway snow-capped peaks. The geologic drama all around.

My companions clamored for some off-piste. Andre explained that off-piste here was mild.

I sensed that Andre thought of off-piste as anything not reachable by ski lift. Me, I think of off-piste as anything not groomed. Particularly in Europe, where so much skiing is above treeline, and you can ski anything covered with snow.

They ventured off to find fresh snow.

I stopped at le toilette.

They found some powder turns under a huge rock wall, and then had to sidestep a narrow gully.

I discovered that in Megève even the commode offered fantastic views.