Being American, I only knew of Mont Tremblant, so that’s where I went for Canadian skiing. The resort, with its Swiss Alps-style village, world-class downhill skiing, first-class hotels and glam appeal, earns it accolades for sure.
But while driving along Autoroute 15N en route to Mont Tremblant three years ago, I noticed road signs for Mont Saint-Sauveur, a smaller Laurentian ski resort, just 45 minutes north of Montreal.
The following February, I opted for the road (or piste) less traveled, and I haven’t looked back since.
Saint-Sauveur, population 10,000, is an authentic, charming alpine town with a solid ski mountain, located in Les Pays-d’en-Haut region, literally “high country.” It is one of a string of Laurentian villages, many of which have ski hills — though I think it’s the best. Mont Saint-Sauveur deserves bragging rights for the longest ski season known to man (from October to early June), awesome snow-making and world-class night skiing. It’s a favorite weekend spot for Montrealers — maybe in spite of the fact, maybe because it’s off the beaten path.
I love the resort town for its salt-of-the-earth attitude — it doesn’t rely on Disneyesque magic dust for its appeal. The ski lifts are never crowded, perhaps because our February school holiday doesn’t coincide with Quebec’s winter break.
Last February, I booked a four-night stay with my husband Ricky and our daughter Julia at the Estérel Resort, a remote hideaway in Ville d’Estérel, 15 miles northeast of Saint-Sauveur. Though Saint-Sauveur has many hotel choices, I opted for Estérel for its sleekly designed suites and affordability. Our lake-side suite (with a view of gliding ice-skaters, who looked like figures in a snow globe), with a kitchenette and gas fireplace, an en-suite bathroom with a separate hall entrance and free Wi-Fi, cost $189 to $270 per night, depending on the day of the week. The hotel has a spa and three restaurants.
“It’s four degrees,” my husband said, sitting in his boxer shorts our first morning.
“Celsius?” I asked hopefully.
He laughed.
”Fahrenheit,” he said.
Okay. You’re probably wondering why go to Canada if I can’t man up to the cold—but my family loves Quebec. We practice French, we eat well and we savor the reliable hospitality we receive time and again. And, if you must ask, global warming seemed to be heating up Quebec on recent previous visits, so the Siberian-tundra temps were a surprise. C’est la vie!
We layered up, and drove to Mont Saint-Sauveur, where lift tickets cost $45 for four-hour blocks, and $53 for a full day. I bought hand-warmers for my gloves. With no lines, we passed straight through the RFID gates — which open automatically by reading a ski card (lift ticket) tucked in your jacket pocket. The clean air felt sharp but as soon as we alighted atop the mountain, the chase to keep up with our daughter began, and we warmed up quickly. Mont Saint-Sauveur is an equal-opportunity mountain: Half the 38 runs are easy or intermediate; the rest are difficult or extremely difficult. With a 700-foot vertical, the trails are short and quick. The 142-acre mountain also has a terrain park.
The sky was robins-egg blue. The mountain, not just the runs, was coated with snow. We were racking up blue runs. By noon, we’d done them all.
Satisfied, we called it quits, and drove five minutes to the village of Saint Sauveur for lunch at Creperie et Raclette l’Armorique on Rue Principale, a traditional, darkly-lit pancake house.
Afterward, we ventured along Rue Principale, Saint-Sauveur’s main artery. Up and down the hilly street, we browsed art galleries, home furnishing stores and clothing boutiques, their facades partially obscured by caked-up snow banks. Les Factoreries, an outlet mall with more than 40 shops including Entrepot Nike, Guess Factory, Tommy Hilfiger and Point Zero Enfants, is a stone’s throw on Avenue Guindon. Boulangerie Page on Av. De l’Eglise is a fine pick for bread or brioche. Brulerie des Monts, also on Rue Principale, is good for coffee and dessert.
Ski buffs might enjoy a visit to the Musee du Ski, a small but fascinating trove of early 20-century alpine lore. It’s open Wednesday through Sunday, 11 a.m.-6 p.m., and it’s free.
“It’s one degree,” my husband announced the next morning. “One!”
Nevertheless, we drove 20 minutes southwest through a frozen landscape to Espresso Sports in Sainte-Adele to rent cross-country skis. The shop, which has a small bistro, is situated in an old railway station along the P’tit Train Du Nord, a 125-mile linear park that runs alongside rivers and lakes from Saint-Jerome to Mont-Laurier. The trail north of Ste. Agathe is for snow-mobiling.
Julia and my husband were giggling when I came back from the bathroom. My husband pointed with his eyes at a sign at the equipment counter: “Fart du jour.” Not wanting to be ugly Americans, I sternly said “Stop!” but once we were outside, Google translate told us it meant: “Wax of the Day.”
We then clipped on our skis, which cost $25 per person, per day. We glided along the trail, one behind the other, in the groomed ski grooves. Occasionally we passed a skier who greeted us with a hearty “Bonjour!” and cherry-red cheeks. It took less than 15 minutes to warm up and enjoy the crisp air and blessed tranquility. We skied for a little more than an hour, covering 8 kilometers round-trip. We were washed in sweat when we returned our equipment.
In this winter playground, made known by folk Canadian musicians Kate and Anna McGarrigle (the late Kate Garrigle was Martha and Rufus Wainwright’s mother), you can ice fish, ice climb or ice skate.
On our final day, another frigid one, we took to the dogs — dogsledding, that is. After a brief lesson, Ricky readied himself with reins in hand to steer our sled, while I lay in the sled, shivering under a blanket, feeling like a character in “Northern Exposure.” Julia and a guide stood ready in a sled in front of us.
The guide called out, “En Avant!” and six powerful huskies took off into a winter-white desert. Being the passenger is exhilarating but watching my daughter steering the sled in front was sheer joy. From behind, I could hear my husband having the workout of his life. After our 40-minute trek, we returned to a primitive hut where my husband was given a sugar drink because he looked as though he’d been to a sweat lodge. A 40-minute ride at Martin Le Pecheur in Sainte-Adele costs $100 per person.
As always, our trip was something we talk about for months after we return. As the ski season approaches, we’re already pining for another visit to Saint-Sauveur — even if the mercury barely rises above 10 degrees.
Fahrenheit.