The last run of the day is often a scrum as everyone hurtles down the same slope in pursuit of an après-ski beer. As the afternoon light faded, I was cruising from the 3,000-metre Col de Thorens down an empty piste, wondering where everyone else was. Val Thorens, probably, or Les Menuires or Méribel. But here in little Orelle, on the fringe of France’s Trois Vallées, you wouldn’t know you were in the largest ski domain in the world.
