The Brecon

The Brecon is billed as a home from home but it is nothing like my home — and praise be to that. My home has Lego bits strewn across the floor, hand-print smears on the windows, dirty cups in the sink, piles of washing in a basket. While my humble abode boasts a park on the doorstep, here at The Brecon I have the Lohner mountains and a pine forest as my backdrop.

This Swiss home — intimate, stylish, with no children underfoot — is also a place where you never have to think about the cost of anything; all food and drinks are included in the price of the room. Compare that to chez moi, where I might serve you a salad and tell you to go easy on the ludicrously expensive olive oil. 

At The Brecon, champagne bottles are popped, cocktails are mixed and tins of cold beer are waiting to be cracked open. It’s a far cry from my place, where you might be offered a glass of wine from a bottle that has been languishing in the fridge for a day or two. In my kitchen, chef-y qualifications are in short supply, but here the food takes centre stage. I’m not sure whose home this place is emulating, but sign me up for a house swap. 

For now I’ve settled for a weekend stay. On arriving at the timber-clad Alpine retreat, the Tigger-ish receptionist offers us the first of many drinks. ‘Anything at all,’ he says as he prepares a glass of champagne, destined for a guest up at the pool. The hotel is only a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Basel airport, but we’ve had an early start and car-hire niggles so some bubbles will do nicely. 

As Mr Smith sorts out the parking — our car can stay right out front for the weekend — I eye up our surroundings. The decor is a combination of wood and pale reds and moss greens. The shelves are heaving with arty books and there are plenty of squishy sofas, deep leather chairs and reading nooks. Wool blankets, rugs and angled lamps complete the look. It has a distinct members’ club feel.

Upstairs, our Forest Cosy room, with its Aesop products in the bathroom and balcony overlooking the heated plunge pool, is perfectly sized for two. The hotel has 22 rooms and, although the place was full of groups of trendy young things and besotted couples on our second night, it never felt crowded.

We're here to catch the tail end of the skiing season. The snow in Adelboden itself has melted away and the Alpine village is almost deserted, but up on the snow-frosted mountains there is opportunity for Mr Smith to slalom and for me to snow-plough. Once we’ve unpacked and had some lemonade from the all-included minibar, we walk to the ski-hire shop towards the centre of town. It’s been five years since I’ve been skiing, but I haven’t forgotten the trickery involved in wrestling your foot into a cramped ski boot. A bit of huffing and puffing later and the shoe finally fits.

Boots ready and sorted with skis, poles and helmets, we amble back through the village. The place is peaceful and has an under-the-radar vibe, quite a shift from January I imagine, when crowds descend for elements of the annual FIS Alpine Ski World Cup. Adelboden lacks the bougie boutiques of more famous and eye-wateringly expensive resorts like St Moritz and Zermatt, but it is all the better for it. 

Back at the hotel, the other guests are enjoying afternoon tea, which is served in the open kitchen. Even if I was microdosing Ozempic, I don’t think I could have resisted the sandwiches slathered with cream cheese and cucumber and studded with smoked salmon. Even more irresistible are the sticky brownies, tart lemon-drizzle cake and scones with clotted cream and jam, all displayed on the sideboard. 

Our treatments in the spa area aren’t until 5pm, so there’s time to squeeze in a quick visit to the heated outdoor pool. We have barely lowered ourselves into the water and activated the Jacuzzi-style bubbles before we’re being offered another drink. The attention from the staff really is immaculate. All sorts of juices, smoothies and herbal tonics are on offer but as it’s cocktail hour, it’s a round of margaritas. Just the one mind, as it would be sacrilegious to sleep through our massages.

Feeling relaxed after a thorough kneading by the masseuses, we do a quick change for dinner and head downstairs, where we mill about with the other guests over pre-dinner cocktails. Dinner is a four-course set menu, paired with wine. One of the highlights is a lemon pasta dish; and I’m also thrilled when the chef shares the recipe for his sublime brown bread.

The next morning we are up early, zipping up ski suits and pulling on thick socks. My salopettes feel a bit too snug but even still I can't hold back at the breakfast table. After fortifying eggs and smoked salmon, we’re feeling energised. On previous ski holidays, getting to the gondola was a bit of a schlep, sometimes requiring a bus or a long trudge through town with skis and poles clattering over a shoulder — but this gondola is a hop, skip and jump away and we soon arrive at the top of a 125-mile network of pistes. 

We spend the morning gliding (in my husband’s case) and sliding (in my case) our way across blue and red runs, before enjoying lunch on the sunny terrace of Aebi restaurant up in the mountains. The bits of green grass peeking through the snow get me thinking about how the cyclists and hikers must revel in these mountains in summer.

We return to the hotel and re-enact the day before: delicious afternoon tea, sauna and steam, followed by cocktails and dinner. As we head off early the next morning, I can’t help but imagine that all the visitors must leave in the same state of mind as me — with a hankering for a permanent house swap.