Le Fairmont Tremblant est un hôtel de luxe situé au pied de la montagne Mont-Tremblant, offrant un accès direct au village piétonnier et aux activités principales. Il propose 312 chambres et suites, dont certaines avec vue sur la montagne ou le village. L’hôtel dispose de piscines intérieures et extérieures chauffées, de bains à remous, d’un spa complet, d’un centre de remise en forme et de plusieurs restaurants.

It began with Fairmont Gold at the Château Laurier hotel in Ottawa and then the Royal York hotel in Toronto. Upon crossing the international border we shifted to The Jefferson in Richmond, Virginia, the Waldorf-Astoria, The Plaza and the Carlyle in New York City.

But today – exhausted by the hype – and before becoming increasingly anxious from the already heightened traffic and mounting congestion, we did what we now know best; that is, we took a glance but merely glazed the surface, then settled for the ordinary. No longer are we content to live vicariously. We parked right out front!

We’d actually been there years before, a faded stop from long, long ago en route to the perpendicular climb upon Chemin du Mont du Daim to visit dear friends who themselves have since dissolved from their once heady atmosphere overlooking Mont Tremblant and its spectacularly lower aeronautical acrobatics to the exotic lowlands beside a golf course in Wellington, New Zealand.

There is no question that, given the capital of youth and its functional frivolity – perhaps as well an appetite for specialized gastronomy and a lubricating martini – the allure to structured indulgences is quite another tale. But a chocolate croissant in hand far surpasses the superfluity of imagination!

Deprivation is a tempting exactitude. But fulfillment soon replenishes one’s coarser intellect, the yet grander dialogue enhanced not by pressured need but restrained resolve. Into the murky closet of memories filters the persuasion of this morning’s bounty, the touchable ingredients of the present and the proximate.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …

It was but a moment’s decision to retreat from the ponderous hints of the past, the avenues of time now gone, the corrupted confusion of renovations and alterations. On a distant mountaintop we saw a magnificent home overlooking the valley below – the work no doubt of a lifetime labour, the reward of heaven on earth. But how do they get there? Where is the road leading there? Are these inalterable fictions?