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What do Madonna and Valentino have in common? They spend the holidays at the same exclusive Alpine town, which over nine days in December swells from 7, to 30, people. Every year, Maurice Amon, the billionaire head of the banknote security firm Sipca, holds a massive Christmas party in Gstaad, Switzerland: bowls of cigarettes, bottomless champagne, table after table covered in colourful salads, smoked salmon and meat skewers, all perfectly untouched. It is not possible to understand Gstaad until you have spent a Christmas season there. The mountain air loses its typical crispness, robbed by the social angst that comes with keeping up with the uber-wealthy. The town is a sleepy mountain resort for 11 and a half months of the year. Outside of agriculture, the primary excitement comes from the single cinema. The monthly magazine, GstaadLife , features reports on stand-up paddleboarding and the vandalism of sawn down birch trees. Out go the knitting circles, in come the red carpets and last-minute film premieres — in Harvey Weinstein hosted a private screening of Big Eyes at the Alpina. Until Gstaad was primarily known as the next best thing to St Moritz. Though lacking the nightlife and Olympic pedigree of its rival to the east, Gstaad has one thing St Moritz does not: Le Rosey. Gradually, Gstaad began to be known as the most exclusive of the Alpine towns, and the rich and famous began coming here for their festive holidays. Richard Burton, Liz Taylor, Brigitte Bardot and Roger Moore all helped turn Gstaad into something unique: a resort built almost exclusively around staging Christmas for the beautiful people. Owned and run by the Scherz hotelier dynasty, it is hailed as the only option for jet-setters who lack the privilege of owning their own chalet. It is fully booked each season, with reservations coming in as early as three years in advance. Situated atop the town, it is a stone castle overlooking quiet streets below. The Palace leads down to the town promenade, a pedestrian area lined with Louis Vuitton, Hermes and Trois Pommes boutiques. At the end is the Hotel Olden, a celebrity haunt from the s, whose traditional facade makes it look more like an old-fashioned Swiss restaurant than a hotel. The station brings in the small army of workers who must spring into life to cater to the festive season guests. Many of them are drivers: the number of cars on the road during Christmas jumps from the usual or so to more than 3, For the family-run Taxi Simon, the Christmas season is a time of no sleep. And even that is often not enough. We have partnerships with other limousine service companies from different cities in Switzerland to bring in extra Mercedes Vianos and cars to accommodate our guests. At the Palace, the staff are expected to maintain the mystery of their guests while silently catering to their needs. Hotel staff typically work 13 or 14 hour days. To service guest rooms, the hotel has more than staff rooms — the team swells from 50 to in December, all there to play their part in the production of making Christmas, well, the most wonderful time of the year. For some, at least. The staff themselves are kept strictly away from the guests. Mingling between guests and staff is not permitted on hotel property, and alcohol is strictly forbidden during work hours. The rule is broken for Christmas Eve, when staff get a meal of steak frites with wine instead of the usual water. It is so good, one year Bono even joined the band. The extra capacity requires extra voltage. There are now back-up generators hauled out of storage for the winter season. Lucia, director of operations at the Palace, describes the romance of the loss of electricity — candle-lit dinners — but says the workers in the resort had to resort to hand-written receipts, and worked double time to catch up in the early days of The students and graduates of Le Rosey stand on a middle ground between the famous VIPs and the working residents of Gstaad. For them, the town is a second home. I may see Madonna at a party but I would never go up to her. Come 3 January, there is a complete switchover. The western jet-setters depart on their private planes from Gstaad-Saanen airport, and the Russian oligarchs arrive for their own Christmas celebrations: 7 January on the Orthodox calendar. Eventually the Russians too depart, the 17,strong army of temporary workers heads home, and GstaadLife resumes features on the latest wave of vandalism: severed Christmas lights. Follow Guardian Cities on Twitter and Facebook to join the discussion. Photograph: Alamy. This article is more than 8 years old. View image in fullscreen. Read more. Reuse this content. Comments … Sign in or create your Guardian account to join the discussion. Most viewed.

Episode 33: Drug Dealers in Ski Resorts, Mogul Technique, French Pyrénées & Skiing at 220 km/h

Gstaad buy cocaine

Homes and Property Home Page. The Kensington dinner parties of Baroness Michelle Lutken de Massy were famed for the 'house speciality' dessert: enormous servings of cocaine. And as the recent inquest into the year-old, London-based socialite's death revealed, cocaine wasn't the only drug on the menu. The former model's body was found lying on the floor of her luxury Kensington flat next to a bloodied heroin syringe. De Massy was just another of the jet-set junkies who seem to have adopted London as their home. Our capital, it seems, has become the fashionable new Happy Valley of Europe, like Kenya in the s when a crowd of badly behaved, well-connected Europeans settled in Africa and indulged themselves in drugs, drink and adultery, culminating in the famous Jock Delves Broughton murder case, as featured in the film White Mischief. De Massy, a former member of the Monaco royal family - she was married to Prince Rainier's nephew, Baron Christian de Massy - never recovered from the death, in , of her former lover, Constantine Niarchos. The year-old playboy, known as 'Another line' Niarchos, was the son of the Greek shipping tycoon Stavros. De Massy had discovered Niarchos's body sprawled on the thick Zoffany carpet of his Grosvenor Square flat in Mayfair with eyes glazed and blood spurting from his nose. He had reportedly taken enough cocaine to kill 25 men. Like Michelle de Massy - who would usually wear a solid gold straw necklace to feed her coke habit - she had chosen to live in London after spending much of her life jetting between New York and Europe, modelling clothes for top fashion designers, clubbing at Tramp and lunching at The Ivy and San Lorenzo. Rich, self-indulgent, upper-class European tax fugitives almost all have 'non-domicile' tax status , heiresses, dubious playboy bankers, shadowy restaurant owners, former models and party hangers-on are all intoxicated by the temptations of London's swinging Euro Mischief scene. Their extraordinary behaviour can make our homegrown louche toffs seem quite tame. Prince Ludwig Rudolph of Hanover, for example, the younger brother of the fiery-tempered Prince Ernst - now married to Princess Caroline of Monaco - lived in London until he killed himself some years ago with his hunting rifle after he discovered his wife dead from a cocaine overdose. And a leading member of the upper-class Danish jet set told me that when they run out of cocaine at a dinner party - usually at about 3am - the form is to ring round their sleeping friends until somebody is found who will get out of bed, put a couple of grams in an envelope and send it over in an empty black London cab, telling the driver it is an important 'business letter'. Another revealed how her cocaine dealer actually lives in Chelsea. He does his local rounds at about 7pm. But it is our rich Greek visitors who are usually the worst behaved. They have a particular talent for being unable to cope with an appetite for hard drugs. When a Londonbased member of one of the wealthy shipping dynasties develops a serious drug problem, the disgraced individual is usually shipped off quietly from the squalor of their expensive family trustacquired Notting Hill flat to a clinic such as the Meadows in Arizona. De Massy's most recent rehab visit - she had been to 13 of them - was the Princess Grace hospital in Monaco. London is not admired for its Zagat choice of fashionable addiction treatment centres. Both de Massy and Princess Leila had expensive stints at the Priory Clinic at Roehampton, famous for its celebrity and wastrel toff clients. The princess refused to check into the Florence Nightingale Hospital in London because she claimed that its facilities weren't up to the hotel standards she was used to. One impeccably behaved Anglophile, Matthew Mellon, scion of the great East Coast American banking family, and married to Tamara Yeardye, CEO of Jimmy Choo shoes, says that the city's attraction for the fast-set with self-destructive tendencies is that it still respects class structures. Also freely available here is the other commodity so craved by the Euro set: Instant Status Gratification. Their VIP 'lifestyle-organising' company gives instant 'access' to London's most exclusive bars, restaurant tables, clubs and, importantly, detox spas and gyms. Most of the restaurants and clubs of London are now propped up by this crowd. Del Bono, meanwhile, used to hang out in Oxford with a junior member of the Agnelli dynasty. Anything you do is reported on. The amount of discretion here, enabling you to do exactly what you want, is very tempting for them. New York is no good because nobody will take you seriously if you don't have a proper job. LA is out because you can only pretend to be a 'producer' for so long, and besides, there are almost no nightclubs. Paris - like Rome - is too provincial. And whereas the old-style jet set would fly out for dinner at the Dracula Club in St Moritz, or to the Palace Hotel in Gstaad at weekends to see friends because they didn't know that many people in London, this new breed increasingly stays put and parties in packs. Drugs are so freely available they don't need to leave Chelsea, let alone Britain, to get the quality and quantity they require. At one fashionable Chelsea restaurant, I recently witnessed packets of cocaine being happily supplied to the table by the ma'tre d'. The truth is often more lonely and sad. De Massy would travel around London well, between Kensington and Knightsbridge on the top of the Number 10 bus, often staring out of the window like a zombie. Although she would occasionally go out with a group of friends to a restaurant such as Nobu or Daphne's, she was more likely to be found at 3pm propping up the bar at the rather less fashionable chain restaurant, Palms, off Kensington High Street, with a cigarette in hand and gargling vodka with anybody who would listen. And while it is true that she and her husband were given a gram of pure cocaine, wrapped in silver paper, as a wedding present from one thoughtful guest, her days as an international cocaine hostess were long over. He had been helping her out with an allowance ever since. Shortly before her death, he had suggested that she needed to start providing for herself, and it was as a result of this that she began to rely more heavily on hardcore drugs. No cash in your last-season Fendi handbag is something a jet-set junkie just can't face. Create a FREE account to continue reading. Join our community where you can: comment on stories; sign up to newsletters; enter competitions and access content on our app. Must be at least 6 characters, include an upper and lower case character and a number. Already have an account? By clicking Create Account you confirm that your data has been entered correctly and you have read and agree to our Terms of use , Cookie policy and Privacy policy. Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged in. William Cash 12 April I would like to be emailed about offers, events and updates from Evening Standard. Read our privacy notice. Thank you for registering Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged in. Kensington And Chelsea.

Gstaad buy cocaine