In Fontanella, nestled in the Grosses Walsertal valley, pop-up chalets embrace a ‘leave-no-trace’ ethos, providing skiers with an eco-friendly Alpine retreat
On a steep road in Grosses Walsertal valley, heavy snowfall painted a picture of shattered heavens. Two hours west of Innsbruck, deep in the Alps in midwinter, the view was refreshingly devoid of the usual rows of snow-covered hotels, après-ski bars, and resort chalets typical of previous ski trips.
I had ventured to the hamlet of Fontanella, located between Sonntag and Faschina in Vorarlberg—a place few skiers could locate on a map—to experience a novel holiday concept at Cabinski. This cluster of affordable, sustainable huts opened the previous December. Each of the 10 cabins features two double bunks, an ensuite bathroom, a kitchen, and a minimalist yet stylish Scandinavian design. While this might seem familiar, the unique aspect is that this accommodation is temporary—almost pop-up—and capable of disappearing as quickly as it appeared. It offers a distinct alternative to the typical chalet stay.
Before my trip to Austria, I spoke with Tim Suske, Cabinski’s German co-founder, who explained how their “leave-no-trace” cabins were designed to harmonize with the landscape rather than disrupt it. “We recognized the need for change in Alpine tourism,” he said. “Our goal is not to turn the Alps into a giant theme park. It’s not about going higher, faster, or farther. Our construction allows all cabins to be easily relocated if necessary—we can completely rewild the land afterward.” The cabins in Fontanella are expected to remain in place for a few years, and there are more in Montafon an hour south, with additional projects in development.
My apartment, styled like a shipping container, featured a Sonos system with a playlist of atmospheric tracks (including artists like Sigur Rós, Maribou State, and Arlo Parks) and views from floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased a stunning mountain panorama. Outside, two distinct mountain ranges met: the green flysch belt of the Walserkamm merging with the rugged chutes and crags of the limestone Alps.
Later, I discovered the private wood sauna, a feature in half of the cabins, just a short barefoot stroll through the snow beyond the sliding door. It had a wireless timer to ignite the burner while I was out skiing. The overall impression was one of foresight and expertise, yet also a sense of neighborliness and coziness. Next door, in an old housebarn owned by the farmer leasing the land to Suske and his partner Christopher Eichhorn, two honesty fridges stocked with butter, milk, eggs, cheese, and other local specialties sat among hay bales and cow bells. Breakfast and dinner, paid for via a QR code, were easily sorted.
In Austria, known for its prominent resorts like St. Anton, Ischgl, and Kitzbühel, discovering new, perhaps more authentic winter destinations is always a delight. Grosses Walsertal is one such place. It has been shaped by centuries of immigration, with the Walsers—originally from Valais in southern Switzerland—settling, clearing land, and building farms around 1300. Many of these historic homesteads still stand today, and unlike in many Alpine valleys, they are not mere remnants of the past. The ski areas are simple and low-tech; Sonntag has one gondola and one chairlift, while Faschina has two chairlifts and one T-bar tow.
“The lady at the ticket office remarked, ‘You’ll have the place to yourself today. It may not be what you’re accustomed to, but that’s why we adore it.'”
The following morning began with a blizzard, enveloping everything in white light under a grey sky, with the mountains resembling lithographs. I received news that I was the first person on the chairlift at Faschina, even though it was well past 9am. “You’ll have the place to yourself today,” remarked the lady at the ticket office, surprised by my foreign accent. “It may not be what you’re used to, but that’s why we love it.” This was followed by several hours of skiing in solitude, enjoying the beautiful runs with just me and the mountains.
Respect for the local ecosystem is ingrained in the Walsers’ heritage, as I discovered at the Biosphärenpark Haus in Sonntag, which serves as an archive of the valley’s UNESCO credentials. I later learned that these credentials place the small valley on par with the Galápagos Islands and the vast Serengeti. All three are recognized as biosphere reserves for their ability to balance the relationship between humans and nature, although Grosses Walsertal operates on a smaller scale.
Monika Bischof, the museum’s project assistant, highlighted that the Walsers were early proponents of an eco-friendly lifestyle, emphasizing a sustainable approach that valued both cultural heritage and natural resources. “We discuss issues and find solutions together,” she explained as we toured the exhibits, which included an award-winning working cheese dairy. “Life here is unhurried, and we’re content with that. It’s probably because the population density is so low, with only 17 people per square kilometer. On the slopes, it feels even more sparse.”
Having alcohol and cake for lunch was completely acceptable, without any hint of embarrassment—a characteristic that adds to the charm of the place
As light streaked across Damüls and the weather cleared, I spent the day riding the quad and six-person chairs, always keeping an eye on Damülser Mittagsspitze. This Matterhorn-like mountain, with its understated beauty, gleamed in black and white above the tree line, resembling a giant dorsal fin on a calm sea.
My hunger led me to Elsenalpstube, a terraced mountain refuge that tantalizingly smelled of Germknödel, a dumpling topped with poppy seeds and jam—a perfect excuse to indulge at lunchtime. The self-service restaurant was bustling, and I waited in line alongside Bavarians and Vorarlbergers, many of whom also ordered foaming pints of wheat beer. Having alcohol and cake for lunch was completely acceptable, without any hint of embarrassment—another reason to love the place.
After finishing skiing for the day, I returned my rental gear in Faschina and then headed back to my cabin for a sauna and shower. For dinner, I enjoyed a beer and a no-frills pizza at Dorfstübli in Fontanella, a charmingly old-fashioned local spot near the church where I was the only visitor. This, like the rest of Grosses Walsertal, felt almost surreal. There was no bustling welcome, no après-ski scene, and no extensive menu. You could search throughout the Alps and not find another wood-clad bar quite like it in winter. My overall impression was that this was the most tranquil ski village in Austria, which suited me perfectly.
