Chateau de Menthon: a 1000-year-old fairy tale jewel in the Alps

The last thing I expected, after a chateaux-heavy holiday in the Loire Valley, was to find myself
nosing about another French Castle within 10 days. These, happily, are the occasional circumstances of life when you have extended family on Lake Annecy.

This is an Alpine picture-postcard bit of of France half way down the country's Eastern edge. It's also just over the border from Geneva, meaning that the pastiche of Heidi-style cottages in the tidy villages around the lake are far more likely to be occupied by corporate commuters than old-style farmers living off rich summer pastures. The proximity to Geneva is why our friends live here, and my godson's first communion was the excuse that saw us return to France so soon.

This is, however, a very different part of the country from the Loire. The six-hour motorway drive would have been a gruelling journey before modern transport. The landscape, history and culture are radically different here. Far from Paris and screened by sheltering mountains, the Haut-Savoie maintained its political independence for longer than other parts of what's now France. Everything from food to architecture to history to the flag is "Savoyard" first.

The Chateau de Menthon-Saint-Bernard comes from those misty ages long before a unified France. It sits where a mountain pass that once held a Roman road comes over the Alps and descends towards Lake Annecy, while its position above the lake gives expansive views up and down the whole valley. In short, it's the strongest defensive point in the area, so no surprise there's been a castle here continuously since the first half of the 10th century. What is surprising, however, is that the same family has been here for more than 1000 years. No slackers, the De Menthons include a founding member of the French Resistance who sat as a judge at the Nuremberg Trials, the ambassador to France when Savoy was independent and a Catholic saint famous for looking after mountain travellers and giving his name to an enormous, shaggy breed of dog. Fortunately, they also produced a 19th century count who was a passionate disciple of the French neo-Medievalist Viollet-le-Duc. We can thank that count for restoring and enhancing the castle to its current, spectacularly romantic form.

Because it's still privately owned, and not well known, the Chateau has very limited opening hours.Visits are by guided tour in the summer months, which is the only time the family even attempts to live here. While the 19th century modernisation did introduce some electricity, some of the bedrooms never get above 8C/46F in the winter even with roaring fires, tapestries and electric heaters. It was still warmer outside than in on this rainy, mid-May Friday.

It is well worth making the effort if you're in the area. The place has the fairy tale charm of Ludwig's Bavarian castles but with the intimate, family touch you'll find at Germany's Berg Eltz. (In fact, the two castles are quite similar, and had I approached Eltz with the blank slate I did Menthon, I probably would have been equally charmed.) The original cluster of towers has been repeatedly altered over the centuries, most dramatically when the 19th century count expanded into the courtyard. It's now a tiny space ... more a light well than a courtyard ... overhung with half timbered arcades and fanciful gargoyles while, on a rainy day, water cascades from the roofs into a pool on one side. On the other, you'll find a Romanesque revival chapel dedicated to Saint Bernard with some spectacular mosaics and a dramatic early-medieval crucifix that goes back to the castle's early days.

The most unique room here is the kitchen, carved out of that old courtyard, overhung and overlooked by galleries from rooms above and sharing the light well feeling of the external court beside it. There's a miniature railway carved into the living rock to send hot food to the tower with the family dining room. If you were magically transported here without context, you'd assume it was a Disney film set before you'd every guess it was a real interior.

Snaking up snug spiral staircases you'll find a series of noble apartments, though few are much bigger
in footprint than rooms in a large American family home. The library has a surprisingly impressive collection that came with one countess as her dowry, though the main thing to see here is a fireplace hood carved with the story of St. Bernard. (He started his career running away from an arranged marriage by throwing himself out a window. After an angel caught him to prevent his suicide, he dedicated his life to God and travellers in distress.)

The main drawing room is wonderfully gracious, with spectacular windows looking out over a view of lakes and mountains so magnificent you almost fail to notice the antiques, portraits, objets d'art and magnificent fireplace hood. Lovely as this room is, the ladies of the house evidently preferred a tiny, almost windowless room above the kitchen. It is, evidently, the only place in the castle that you can keep really warm. The countess's bedroom is another beauty, so heavily draped in tapestries you feel like you're in a tent. Back downstairs in the family dining room, the decor is much simpler until you notice the renaissance madonna a previous count brought home from a trip to Florence. She's magnificent.

The tour takes just under an hour. In high summer, they're conducted by costumed actors. Just remember ... no matter how hot it is outside ... to bring another layer. No matter how many magnificent tapestries you drape on walls, you can never really get the chill of 1000 years out of a place.