Club Med Sahoro: Japan's family-friendliest skiing?

If your family loves skiing – we may have just the thing…

Club Med has gone a step further and made Japanese food and tradition intrinsic to a stay at its Club Med Sahoro resort, making it much more than just a ski holiday, finds Dan Down.

Like riding a bike, skiing is best learnt when your main concern in life is your Transformers collection; as a child it becomes hard-wired into your brain.

I’ll never forget ski school: winning a medal in a downhill slalom (every kid got one); taking part in an alphorn blowing competition; hitting a jump and landing it to look back and watch my younger brother nearly kill himself attempting the same (in fact he did get hospitalised once); and of course the muscle memory of skiing.

On arrival at Club Med Sahoro, in the heart of Japan’s snow-shrouded north island of Hokkaido, memories of ski school enable me to stifle my cynical side as I’m ushered through a welcoming tunnel of staff clapping maniacally to a tacky dance tune before being indoctrinated with a blue Club Med wrist band.

I can appreciate this old resort for what it really is: parental heaven. In the expansive lounge and bar area adjoining reception, an inviting space with stone floors and big windows framing a gentle snowfall in the forest beyond, I see mums and dads having a drink or two, still in salopettes, their children somewhere up on Mt Sahoro being supervised by a 55-strong army of ski instructors.

Founded in Mallorca in 1950, Club Med’s ski resorts started appearing in the ’60s. It capitalised on the Mediterranean party culture of the ’90s and garnered a dubious reputation for cheap drinks and raucous all-night sessions. And while elements of the all-inclusive resort atmosphere remain, since 2004 the company has undergone a massive global expansion and an image change to boot.

Club Med for the kids

This time it’s about entertaining children in the evening with a trapeze performance rather than school leavers with sambucca shots. And at Club Med Sahoro Hokkaido, the first to open in Japan celebrating its 30^th anniversary in 2017, it all comes wrapped up in the wonderful food and traditions of Japan’s northern outpost.

As with any ski resort you can’t fight the urge to want to get out onto the slopes as quickly as possible; to hell with unpacking. The equipment pick-up is on the ground floor and in no time I’m pulling on boots and, with skis and poles in hand, awkwardly clomping straight out onto the piste, which seems to be creeping into the resort through the sliding glass doors. It’s late in the season but the snow is in great condition. I ski to the nearest lift and as the chairlift scoops me up the operator promptly bows; his lower back must be excruciating in peak season.

I take a gondola lift to the summit; again a bow as I step out of my carriage. A Shinto shrine honouring the mountain is completely buried by snow up here, perhaps 10 metres deep. The wind howls and you can see the rugged heart of Hokkaido, birch and pine covered hills becoming white-washed mountains. Sahoro isn’t a tall peak, and the resort can’t touch the endless kilometres of piste that, say, the Alps’ Les Trois Vallées can offer, but at an elevation of 1060 metres it’s enough for some good black and red runs, plus plenty of greens for the kids.

The snow is light and fluffy, and while I’ve missed a big dump of powder by a week or so, at times I’m the only one on the run. With no one watching, I tuck myself into a downhill schuss position to recklessly plummet down the mountain as fast as possible. Weaving through birch off-piste I rejoin the run with a jump only to lose control and wipe out in front of a ski school class – the instructor shakes his head disapprovingly and leads his similarly unimpressed group of five-year-olds snaking past.

It transpires that the instructor was none other than Slovenian former Olympic ski jumper, Matjaz Kladnik, who competed at the 1994 Lillehammer Winter Games in Norway. “I finish my career in jumping – it very dangerous, I never try again," is the veiled, cautionary advice in a thick Slovenian accent.

“The snow is best in Japan, it has best powder, and I have skied every continent," he boasts. “Except Australia," I correct him. Matjaz raises an eyebrow.

Not all children have to go up on the mountain to learn – there’s a Snow Garden to break really little ones in before they graduate to the slopes with the Mini Club Med school, for four- to 10-year-olds. Parents can drop children off at 8.30am and pick them up at 5pm, and if you really want to push it there’s a Petit Club Med for two- to three-year olds. Indeed, the benefits of an all-inclusive trip really come to the fore on a ski holiday; you won’t need to worry about lift passes, equipment hire, food and drink or… your kids.

“Ski instructors take care of them from morning into evening with a different program of activities after ski school finishes, something other resorts don’t offer," says chief of village, Jenny Lee. “You don’t have to see your children at all – in fact you’ll be begging your kids to spend some quality time with them."

The Japanese toilet explained

I’ve never been so pleased to see such a small bathroom. It’s Japanese small, a modular unit fashioned from the same piece of sculpted plastic. And the toilet is suitably baffling, with buttons on either side of the seat like the Captain’s chair from Star Trek.

Without going into too much detail, pressing a random button causes me to scream and jump off the seat hitting the bathroom wall with such force that if it were made from traditional rice paper I would have gone crashing through it like a ninja from an ‘80s samurai film.

A huge window stretches across one wall of my suite framing a snow-covered birch forest, and there really are rice paper walls to go crashing through should you feel so inclined, boxing off a corner of the space given over to tatami mats, chabudai (low table) and four zabuton (low floor chairs); somewhere to enjoy tea wearing the artfully folded yukata robe.

Food is taken extremely seriously here, with specialist noodle and sushi chefs brought in to make everything just so. The Hokkaido soba noodles are wholesome, delicious, and handmade by chef Yuji, “Eat them quickly to maintain flavour," he semi-barks at me.

And I can’t help returning to the buffet’s sushi counter where an enormous salmon is being sliced up by chef Tsutomo from Kyoto, who delivers the cuts onto my plate straight from the knife; it melts in my mouth. There’s also sasayuki cheese, a unique Hokkaido variety wrapped in bamboo leaf. “The climate and temperature of Hokkaido mean the quality of the soy and soba is quite amazing," says head chef Sachin. “And the milk here makes perfect, creamy cheeses."

A chest-thumping rendition on taiko drums by a local group sees guests filling out the theatre after dinner, followed by the obligatory Club Med cabaret and circus acts performed by the multi-talented and no doubt exhausted ski instructors; they’re now heroes in the eyes of the children (and parents), who huddle up together watching wide-eyed in front of the stage.

Back in the bar, family members take turns pounding rice at the bottom of a barrel with a thick wooden staff to grind out the sugars and make mochi, the moreish, squashy little sweets. I’m too self-conscious to have a go myself, but one of the GOs (Club Med’s gentle organisers) recognises I want to try it and brings me over a plate.

I’ve opted to visit an onsen in a nearby village late in the evening, a trip offered by the resort. Just one other guest joins me in the minivan as we drive into the pitch-black countryside. The onsen is all I hoped it would be; the only Westerner here I sit naked with a few local men enjoying the hot spring waters in silence.

I imagine they’re salary men re-energising after a long day in the office and as I sit in a natural rock bath outside under the stars, snow forming a cooling cap for my head, I feel like I belong. And I haven’t even finished unpacking.

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Details: Club Med Sahoro, Hokkaido, Japan

Getting there: All Nippon Airways fly from Sydney to Tokyo Haneda with connecting flights to Sapporo Chitose on Hokkaido. Club Med Sahoro Hokkaido is a two-and-a-half hour drive from Sahoro.

Playing there: Packages at Club Med Sahoro Hokkaido start from $2450 per person for seven nights, including all-day dining and drinks, lift pass, group lessons and Kids Club.

After youth-led protests in 2025, this year Nepal elected a 35-year-old former rapper as Prime Minister. In a country where tourism is its biggest industry, what’s next for travellers?

In 1986, Nepal changed its clock. It had used India Standard Time since 1920 so, to differentiate, it wound its clock 15 minutes ahead of, not behind, its big-brother neighbour. Boss move. “Nepal is strongly opposed to the idea that our identity is connected to India,” says Community Homestay Network (CHN) guide Bikal Khanal.

Tharu dance is traditionally set to hand drums. (Credit: Kate Lewis)

Today, Nepal is the only independent country with a 45-minute deviation to universal time; an oddity that’s become a symbol of national pride. The quirk is nearly as endearing as Kathmandu’s Tribhuvan airport where carved varnished wood and shiny red bricks rule. One sign points to a ‘Travelator’ and another to a ‘Grievance Handling Desk’ while visas are noisily stamped at customs for US dollars, cash only. When am I?

Spot the endemic Nepal gray langur. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

The 15 or 45 minute anomaly sees me tap out completely on timezone calculations. Why bend my brain calculating if it’s quarter to or quarter past elsewhere when I’m in the honking here and now of Kathmandu where the air is high-altitude crisp, the prayer flags flutter and the street dogs howl?

How tourism is changing in Nepal

Bardiya National Park is rich with wildlife. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

India is not the only association many Nepalis would like to shake. With eight of the world’s 10 tallest mountains, including Mount Everest and Annapurna, Nepal has long attracted mountaineers and trekkers, and expedition numbers are continuing to rise.

Tourism is one of the country’s biggest sources of foreign currency, so this growth is not negative, per se. But according to Ang Tshering Lama, who co-founded Phaplu Mountain Bike Club, being reduced to a mere trekking destination is limiting.

“Trekking is just one layer of our identity,” says Ang. “When it becomes the dominant narrative, it limits how we’re seen and how we see ourselves.” Nepal’s recent success, however, in diverting trekkers to less-trafficked areas such as Manaslu mofuntain, where visitor numbers rose by 117 per cent last year, offers hope that tourism can diversify even more radically.

Local men in Bhada village. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

The founder of CHN, Shiva Dhakal, wants that change. “The whole idea of the Community Homestay Network is to promote experiences outside of trekking,” he says. “Community tourism changes lives and helps kids stay home instead of coming to the city or migrating to the Middle East.”

Ang grew up seeing people leave, “not because they wanted to but because there weren’t enough opportunities to stay”, he states. Yet from remote villages to living traditions; food, art, music and emerging subcultures, “there’s so much that’s not being seen.”

CHN is opening some of those doors. It doesn’t own, or fund, any homes. Rather, it promotes homestays to travellers on a single, slick platform, while fostering entrepreneurship in places where women, marginalised castes, Indigenous people and the youth stand to benefit the most.

A new generation demanding more

Dalla Town Hall, where volunteers discuss anti-poaching tactics. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)

The future prospects of next-gen Nepalis can no longer be ignored. On a Kathmandu tour with 33-year-old guide Monica K.C, we pass buildings torched in the September 2025 ‘Gen Z protests’, including the Supreme Court and Parliament House. Seventy-two people died. “They were anti-corruption protests,” says Monica. “Politicians’ children are living a lavish life but the airports are crowded with youngsters leaving to find work.”

We stop in ‘little Tibet’ at the wondrous sixth-century Boudha Stupa. “The wheel of life is Buddhism in a nutshell,” says Monica. “Things such as hate, ignorance and anger keep you rotating around the wheel, so you must follow the principles of Buddhism to detach. If you can’t, there’s no nirvana for you.”

Boudha Stupa's prayer wheels — Boudha Stupa’s prayer wheels are used to recite Buddhist prayers. (Credit: Kate Lewis)

In a sun-drenched twist to the usual temple visit, we ascend the stupa’s sloping plinth and roam its whitewashed dome. Tendrils of diaphanous prayer flags stream from a steeple-like structure where the Buddha’s unblinking eyes stare out. No nirvana for you…

bouda stupa prayer flags — Tibetan-style prayer flags embellish the whitewashed dome of Bouda Stupa, a Buddhist temple. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

The dome is delightfully free of guard rails or chiding from security. There is, however, a stern ‘No TikTok’ sign, perhaps in response to the youth’s newly flexed power. The booted-out Prime Minister, K.P. Sharma Oli, was replaced in a resounding election victory in March by 35-year-old Balendra Shah of the Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) – a former rapper and mayor of Kathmandu. The RSP’s manifesto indicates tourism is a priority, and that Nepal’s cultural identity in areas such as gastronomy will be strengthened.

Boudha Stupa vendors — Vibrant souvenir shops and cafes around Boudha Stupa. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

A more confronting stop awaits at Pashupatinath Temple. Today is Bala Chaturdashi, a Hindu festival where thousands of devotees gather to honour their dead ancestors. Vendors hauling foam mattresses do a lucrative trade as people set up for a night of vigil. This includes burning the bodies of recently deceased relatives on bamboo pyres in the Bagmati River, which flows into the sacred Ganges.

A woman at annual Hindu festival Bala Chaturdashi, in Kathmandu. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

Wrapped in a shroud, the bodies are positioned with their heads facing north to the Himalayas where Lord Shiva resides. They’re covered with flowers and straw and set alight by male family members.

Hours later, the ashes are swept into the river where devotees will take a holy dip the next day. As much as Monica assures us it’s not voyeuristic to watch, I struggle to do so. “Here you see the reality of life because everyone ends up there,” she says, gesturing to the river.

Life unfiltered in the Terai region

tharu woman — Tharu woman and master weaver Parbati Chaudhary in Bhada Village. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)

The reality of life needs processing time, which the western Terai region delivers in spades. The Terai is largely separated from India by the Karnali River and Bardiya National Park, where elephants, rhinos and the elusive Bengal tiger roam.

Once a nomadic tribe, the Indigenous Tharu people are now the largest ethnic group here. “They didn’t know their daily life was interesting for international travellers but they’re starting to understand now,” says CHN founder Shiva.

Take a Jeep safari through Bardiya National Park. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)

We fly Buddha Air to Dhangadhi airport and drive five hours to stay in Tharu homes. The journey to Bhada village is a blur of roadside fruit stalls, traffic-stopping sacred cows and fields sown with wheat, rice, mustard, spinach, cauliflower and potatoes. Nepal’s agriculture feeds only Nepal.

Marigolds are an important part of Hindu rituals. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

“The only thing we export is young people,” says our guide Bikal. As the light dims and we plunge evermore rural, mysterious mounds of compacted hay – some house-sized – loom like the creatures from Where The Wild Things Are. Even our trusty driver gets flummoxed by a dirt road that abruptly ends and we find ourselves hurtling across a paddock.

On arrival, some are ferried to mud-walled cottages greened by gourd creepers, with thatched roofs and rustic-chic mosquito nets. Myself and two others are ushered to the home of corner store owner, mechanic and mushroom farmer Man Kumar Chilaruwa and his wife Rajkumari.

community homestay entrance — A warm welcome at a community homestay. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

They escort us to a bunker-esque back building with steel doors and a folding security gate, behind which is gleaming linoleum, dolphin-printed tiles and a shower cavity that must be gingerly stepped through to reach the toilet.

The ceiling lights emit a rainbow of colours (the bathroom light gets stuck in, frankly, a quite frightening red). We’re nevertheless touched that our hosts invested in all this bling when the average salary is around $275 a month.

In the coming days, we participate in Tharu traditions such as making moonshine, dancing, weaving straw handicrafts and gold-panning. We’re fed well with staples of rice, mustard greens, lentil pancakes, daal, curried chicken and tomato chutney served on antibacterial saal leaves.

food at community homestay — Dig in. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

Sonara community homestay president Indradevi Tharu tells us river snails are often served, and the boiled and pickled flesh of rats hunted in the rice fields. “Perhaps next time?” we say and all have a laugh.

The power of community homestays

community homestay owners in Nepal — Barda community homestay owners Parbati Chaudhary and Ram Krishni Devi Chaudhary. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

Immersing Western visitors in foreign cultural practices is not new. But with the Tharu, I never get that uneasy sensation that I’m being performed for. Despite being the only tourists, there’s no ‘othering’; just warm, composed and ultra-dignified welcomes. Like we’ve always been here.

“I love to have travellers in my village so I can see the world,” says local woman Parbati Chaudhary. “Why would I travel the world when the world comes to me?”

The graceful acceptance the Tharu offer, as well as the slow pace, works miracles on my frazzled nervous system. One day I even take a nap on a vacant homestay bed.

Sonara community room — An authentic stay in the Sonara community. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

Roosters strut and goats bray as we sit on the ground in al fresco kitchens, rolling rice flour into cylinders steamed to make dhikri (dumplings). When water is needed, we fetch it using a hand-operated pump as a family of ducks strolls by, side-eying us like curious neighbours.

Animal lovers will delight in Tharu villages. Kind and resourceful inventions are everywhere, such as snacking stations where two posts lean together, with leafy boughs dangling on rope for baby goats to forage from.

CHN’s CEO, Aayusha Prasain, nods knowingly when one in our group says she cried when she left her host, Shayam Chaudhary, in Bhada. Shayam’s 17-year-old son, Prashant, had translated, which deepened the connection.

“Community tourism turns travel into a relationship, not a transaction,” says Aayusha. “It places decision-making power in the hands of local communities, especially women and youth.” Since 2018, CHN has hosted more than 4000 travellers from 52 countries in 408 households, and estimates women’s participation has increased by 381 per cent.

In the Bardiya community, where vexing human-animal conflict has been a balancing act for decades due to elephants raiding crops, long-time homestay operator Salik Ram Chaudhary says young people keep the older ones on their toes.

“We can’t keep homestays stagnant,” he says. “We have to upgrade our service and redefine our product or young people won’t see it as an attractive business. If we can keep evolving with this travelling trend we’re confident the youths will stay and continue it.”

Back in Kathmandu, Monica explains that after the deaths of young protestors in September, a determination had spread to not let their sacrifice be in vain. “We want to keep holding the government accountable,” she says. “We don’t know what situation we’re facing, but we’re ready to face it.”

Interested in Nepal but prefer to experience it in total comfort? Read our guide to luxury travel in Nepal.

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