PUBLISHED IN DEPARTURES

Andrea Scherz is the third generation of his family to run the property, which they have owned for 76 of the 110 years it's been in operation. The hotel is open for two seasons: winter is the big one, though in recent years, summer has become busier and busier, as guests prefer the temperate mountain climate to the sweltering heat of Mediterranean beach destinations. Between these seasons, the hotel closes for maintenance, necessary to maintain its impeccable standards.

As a boy, Scherz would invite friends to race bicycles through its deserted halls in the off-season. I didn't ask if he lets his own children do the same, though I wouldn't be surprised to hear he did. While the hotel, naturally, highlights its glamorous history — the 1950s saw residencies from performers including Louis Armstrong and Marlene Dietrich, and in the 60s and '70s, Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, and Grace Kelly were visitors — Gstaad Palace is quick to reiterate that a family is at the core of its business. Behind the front desk, a staircase leading up to Scherz's office is lined with framed family photographs. But at the Palace, guests are family too.

Many who stay are regulars, returning year after year, generation after generation. During my trip, I saw several grandmothers traveling alone with their young grandchildren, a proposition no doubt made more enjoyable by the hotel's robust children's programming, spanning swimming, games in the playroom, and exploration of the property's generous grounds. My daughter visited the kids' club every day and rushed back after dinner for movie night.

Between the numerous culinary offerings — four restaurants in the building, and one more in a nearby Alpine hut — two bars, clay tennis courts, an Olympic-sized swimming pool, a nearly 6,000 square-foot indoor and outdoor spa, and even a nightclub, there is really no reason to leave the property. But I get antsy, and those storybook mountains were calling, so we ventured out. Gstaad is ringed with ski lifts, one of which we took up 6,000 feet. At the top was a lodge with a wooden playground and petting zoo, which my daughter eagerly climbed into, feeding the goats small yellow flowers. Up that high, the wind was light and paragliders drifted slowly above us. The towns were so far below that they were silent; all we heard was the steady tinkling of bells the goats and ponies wore around their necks.

We walked down the mountain, ambitious because we hadn't planned to and didn't have proper footwear. The 6-year-old was a trooper, using a walking stick made from a pine bough, fresh with sap. It took two hours, and by the time we arrived at the bottom, we gratefully folded our wobbly legs into the car the Palace sent (guests can call for a pickup anywhere in town) and headed to the spa.

After the spa, we dressed for dinner at my favorite spot in the entire hotel, La Grande Terrasse. Service was an incredible ballet — I could not so much as place a napkin down without finding it folded beautifully next to me. It also offered great people-watching, with a bustling rotation of hotel guests, locals, and tourists staying in nearby chalets. But the main event remained the setting. From the table, we had a 180-degree view of the property with the town below, encircled by the towering mountains, green with summer grass and dotted with flowers. Behind us rose the turreted facade of the Palace — a hotel that truly befits its name.