The Alps swiftly take you back to the original meaning of the word 'awesome', as David Clensy discovers when he comes face to face with Mont Blanc

For 20 years after its construction in 1955, the cable car to the Aiguille du Midi was the highest in the world.

At a dizzying 3,842m, with truly spectacular views across the Chamonix valley and to the mountain's mighty neighbour, Mont Blanc (4,810m), you can understand why thousands of people still take the cable car ride each week.

But I have to admit, I wasn't taking the whole thing too seriously as I bought my ticket to the top in the convivial atmosphere of Chamonix at the base of the valley.

Back in the ticket booth, I was too alarmed by the ticket price of 38 euros (about £30) to really think about the potential dangers of ascending one of the highest mountains in Europe. I had no idea just how dramatic my day was about to become.

But then, why would I? I'd been having such a relaxing week, staying with my family in a quaint chalet in the picturesque town of Les Houches, just a few miles to the west of the tourist town.

The accommodation, Le Hameau de Pierre Blanche, is a series of Heidi-style chalets, run by mountain tourism specialists CGH. With its own swimming pool, sauna, steam room, gym and spa, it was easy to unwind amid the spectacular Alpine scenery.

From the terrace of our apartment, Mont Blanc dominated the view – consuming the skyline. For the first few days, it was almost impossible to take your eyes off the great peak (the highest point in Western Europe), crowned with the snowy crags of the surrounding massif. The mountain seemed to be constantly changing its mood with the slightest shift in light, weather or time of day. It was alive, enshrouded at the shoulders by a pair of mighty blue glaciers. Sometimes it felt as if the mountain was watching me more than I was watching it.

Just 200m from the chalet, a tranquil little cable car took visitors up into the foothills of Mont Blanc. This gentle terrain offered our first ascent of the week, not to a world of snow and ice, but to Le Prarion – a high plateau overlooking the valley, dancing and fluttering with all the charm of a scene from the Sound Of Music.

But Mont Blanc was forever watching me. It seemed larger than ever from these high meadows with their gentle tinkle of cow bells and their slumberous summer picnics. By the time I was preparing to make the ascent in the intimidating Aiguille du Midi cable car, Western Europe's highest peak had become a very familiar backdrop.

However, familiarity soon returned to awe as I took to the enormous cable car for the Aiguille du Midi.

I'm far from being a nervous traveller, and cable cars are always one of my greatest pleasures. But trust me, if you're even slightly nervous of heights, you don't want to make this trip. You ascend in two cable cars. The first takes you up to a mid-point at the lip of the valley, where a second cable car is waiting to rush you at dizzying speeds into the higher world of snow and ice.

The cable car was crowded with about 70 day trippers, crammed in shoulder to shoulder, and as it swings dramatically on its cable, the car is soon filled with the genuine screams of the tourists.

The ominous cable car runs all day long, constantly driving this multitude up to the Aiguille du Midi summit. At the top there is a curious complex of buildings, largely dug into ice caves at the very peak of the mountain, and finished off with a rusty pinnacle tower.

It looks like the scene of a villain's lair in a James Bond film. Indeed, some scenes from The World Is Not Enough were filmed on these slopes.

In another twist, author Ian Fleming wrote that the spy's parents were killed in a climbing accident on nearby Aiguilles Rouges.

It is a curious experience to take a cable car to this height – at some point you realise you are climbing beyond the normal cable car territory. As the midsummer snow and ice surrounds the car, you find yourself looking down at climbers hacking their way up through the ice.

Your mind is set to assume they're glorified walkers. But as you look at them with their ice picks and their ropes, it slowly dawns on you that these guys are the real deal. It's only when you actually see climbers at work in these kinds of epic conditions that you realise just how completely insane these people are – dicing with death, just for the craic.

The terrifying image of them ascending the ridge will remain with me for a long time – it's one of those sights that sends an involuntary shudder through your body. It's all the more sinister given that just a few days later, eight climbers were killed by an avalanche here. The victims could well be some of the same guys I watched in awe that day. But it's not a one-off disaster. It was the latest in a deadly season in the Alps. Almost 100 people died this summer in the French, Italian and Swiss peaks, most of them in the Mont Blanc range.

Taking the cable car is a considerably safer option. But I found my time at the peak generally disconcerting. The sheer scale of everything is unexpectedly terrifying. The vision that meets you as you leave the cable car and take to the terraces is awesome in the true sense of the word.

From up here you feel as if you're in space, looking out across the world. But for all the beauty, you know you are straying into inhospitable territory. It is 30°C colder at the peak than it was down in the valley, and we are greeted at the top by being given a delicatessen-style numbered ticket. It is our ticket down. The sheer numbers that have been brought to the peak means you have to take your turn to descend.

We arrive early in the afternoon, and are shocked to discover that the ticket number indicates we won't be able to leave the mountain top until 7.30pm – we will be hanging around in these conditions for more than four hours. It also meant that by the time I was back in Chamonix, some time after 8pm, my hire car would probably be locked in the underground car park where I'd left it – my ticket seemed to say it shut at 7.30pm.

It was at about this time (as I was wondering how much a taxi back to Les Houches was going to set me back) that the altitude suddenly started to strike me. I had experienced the curious effects of low oxygen and altitude on skiing holidays, but at this height it's more pronounced and its effects are really rather surreal.

The first thing you notice is the breathlessness, and the sudden lack of energy. After climbing a single flight of stairs, I was panting as if I'd just run a marathon. My 64-year-old dad was in an even worse state, and eventually opted to sit down ashen-faced and not move for the next four hours. My mum's response to the lack of oxygen was totally different – she became curiously euphoric.

I soon realised the environment was having a strange effect on my brain, too. I found that I was unable to recognise faces in the crowd. Suddenly everyone seemed to look the same. It was impossible to keep track of my family. Given this, I spent much of the next four hours wandering aimlessly. Lots of people were being similarly affected – folk were confused and would walk in to you, unintentionally. Others were just laying prostrate on the floor, fast asleep in the middle of the crowd.

For some strange reason, other people seemed totally unaffected. Amid this surreal scene, there were the proper chisel-jawed climbers, who had clearly taken the more difficult route, but were altogether more used to the altitude, and so were acting quite normally.

But even some of the climbers were laid out and fast asleep on the terrifying span that bridges the gap between the two pinnacles of the mountain. As I crossed the bridge, I peered down at the glacier far below, and gulped nervously.

Taking a step back away from the edge, I looked up and found I was being watched again. Only this time I could recognise the face.

It was the neighbouring Mont Blanc, still looking down at me with an omnipotent gaze, even at this height.