When people talk of taking a holiday to ‘get away from it all’ it’s easy to forget how much there is to get away from.
This year, however, I’ve been only too glad to cancel the papers, which are full of swine flu and the death of young men in faraway wars, and escape by boarding the Viking flight to Kalamata for our annual family holiday to the Mark Warner resort of San Agostino on the Greek mainland.
For some years now, this has been a family favourite (here’s what Maureen said about her last trip) catering as it does, to all members of our large and untidy party from the youngest to the oldest, from the most adventurous to the positively sedentary. And what we prize, perhaps above all things, is its constancy.
The breathtaking view of the bay and the mountains is the same. The sea, in its predictable habits is the same: glassy in the morning, choppy in the afternoon. Even many of the staff are the same.
So it’s easy to put away all thoughts of recession and mortgage repayments, MPs’ expenses and all the other things that make us anxious or irate back home, and cosy up in the bubble of loveliness that is San Agostino.
Arriving at lunchtime on Saturday, we were met by the usual smiling guard of energetic staff from Mark Warner who, like policemen, seem to get steadily younger year by year.
From the airport, we were transported in convoy to the hotel complex where, can you believe it, we met old friends from last year. It appears ours isn’t the only family to return every summer to this beautiful spot.
That evening, the bar was a hub of reunions. All rather embarrassing really, given that we had their numbers and email addresses last August and never contacted them in all that time… still, worth a cocktail or two in anybody’s book!
Of course, apart from the wonderful food conjured up by hotel stalwart George and his (largely) Polish staff, the other thing guaranteed to remain the same is the glorious weather. For three summers in a row I have spent too long looking down at my feet in wellies wondering what ever happened to the English summer.
I have come to the conclusion that, like everything else in the UK – healthcare, childcare, education – you have to pay for sunshine too.
And here’s where you are assured to get it. It’s been in the high 30s every day; I’ve had a pleasing moustache of sweat above my top lip and I’m a walking advert for skin protection, but heck, I’m loving every drop of sun!
Exercise = extra pudding
This year, in a bid to be ever so slightly more active than usual, I have joined the early morning walkers. Well, I say ‘early morning,’ but it’s actually 8am, the time I’d be arriving for work on any ordinary day back home.
The walk is a gentle affair – about a mile – along the tracks around the hotel, but it’s a great way to get to know some of the other guests and does allow you to eat an extra pudding at dinner time without feeling guilty.
By the time we get back to breakfast, a stretch class has started, but it’s been a long time since I touched my toes and I’m not about to start again now, much to the relief of my eight-year-old granddaughter.
Earlier in the week, as we passed some older gentlemen doing some rather flamboyant press ups, she turned to me and said in a low whisper, “Those men are making fools of themselves, aren’t they?”
So you see, I daren’t go anywhere near the Pilates class.
Instructor in the making
Meanwhile, the rest of the family are burning up the calories in all the usual Mark Warner ways. My daughter has once again gone out in round one of the tennis tournament and on the water, my nine-year-old grandson has achieved his sailing award.
When I asked him why he’d wanted to do the course, he told me it’s so he can ‘be a Mark Warner instructor when I’m older!’. If ever I wanted confirmation that these holidays have an impact, I think that was it.
So, I have a few more days of relaxation to look forward to, punctuated by evening entertainment from the children’s clubs and a few exhilarating games of Scrabble in the bar (agreed the spelling gets more free as the night wears on).
I know all the depressing stuff is still happening out there, but for the moment, I can choose to forget it. Cheers!
Maureen Hill works at Travel Angels in Gillingham, Dorset