In May, we were able to travel again, with difficulty, but not to Turkey, which has turned âredâ. As the indifferent British summer wore on, the trip kept getting postponed and I fell into a quagmire of discouragement. Booking an alternative didn’t seem like an option, partly because travel rules and traffic lights kept changing and partly because â3Gâ vacations (three generations) are so difficult to achieve and we don’t had no experience.
But maybe, I thought to myself, it wasn’t such a shame. Do young people really want to share their precious weeks off with their parents, even after the pandemic has largely separated them, and could such a vacation one day be a success? It might even separate us. A close friend returned from a trip with her two little ones and their families saying ânever againâ.
The children were of different ages and wanted to do different things; a son-in-law had sulked because there was nowhere to play golf or tennis, grandpa couldn’t stand the clutter or noise and granny – my friend – was completely exhausted from trying to keep everyone happy, not to mention the babysitting.
Our own 3G vacation in Turkey was on hold, but Fergus and Flick badly needed a break before the next baby arrived, due at the end of January. âWe have booked the Peligoni Club in Zakynthos,â they told us, âbecause there is a nursery. You can also come if you want, but we go anyway â.
Recent research has shown that with multigenerational vacations, it is very often the grandparents who fund the trip. This is understandable: their pockets are generally deeper, their hobbies less compromised and their desire for family vacations stronger. Maybe another time we’ll gladly foot the bill, but I think one ingredient in the success of this vacation was that we all participated on an equal footing and no one was beholden or waited. of gratitude, no one the host and no one the guest.
In fact, it was how desperate we were to make up for lost time with Fergus, Flick and Olive that we said yes at Peligoni Club. I had visited in the past and decided it wasn’t for me. Too many middle-class Brits grouped together, too many excited teenagers, too much like Fulham in a heatwave, with float toys on top. But it was high season, and it was low season (end of September) and now the airy, elegant, stone-built beachfront club shaded by pine and olive trees looked like a quiet slice of paradise and relaxing.
Princess Olive loved her stay at the nursery, cuddled and pampered and superbly entertained, and the rest of us had so much to occupy ourselves from basking in the sun with a view of the sea all the way to Kefalonia on sailing , windsurfing, paddle boarding, kayaking and water skiing, as well as tennis, biking, hiking, boat trips, spa treatments or just listening to cool sounds in the relaxing restaurants and bars from the club or by the magnificent swimming pool.