James Helmand his family flew to northeast Corsica for an all-inclusive activity holiday that catered equally well for adults and young children
FOR SOME the main aim of a holiday is to laze about and to do as little as possible. To sprawl on a sunlounger, maybe glance at a paperback, keep a cold drink close by and have the odd dip in the pool, but not much more. It has its place and is to be respected, but it's not for me. And with young children in tow, it is virtually impossible anyway.
So the idea of a week's activity on land and sea, with good meals, good company and clubs in which the children would have endless fun, all in a perfect climate, appealed enormously.
We had heard from friends about the Mark Warner experience, an all-in package with sports galore and lots for the children to do. Intrigued, we headed to Corsica and the warm waters of the Med, keen to relax by flinging ourselves into the activities on offer.
I say "we". My wife needed convincing, but when I explained that the exercise was optional, not strictly enforced and taking place early in the morning, she was more enthusiastic.
So, in the space of a few days, I sailed, windsurfed, paddled a kayak, pedalled a mountain bike, played beach volleyball, football and tennis, and went swimming. And if that sounds like an episode of the 1970s sports show Superstars, then I also had a massage, finished a book and engaged in plenty of Olympic-standard eating.
What I liked even better than the activities to throw myself into was the camaraderie of the group, made up mainly of families with young children. By the end of the week friendships had blossomed and dinner tables were being shared.
Some of the people we met, and friends at home, had tried Club Med, a francophone competitor, with mixed results. One friend said that as his five-year-old spoke no French, he had felt left out at the children's club.
Our resort, and Hotel San Lucianu, where we stayed, is a little piece of Britain or Ireland transplanted to the northeast coast of Corsica.
That may not appeal to everyone, but the formula works for the guests. What struck me was the number of people who were returning for their second, third, even 10th year.
By chance, Tony and Aoife, friends of ours from Dublin, were back with their three children for a second year. They pointed out that, unlike last time, the wine had to be paid for this year. We all blamed the credit crunch. The meals and the activities (except waterskiing and all the spa's offerings) were included, but drinks at the bar and extras, such as ice creams, went on the bill.
Our three youngsters, aged six, four and one, loved the whole experience. The two elder ones enrolled in "club" and quickly made friends. They tried new things with great gusto, and we were constantly being passed by lines of smiling children heading for their next activity. Every morning our three were keen to run off and join in again, and every night they slept well.
It's quite a sight to see your four-year-old receiving a windsurfing lesson, standing up on the board. His elder brother headed out on the water with his pals and a sailing instructor. Parents sign them in to the clubs and sign them out again. Safety seemed to be the priority, and the supervision and monitoring were an impressive-looking operation.
The oldest group of children, in their late teens, were called the indies, and they were having a great time. They ate meals together around a big table and hung out together, and when we collected our bags from the carousel at Gatwick before heading for Dublin, we saw them in a group huddle, saying fond farewells.
A hefty chunk of the holiday's cost, and a key ingredient of the company's recipe, is quality childcare, designed to allow Mum and Dad to go off and relax, to develop conversations beyond "Have you got the children's suntan lotion?" or "Where's his spare T-shirt?" The children's clubs also offer a drop-off service in the evenings, with activities and films, and my wife and I managed to enjoy peaceful meals under the stars. But we still saw plenty of our little ones, and their meals were outdoor family affairs.
There was plenty of grass on which to kick a ball around, and places to roam with new pals. They weren't dragooned around to tight schedules, as this was their holiday, too. Their week culminated in a show, with their parents gathered to watch the groups sing and dance.
As is pretty standard for me, an attempt at the intrepid resulted in injury. This time it was on a rough downhill stretch on a mountain bike. The bike went down but I went up, then quickly down again. I landed in some rocks and a thorn bush, bruising my knee and my pride.
It didn't detract from the biking experience. We watched a red kite circling above us, and Jack, the cheerful guide, described seeing a golden eagle at close quarters the previous week.
There were vineyards and olive groves and thick woodland on either side of us, with trees half-naked where the cork had been stripped from them. After a steep climb had got our blood pumping we stopped to gaze down at the sweeping views below us, across a green rural landscape to the blue sea beyond. It was worth the effort.
My waterborne experiences were mixed. The week confirmed that I don't possess sea legs. On our introductory sailing lesson the wind quickly whipped up, and we ran aground, almost taking out a few startled swimmers in the process. A kind Frenchman helped drag us off the sand and out to sea again, but we quickly capsized. Our return was ignominious, towed homewards by an instructor's motorboat.
My wife won plaudits for her windsurfing. Between lessons she fitted in some spa treatments and a couple of aqua-aerobics sessions. For the first time in years we even managed to hit some tennis balls together before the heat got to us.
At 5pm, as the temperature dropped a little, a group of male guests and staff gathered for a game of beach volleyball that became increasingly competitive as the week wore on.
This was our first resort-based holiday. I had expected that cabin fever would set in after a few days surrounded by fellow holidaymakers. Yet the time whizzed by, and life got so relaxed that it was a wrench to head out beyond the gates.
We did venture out, however, determined to see something of Corsica's wild and rugged charms. We stumbled along beside the sea in the traffic in our little hire car, travelling slowly northwards, blissfully oblivious to the fact that we had chosen the start of a holiday weekend to set off.
We were heading for the big town of Bastia. Along the way we took a detour to explore some of the winding roads that led into the mountains, through pretty, sleepy villages perched on ridge tops.
All I knew of Bastia was that it used to have a handy soccer team, and it didn't have much to do or photograph. Its narrow streets were not devoid of charm, though, and we enjoyed a cracking lunch at Brasserie Colomba, down in the old harbour.
Back at the resort the food was good and plentiful, if not high-end gourmet. The main restaurant had no shortage of baby chairs - and this was one restaurant where there was no tut-tutting if the children made noise.
The accommodation was fine. Mark Warner holidays are about things other than luxury: a comfortable time with stacks of activities and lots of childcare. The staff was great, especially Jack, the mountain-bike leader, who chuckled when I was catapulted over the handlebars, and the cheerful chef, Rich.
By the end of the week even my appetite for outdoor activities was flagging, and I found some shade by the pool for a while and read the newspaper. Our first resort-based, all-in, all-singing, all-dancing holiday package had won the family's full approval. Next time I might take things a bit steadier.
What the resort offers
Hotel San Lucianu is on the northeast coast of Corsica, near the little town of Moriani-Plage, less than an hour's drive south of Bastia and about half an hour from the airport.
The resort has sailing equipment and offers RYA-recognised courses.
Its children's and indie clubs are for youngsters aged from four months up to 17 years.
Corsica has beaches along nearly 1,000km of coast, plus fascinating old ports such as Bonifacio, the holiday hub of Porto Vecchio, Ajaccio and the swish town of Calvi.
Go there
James Helm was a guest of Mark Warner. In July next year a week at San Lucianu will cost about €3,650, at current exchange rates, for a family of four, including return flights from London Gatwick, transfers and full board, plus sailing, windsurfing tennis, aerobics and childcare for over-twos. Childcare for under-twos is €191 for six half-days.