A PARENT’S PARADISE
Families come first at this buzzy and beautiful resort in Cyprus — so let your children off the leash
Smash! went the plates. Waah! went the cries. sorry, said the mothers, bleary of eyes. splat! went the porridge. Whoosh! went the fruit. ‘Can I help with that?’ smiled the man in the suit. Breakfast at Cyprus’s almyra hotel in peak school holiday season. mini Boden does slapstick. Not that the staff of this chic property set on the Paphos coastline were remotely fazed by the quantity and volatility of some of their youngest guests.
They may have juggled more infants than an over-stretched maternity ward but every demand was met with warmth and grace.
For while this boutique hotel has all the trappings of a lovers’ hideaway — sleek spa with adults-only infinity pool, a smattering of double daybeds artfully arranged around a slate-lined pool, a grown-up Japanese fusion restaurant in a romantic setting — come the school holidays and all sophistication goes out the panoramic window.
Yet, unlike larger family resorts whose sprawling geographies demand orienteering skills worthy of a Duke of Edinburgh award, the almyra’s compact grounds (it has only 189 rooms) not only give children a heady taste of independence but enable parents to turn the anxiety dial down a notch.
so after a hearty yet healthy breakfast that ranged from a full English to plates of figs, we ambled all of twenty yards to the heated, outdoor pool from which we seldom strayed.
When the novelty of water guns had passed, our children — Rose, 10, Evie, eight, and Felix, four — explored unsupervised.
FoR the youngest two, who soon gathered a gang of like-minded adventurers, this meant looking for geckos on the herb-lined paths, a spot of table tennis or trips to the small but wellequipped playground. For the eldest, the thrill of sole possession of the room key and the freedom to make as many outfit changes as she liked seemed to be the big draw.
For my husband and me, the daily highlight was lunch. The popular ouzeri was a place to savour, not least because it was all of 15 steps from the pool.
Reserve sofa three if you can. From this shady spot overlooking the mediterranean, the crisp, unfussy salads, fresh fish and succulent kebabs were a slice of olympian heaven — even when accompanied by the acoustic anomaly of monty Python’s always Look on The Bright side of Life, sung each day in Greek.
It was a few days before we made our only excursion into Paphos, shamefully propelled less by the prospect of ancient artefacts as by the rumour of fiendishly good ice cream at the waterfront Pagotomania store.
For a city so rich in classical treasures, it is strange and more than a little sad that the town planners of Paphos do not do more to celebrate and safeguard their priceless heritage. You’ll have to pick your way around the back of Debenhams to find the pillar where st Paul was whipped, while classicists should avert their gaze from ‘Eat all you like pizza for 6.95 euros!’ signs before arriving at the archaeological zone to see some of the most exquisite mosaics in Cyprus.
Back at the almyra, the only dilemma was how to make the delicious evening buffet last longer than 15 minutes. True to form, our children piled high their plates and were tucking in with alarming speed before my husband had ordered the wine.
supper was saved by 20 similarly speedy young diners who joined our brood for an evening of hide and seek on the adjoining lawn — and the evening stretched to the Bacchanalian hour of 8.30pm.
It was time for the delights of the almyra to be enjoyed in peace by those who had come without children, those whose week of bliss had been snatched from their grasp. as I heard one elderly couple mutter: ‘I thought they’d gone back to school by now.’