It’s a family affair
A tempting mix of circus tricks, tennis and Turkish treats awaits at this action-packed resort
Honestly, I’d given up on the idea of going abroad. Well, I was recovering from cancer, so earnings hadn’t been great, and our usual thrifty selfcatering didn’t seem enough of a break (like home, only worse mattresses and more chores).
But the family mutinied. ‘We deserve it,’ cried husband, daughter and son (and I paraphrase) ‘after two years huffing up the down escalator of life.’ so I Googled two words: Mark Warner. then came four more: last. Minute. Deal. turkey. And it was the best decision I’ve made since heading to the GP with a mystery lump.
Confession time. In the past I had dismissed Mark Warner. It’s famed for sporty family holidays — think the holy trinity of sailing, skiing and cycling. then throw in tennis, windsurfing, kayaking, epic childcare . . .
Whereas to me, my husband and daughter saskia (11 going on 21), horizontal is an active verb. yet our nine-year-old, Raffy, is a Duracell bunny (and quite possibly a changeling). so I booked. then immediately came visions of being trapped in a sort of posh Pontins, among those Boden-clad types who bother the surf in pricey north Cornwall. Prejudiced? Definitely. But I was ready to hack that chip off my shoulder.
Because family spirit is baked into Mark Warner’s DnA, ever since 1974, when group chief exec Mark Chitty (then aged 20) used a bung from his mum to hire a swiss chalet — bagging himself a free ski season.
our hotel, at the Mark Warner Phokaia Beach Resort, was on turkey’s lacy Aegean coast, gazing west over a placid bay to the Greek island of lesbos.
on the first evening, delightful resort manager leah oldroyd, aka the yorkshire terrier, outlined the many options — but stressed there was no need to do a thing. that was a good start.
Watching a magnificent sunset gild the sea, it dawned on me that this could be the swiss army knife of holidays, custom-fitted to all.
Raffy convinced us to sign up for tennis. And, secretly, I booked him and saskia into the kids’ club (having mentioned it aloud earlier to howls of ‘never!’).
luckily, the sports and childcare staff, who strode about smiling in red t-shirts, were savvy students and often superb athletes, too. After a little persuasion from these Pied Pipers, our children were away.
We especially loved our tennis coach, Koray. And oddly, after months of exhaustion, I found myself exercising more than ever — in 30-degree heat, no less.
It helped that the resort was small, everything a lazy trot away through lush gardens. the breezy outdoor yoga area under a thatched roof lured me and saskia repeatedly.
We even got the other two to a class with an ex-circus performer. this entailed dangling from slings. ‘Why travel 2,000 miles to hang upside down?’ asked my husband. Raffy dubbed it ‘flying yoga under the witch’s hat’.
At night, we danced like loons in the beach bar, seduced by a priceless turkish entertainment team. Marvels ranged from can-can dancers to ladies in catsuits with silver dog’s heads, led by perhaps the most versatile fireeating-dancing-comic in showbiz.
Admittedly, our family room, though immaculate, was smallish. But with plentiful loungers by the pool and palm-shaded cabanas by the shore, why skulk indoors?
no need to compete with dawnrising teutons to nab a perch, either. In fact, the only voices we heard were Brits or turks.
Curiously, turkish guests had a parallel hotel experience, with separate children’s provision and no Mark Warner touches such as free bicycles. Both halves of the resort came together for gobsmacking buffet meals, though.
While the turks are brave, none is fool enough to serve affluent turkish grannies drab veg. Vegans were happy, too. Amid such delights, it was hard to climb on bikes and leave this hallowed area. especially as we passed the naval commandos’ HQ with its towering, scary statue. But Foca, a small seaside town with a big history, was too good to miss. We fell for its pretty painted houses and stern ottoman castle by the harbour.
Holidaymakers paddled by a barely-there beach and boats bobbed about, draped in antique carpets and fishing nets.
FRAGMents of ancient buildings served as benches for weary shoppers and stray cats and dogs, which kindly locals fed and patted like communal pets.
If turkey isn’t your dream destination, think again. you might not care for President erdogan — but the flipside is that this translates into astonishing bargains. think 30p cones of home-made ice cream, £2 taxi rides, £1.50 for a bottle of beer.
And, goodness, we felt welcomed at the weekly market, a lavish sprawl of fruit, veg and clothes whose labels suggest they may have lost their way to designer stores. We left laden with shoes, embroidered bags and jewellery.
on a second trip with the children, we ate an indulgent dinner in a restaurant inside the castle walls. the muezzin’s call to prayer stirred no reaction; everyone was too busy tucking into fish and mezze.
so it was awfully hard to say goodbye after our perfect week ended with tongue-in-cheek awards ceremonies. our children bristled with certificates.
But I’m happy to report that a few other Mark Warnerites also favour the horizontal — ideally on a yoga mat, it must be said. Most like a tipple, too. one was even spotted fashioning a chip butty, on the sly, in the buffet.
TRAVEL FACTS
SEVEN nights at Mark Warner Phokaia Beach Resort in May is from £799pp (five full-board, two half-board) including all activities. Use the discount code SPRING100 at markwarner.co.uk to save £100 pp, valid until May 1.