Oh no! I went to a dreaded all-inclusive resort... and I adored it
children have the same, connected by a door. With a lock. On our side. Goodbye 6am wake-up calls.
BY NOW, the children have cast aside their travel clothes and are busily pulling on their swimwear. Sara and I quickly do the same. I don’t see a shirt, jacket, or a pair of socks for ten blissful days.
That first dip is always the best, where you wash away hours of travel travail and your cynicism starts to thaw.
The other guests look nice enough, mainly British with the odd Italian or Russian. But to my eternal relief, they’re not doing the conga around the pool or trying to persuade us all to join them for dinner/bridge/ cocktails. A respectable, very Eng- lish distance is always maintained. It’s the same with the service, which is warm, charming and genuinely helpful. No question seems too daft, no request too banal. Children are free to behave as children. Plates are dropped, bottles smashed, juices spilt. The staff, though, have seen it all before.
OK, so Forte Village isn’t cheap, although there are a variety of holiday options, from ‘snug’ hotel room to palatial villa. But the main thing is that you’re left alone to do your thing. If you’re the sort of family who wants every spare minute filled, there’s always something to do. And if, like us, you prefer to totter along doing your own thing, you’ll be left in utter peace.
After that initial swim, all thoughts turn to dinner. We’re about to troop off at some stupidly early hour when our butler (yup, we have a butler. Embarrassing at first, then essential. This man is a god) suggests getting in a babysitter, so we can dine à deux. So while Sara neatly folds various clothes into endless cupboards and drawers, I take the children off for their dinner.
At first, from afar, the sight of the Cavalieri buffet fills me with gloom – more corporate catering, where everything is grim, fridge-cold and pre-cooked hours before. But I’m wrong. This is a buffet you not only want to devour, but dive into headfirst while whooping for joy.
Crustaceans gleam and wink, vast sides of prosciutto and fat-flecked local salamis sit and await the slicer. There are grill points where whole fish are charred, or great hunks of steak are cooked over glowing coals. Pasta comes in every form, and three types of fresh mozzarella sit alongside endless salads.
While the children demolish their spaghetti, I sample a few bits and pieces – strictly for research, of course. It’s good, fresh and unfussy.
When the babysitter arrives, Sara and I slip off towards the Sardinian restaurant. It’s OK, but the suckling pig is undercooked, the prawns cold and the menu overwritten, though a bottle of wine takes the edge off things.
AND so our routine shuffles happily into place: breakfast overlooking the sea, followed by a swim and then, for Lola and Freddy at least, the kids’ club. I’m still not sure what they did in there, but I do know they were supervised for three hours and adored the place, giving us the morning off.
Lunch (which isn’t included in the price) is always at the Pizzeria, where the pizzas themselves are wood-fired, with blistered, billowing crusts and soft, thin bases. By pure chance, we bump into some good friends, so eat with them every day, while the children race about. Across the road is another ice-cream stand. Seriously, you cannot move 2ft without bumping into one. But the feeling of release is astonishing. It usually takes me at least five days to unwind. Here, I’m floppy by lunch on day two.
I quickly stop worrying about the food too. Sure, there are endless ‘fine dining’ options, but it’s that buffet to which we return time and time again.
One night, we all end up in the piazza, swaying merrily to some charmingly cheesy Italian crooner while the children bop each other on the head with flashing plastic swords, bought from the ‘market’ that sets up at night. I don’t think I’ve dreaded a holiday more, nor enjoyed one so much.
Yes, parts of the resort look a little shabby. And despite being all-inclusive, the extras build up. But the children delighted in an old-fashioned holiday that even this world-weary writer could adore.
We didn’t see much of Sardinia. Well, actually none at all. But that’s not what Forte is about. This is a rare place designed for both adults and children.
They had a blast – and so did we.