On holiday with a kid? Give me luxury or give me death.
It sounds extreme but consider this: after a long overnight flight, sleep deprivation and a tired child, it’s hard to swallow your rage upon arriving at the four-star hotel to find that the triple you’ve booked is actually a tiny double room with an extra bed jammed in, forcing you to vault over it each time you have to go to the bathroom.
After a decade or so of travelling with our son, now 12, my husband and I have come to the conclusion that nothing beats forking out for an escape that ticks all the boxes, including acres of space, solitude, state-of-the art amenities, and staff that go the extra mile. A concierge who knows what he is talking about is also absolutely essential – too many times have we approached hotel receptions in a new city, a baby in our arms, full of questions about the neighbourhood’s restaurants, museums and parks, only to have a map thrust in our hands by ignorant staff.
Dreams of quiet and creature comforts were realised during a luxury safari holiday at Orange County Kabini, a property on the edges of the Nagarhole Game Sanctuary in Karnataka, India, consisting of landscaped gardens that are home to some 37 thatched “huts” that are anything but. Ours was a palatial one-bedroom affair with a vast living room set up with an extra bed, beautiful furnishings echoing the culture of the Kadu Kuruba tribe, a giant four-poster, single bed, and air-conditioning, among other things. Outside was a private pool, rain shower and a garden, enclosed by a high wall for privacy.
We visited in August 2010, during the monsoons, and we were left in peace to lie in deck chairs on the verandah every afternoon, listening to the rain. When the sun came out, we went on boating expeditions on the lake around the forest. The rangers who accompanied us – wiry men with wrinkles around their eyes and dog-eared wildlife guides in their hands – patiently taught our son to spot birds and detect elephants hiding in the thick undergrowth. In the evenings they would sometimes swing by to ask if he wanted to see the owls, bullfrogs and bats. One afternoon they walked up to us in the dining room and thrust a small sack under our noses: it contained a banded grass snake, and we were shown how to hold it without being bitten. Those rangers went the extra mile, and it made the experience authentic, even though I was too queasy to finish my lunch that day.
During a weekend spent at Giraffe Manor in Nairobi in 2012, we wondered if we should add babysitting to our list. The exclusive property is home to Rothschild giraffes, friendly warthogs, and, unfortunately, mosquitoes, which meant we didn’t get a wink of sleep during the nights. But the “child-monitoring service” more than made up for it: while my husband and I enjoyed afternoon tea on the terrace or lazed over coffee in the breakfast room or had supper, a member of the staff would engage our boy in feeding the giraffes, or in a game with Bluka, the pet wolfhound, allowing us to do our own thing without having to wonder what he was up to. It didn’t cost us a single extra dirham, and beat some of the expensive babysitting services we’d signed up for at various hotels in the past.
Funnily enough, the holiday that ticked everything on our list happened right at the start of our travels as a young family – in 2004 in Phuket, at the elegant Momtri Villa Royale on Kata Beach. The boutique hotel sits on a cliff overlooking the Andaman Sea, and at its base is a private beach, all diamond-white sand and crystal water, accessed by steps hewn into the rock face. We were thoughtfully allotted a villa at one end of the property, allowing our toddler to make as much noise as he wanted. The room was huge, with a massive bed at one end and a furnished balcony overlooking the sea at the other; the property still boasts these magnificent villas.
That first night, our son climbed out of the cot provided and got into our bed. At eight feet by seven feet, there was plenty of room, and he didn’t stir once. The next day we enjoyed a wonderful afternoon on the beach, but that night we had toddler trouble – he had developed a bad case of heat rash. A quick call to reception revealed that the on-call doctor wasn’t around. The concierge, a smiling, efficient Thai, took charge. He quickly ordered a car, instructed the driver to take us to the nearest pharmacy, and pushed into my hand a piece of paper bearing the Thai words for, we found out later, “Snake Brand Prickly Heat Powder”. Off we went, navigating the treacherous hairpin bends the coastline is known for, eventually reaching a quiet village where we bought the tin that saved us from spending the rest of our holiday indoors.
In the morning at breakfast, the concierge stopped by to enquire after our health. He also put the entire staff on alert about the presence of a small child on the premises – most of the guests were young couples – and for the rest of our stay our little pu yai (boy) was plied with small presents of flowers, fruit and khanom (sweets). The service had been exemplary, and the small touches made a surprisingly big impact.
Last month, we returned to Phuket, this time staying at the four-star Swissotel on Kamala Beach. We were in for a wonderful surprise – a kids’ club that went beyond the usual Disney (ugh) films and origami, and, surprisingly, offered activ nities for tweens and teenagers, too. The schedule was staggering, from learning to braid dreadlocks to kite-making, scuba-diving lessons and batik, glass art to watercolour painting classes, all available for an extra price. We gladly paid up, and our son enjoyed many a happy hour occupied with various pursuits while my husband and I went on long walks on the beach or enjoyed an early dinner or a dip in the pool.
A little extra on holiday does go a long, long way, allowing for a better experience, and offering value for money. On our travels – with triple rooms now wisely traded up for two-bedroom suites – it has made a world of difference.
