So what happens when a stress-filled, working, heavily pregnant lady with a toddler needs to renew her passport so she can go on holiday to Majorca? And what if that passport has to be printed 5000 miles away in a different country which doesn’t care how many smiley faces and ‘please’s’ you put on the application? And what if they only passed a law the year before saying all Americans required passports to go to Mexico and the Caribbean causing a flood of applications for the summer holiday season? Yep, so it turns out 3 weeks isn’t enough time to make it happen, although that didn’t stop me holding out until a couple of days before ‘departure date’ to the sunny Spanish isle to think I was going to book it. Damn.
Stylish Yurts? Booked up. (Although probably best given need for night time proximity to toilet when pregnant)
Glamping in a Tree House? Way over budget.
Centre Parcs? Extortionate for school holidays.
Channel Islands? No seats left on the planes and wasn’t really up for sailing over there.
So where else is there to go, on a bank holiday week, that hadn’t already been booked up? A caravan in Cornwall! Our holiday in Devon the month before had been a total washout, and that can’t happen 2 holidays in a row, can it?
So Haven Perran Sands it would be. Having read reviews on trip advisor, we avoided the bungalows (and grateful we did after seeing how dilapidated they were, more dodgy housing estate than holiday) and upgraded the caravan to a Deluxe caravan after reading about the conditions of the older standard ones. Despite my shock of having to do things like go pick up a high chair and cot from some weird building centrally and pay a deposit (why would I want your cheap plastic fairy princess high chair?), the caravan was surprisingly big, spotless and located right in the sand dunes. This would be a brilliant location if the great British weather had not decided to forsake me for all of 2012, unless of course I liked being sandblasted by gale force winds.
Here’s Weasel trying her Jedi mind trick – if she stares in your eyes and talks about random crap, you won’t notice her hand is in a box of Cheerios.
When I say bad weather, I mean the people in tents at our site had to actually be rescued, as the fields felt the wrath of some almighty being and actually blew their tents away in the night. So there was one positive outcome of the yurts being booked out – a roof over our heads. No matter how creaky it was, we were dry and Weasel was blissfully unaware of her parents questioning the integrity of said caravan. She friggin loved the place. This place was very safe for her to run around exploring, so much so that we have to add into our future ‘Memoirs of Bad Parenting’ us waking up covered in stickers (she must secretly be a ninja) to find her under the bed with quite a collection of random crap. It says a lot that I didn’t freak out over the cleanliness of it, it was spotless. More concerning was which one of us had rescued our climbing-adverse toddler from the cot that morning and released her into the wild. Good times.
Caravan Exploring – Best done in a Jubilee Crown
Pool: Weasel loves to swim. Weasel hated this pool. Stuffed full of ‘boisterous’ older kids, there was hardly room for a small child to move. On top of that, I was keen on walking through an arcade to get to it. It’s not somewhere I’d want my toddler to be. We have no photos as we only managed to stay in 10 minutes. Having chose the Majorca hotel specifically for an awesome pirate themed pool, I was extra pissed off at this point.
Beach: We were in the dunes, and had rescue boats not been on stand-by, we would have had tons of fun playing in the sand. I never made it to the beach as even my enormous, fat pregnant self would have blown away in the storm that hit us that week. We have no photos since we weren’t brave enough to embrace the English beach experience in full.
Other facilities: There was mini golf (too wet), tennis (too windy), a pub-style Weatherspoons-esque restaurant and a Spar. The shop told us quite a lot about the place – the only veg available were potatoes and onions and it had a good portion of the shop taken up by freezer cabinets stuffed full of microwave dinners. Oh, and lest I forget, there was a Burger King and a Papa John’s Pizza that would deliver to the caravans (if you had the phone reception to call) or could be collected. Saying all that – we sat next to a lovely local couple at the pub who chatted to us about the area and Weasel loved her tomatoey pasta dish and had that intense pride that only a toddler can about the mess she’d created. They did have an extensive kids menu to be fair too. Still not Majorca though.
Verdict: It was better than the above makes it sound and I suspect we would have enjoyed it a lot more had it been less wet. As it was, we spent a lot of time exploring Cornwall, which this makes a fantastic base for. It was bucket loads cheaper than any other option, spotless and we had tons of space (walk-in closet and 3 bedrooms). I would recommend it as long as you are going for a base instead of a holiday camp experience. We will going to Majorca very shortly (if Baby Sister’s passport comes in time, we never learn), to right these wrongs. Pirate pool and sunshine here we come!