We let our children plan our family holiday – here’s what happened

Where are you going next year? In our family, the conversation about summer holidays begins the second we touch down back at Heathrow. After all, there’s no better balm for end-of-holiday blues than knowing your flights are booked for the next one.

Which is why, around this time last year, in the taxi home from the airport, I was googling “routes through Italy”. My husband, three children (now 12, 15 and 17) and I had just had the trip of a lifetime driving from Provence to Tuscany via St Tropez, Juan-les-Pins, Monte Carlo and finally crossing over to Rapallo in Italy before our final stop.

We had cycled through the vineyards of the Vaucluse, kayaked down the Sorgue, mooched the stunning streets of St Paul de Vence, saw views that inspired painters including Cézanne and Picasso, and trekked the Cinque Terre.

We had eaten the best pizza of our lives, consumed enough gelato to last a lifetime, and driven 400 miles through valleys and mountains and along breathtaking coastline. My only question: how do we do it again – same, same but different?

Maybe we start in St Moritz and get the train through the Alps to Lake Como? Or perhaps we explore the beaches of Puglia and then head up to Rome? I put my suggestions to the kids.

Their response, to summarise: ‘How about we go to a resort, maybe somewhere beachy like Greece and make sure we’re sunbathing at midday when the UV is at its highest, and not sitting in a car.’ Err, scusi?

They had enjoyed our adventure, they all agreed – but what they also like, they explained, is “chilling”.

The highlight of the trip for all of them was our five-day stint in Forte dei Marmi on the Tuscan Riviera, where we did precisely diddly squat. I loved every stop along the way, but I agreed that our days doing nothing together – other than dipping, reading and eating – were particularly dreamy.

So that’s how I found myself faced with the dilemma of all middle-class dilemmas: Greece or Italy?

But more specifically: my idea of heaven, or theirs?

They say you have 17 summer holidays with each child before they ditch you in favour of more independence – and fewer hotel stars. Once they are 18, have left school and are perhaps earning their own money, there’s no guarantee they will be joining the family trip.

I knew this summer could be our last en famille, so I wanted it to be one they would remember and love. And if that meant staying put on a Greek beach, I could certainly live with that.

I’m not alone when it comes to the younger generation shaping my holiday choices. Hilton’s 2025 trend report found that 60 per cent of British parents actively pick a holiday based around their children.

We are in an era of “kidcations”, where family holidays are driven by the preferences of the children more than their parents. According to the trend report, children are not only influencing where British tourists go, but what activities they do too.

And so, with some trepidation, I handed over the reins for my kids to pick a hotel.

After a little research using TikTok, they plumped for the W Hotel in Costa Navarino, in the Messinia region of the Peloponnese. On social media, it looked like heaven, with a cool, eco-chic feel.

Its USP was that it is for over-12s only (which we just qualify for) – ideal in that it seemed to cater to the teenage crew, while also suiting my preferences perfectly (there’s nothing worse than booking somewhere that looks like heaven, only to turn up and find that heaven has been overrun by hundreds of chaotic children. Been there, done that).

Thankfully, when we checked in on a balmy August evening, we found that the hotel was indeed as stylish as it had looked on Instagram. Foliage draped down from every wall and ceiling, a beautiful meandering main pool flowed towards a bar perched on the edge of the sand, and floating sunbeds lined the shallow edges of the water.

Along the waterfront there was also a small harbour – the Agora – with restaurants, bars, boutiques and an open-air cinema. TikTok – tick. This was the type of hotel three teenagers could appreciate.

Our beach suite was idyllic too. On our first day, as we stepped out onto an empty beach for a morning dip, I could already sense that this holiday was going to be a memorable one.

But let’s face it, there’s only so much lying and dipping you can do, even in paradise. Thankfully the Costa Navarino is like a small town, with four separate resorts you can hop between and hundreds of activities on offer.

There’s even an app to help navigate the choices: from padel to golf; water hikes to windsurfing; cookery classes to diving.

So, by 9am the next morning, we were on a bike ride to Voidokilia Beach, considered one of Greece’s most beautiful (according to both Google and the locals).

In autumn, there are hundreds of flamingoes in the lagoon we cycled along, and we were lucky enough to spot a small flock of six, which flew gracefully off into the horizon before our eyes.

Once back at the hotel, after three hours on the bikes, we felt thoroughly deserving of our horizontal afternoon. At sunset, we strolled down to Parelia – the hotel’s beachside restaurant – for the Greek meal I’d been fantasising about: tomato and feta salad, taramasalata and whole salted sea bass.

The DJ played easy Ibiza tunes while we played our traditionally stupid holiday games. Alongside a spicy margarita, it was a perfect combination.

Unlike last year’s road trip, where each day was different to the last, we soon got into a holiday rhythm – morning dip, spot of exercise, fabulous breakfast, a lot of lolling about and a bout of activity.

One afternoon, we went snorkelling around the beautiful island of Tsikli Baba.

We whizzed along on water scooters over the turquoise sea and into secret coves. One sunset, we headed to the beach to watch turtles after they laid their eggs in the sand. There was tennis coaching and padel games, windsurfing and all manner of activities that involved my children clutching onto something inflatable at the back of a speedboat.

One of my concerns about a resort holiday was dinners feeling same-y, but with more than 40 restaurants across the four hotels, it was indecision – not lack of choice – that became the challenge.

I wasn’t expecting the food to compete with our French-Italian escapade, but in reality it was just as memorable and – in an unexpected twist – we all agreed that the pizza at the Mandarin Oriental’s Pizza Sapienza by Daniele Cason topped our previous holiday’s best.

A 10-minute stroll along the sand took us to the local village of Gialova, where we sat on crooked wooden chairs on rickety decks right on the water’s edge, delighting in the imperfection of it all.

I couldn’t fault the resort itself, but it’s good to get that balance of reality too. Fresh fish, local wine and a cheap bill, followed by mooching in some local craft shops, made for many a perfect holiday night out.

By the time 10 days had passed, I realised I may now be resort institutionalised. The thought of having to make my own breakfast (and just one course at that) felt thoroughly depressing.

Waiving my plans for adventure in favour of a chilled “teencation” had proved a success.

When you’re not rushing from one activity to the next, there’s more time to connect, to laugh and to “have deeps” (as my children like to call a conversation of any substance).

My eldest is already asking where we’re all going next year. So I think we can call it a win.

Essentials

W Costa Navarino has rooms from £316 per night (and is open until after October half term). Jet2, British Airways, easyJet and Ryanair all fly direct to Kalamata, with returns from £66.

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