It used to be a reliable middle-class hack: if you wanted a zero-effort holiday, with no decisions except whether to have a pina colada or a beer, you went somewhere French-run and all-inclusive. The business model relies upon a large number of abstemious French people who prefer aqua aerobics, and a small but noticeable number of quietly extravagant British people. Then you would chat to them in halting French, and they would take over in much more expert English.
French parenting is incredibly harsh, and the swimming pool resounds to the sound of: “Non, crétin!” Who knows what this does to the long-term adult prospects of the three-year-old miscreants, but it makes the bar incredibly peaceful and nice, since only the kids who aren’t carrying on are in there. This is the way it’s been for years.
