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Suddenly, I puzzled if I’d made a horrible mistake. As a pastel sundown melted over Mirabello Bay and a reside jazz trio softly noodled by means of The Woman from Ipanema, my wee boy casually launched slivers of avocado in a ponzu dressing — and a sandal — throughout the tables of our fine-dining restaurant. Was it hubris to have travelled solo with a 13-month-old to a clifftop five-star resort in Crete?
I needn’t have fearful. Earlier than I’d hit the eject button on the toddler’s excessive chair and scuttled again to our villa in disgrace a waiter known as Vasilis patiently settled him with bread, peekaboo and a dried-out carob pod that doubled as a rattle.
Such is life at St Nicolas Bay, a divine seashore and
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