Andrea Mara

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Andrea Mara

Something Old, Something New: Back for More in Union Lido

“We’ve been here six times,” said the woman behind me in the queue at the bakery, “and now we’re afraid to go anywhere different in case it’s not as good.” This was in Cambrils in Spain, and she wasn’t the only one who said it. One family reportedly rented the

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Andrea Mara

Four Campsites in Italy: Comparison and Review

If you’re a campsite person, you’ll have had the conversation; the one where you chat with the people in the mobile home across the way about which campsites you’ve been to and which ones they’ve been to, and which ones were great and which ones were awful. Who you stayed with,

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Andrea Mara

Union Lido Campsite Review: Going back for more

I need to preface this post with a caveat: we went to Union Lido campsite in Italy for the second part of a two-centre holiday, the first part of which was spent in Bella Italia. We had an incredible time in Bella Italia, and had agreed that it didn’t matter

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Andrea Mara

Bella Italia campsite review – what’s in a word?

“So where are you off to?” my child’s teacher asked, as we chatted about holidays. “To a mobile home in a campsite in Italy,” I said. “Oh, is it Bella Italia? I went there when I was ten,” the teacher replied, and that was when I realised for the first

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Life Through a Lens

Sometimes I hide my phone from myself for an hour, so that I can concentrate on the kids without being distracted. And I have some reasonably strict self-imposed rules about not browsing mindlessly when they’re around. But one major weakness is taking photos – and it’s for that purpose more

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Andrea Mara

It’s Like Riding a Bike

If I’d married someone just like me, we’d have gone on holidays to Italy (we did), to a campsite (we did), to drink Prosecco on the deck every night (we did). But being married to that person just like me would have meant quite a different holiday for the kids

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Andrea Mara

Family holiday in Italy: Review of Campsite Marina di Venezia

Sitting on the deck at half past midnight, I can hear Killing Me Softly wafting across the campsite, to the background sound of waves washing up on the sand. I’m finishing a glass of red wine and thinking about closing my book. The candle flickers in the darkness, and I

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