After touring Athens the next day, we headed to Mykonos, our last stop. We'd planned on a beach day. My husband, my daughter, and I were excited, but Grandma opted out. The three of us took a bus through hills studded with white stucco houses to a sugar-sand beach on the south side of the island. There, my daughter swam with her friends from the ship in crystal-blue water, while Mom and Dad basked on a king-size chaise and ate grilled fish.
Back on board, Grandma had spent the day reading and getting a massage. She was happy and rested; we were happy and exhausted. None of us felt like we'd missed out.
It was, in its way, the perfect family vacation. How else could the four of us explore a series of richly exotic destinations, indulge in activities we each loved to do, eat what we each wanted, and then fall into comfy beds, our belongings close at hand, at the end of the day? It worked out great for everyone—except, perhaps, for Romeo.