Warm water rushed up the sand and fizzed over our feet like soda. Screaming with a combination of joy and nerves, my two-year-old scrambled on to my back as the next wave washed around my waist, draping ribbons of seaweed over us both. Just nine months old when the first lockdown struck, she had never seen the sea and didn’t quite know what to do. Soaked, she threw herself on to the hot, camel...
Golden Gozo: Malta’s little sister is a holiday in itself
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