Choosing a holiday when you’re pregnant is like trying to decide on the least painful amputation procedure. Every country, every means of travel, comes with a stern warning of the pain and perils from Those Who Know. Don’t fly long haul or your baby will be tomato juice. Don’t go on bumpy buses or it will come out of your mouth. Don’t go anywhere where they don’t wash the vegetables in chlorinated water piped all the way from Enfield, or you’ll get sick and make your baby sicker. The subtext is: why do you want a holiday anyway, it’s not like you can do anything fun? And can you afford it with all those essential, life-enhancing, giant, felt, snail playcentres to buy?


While it’s good to be cautious when considering the health of someone else, if you listened to the overcautious travel agents you’d assume that all women outside the UK bought their children ready-made. Still, the trek to Everest base camp could wait (my husband was coming and he’s far too lazy). So we decided on a wussy spa holiday, but one where he could soak in the culture (or the liquid produce of it) and I could be occasionally pummelled and kneaded without having to talk to divorcées about their Botox misadventures or to wear a bathrobe to dinner.

Easier said. If the brochures weren’t full of New Age commandments, then the pictures — all white lab coats and smiling grimaces — were scary. Unsurprisingly, it’s hard to get sympathy for spa-choice angst. Only a friend who had recently spent a weekend at a bootcamp British spa fully understood. “There’s something so disgusting about pampering culture without alcohol,” she mused. As we considered a “Heidi”Hammer Horror, then a wooden Caribbean idyll that looked like it had been constructed in two hours by the Ground Force team, I knew it was not love, just spa porn.

Then we saw The One: an Egyptian hotel, the Sahl Hasheesh in Hurghada, on the Red Sea, with its own luxury spa. The flight wasn’t too long — five hours to Cairo and a onehour domestic flight to Hurghada and exotic Islamic domes, gazebos and infinity pools, lit by winter sun, which promised to be almost toasty at 18-20C in February. The manager assured us there was a hospital near by and an in-house doctor. We booked.

The Hurghada stretch of the Red Sea is traditionally a cheap winter package holiday destination. Driving along the strip from the airport we passed neon hotel entrances so loud they would make Las Vegas look dowdy. But this Oberoi, one of the leading small hotels of the world and part of the famous chain, was neatly positioned at the end, away from the riff-raff.

We arrived at night into a world of little domed palaces on the edge of the desert (with subtle lighting hidden in plant pots and a fleet of golf buggies). Our suite was a slacker’s paradise. During pregnancy even the smallest task can be a tear-enducing major trauma.

Here, there was literally nothing we had to do to keep ourselves alive, bar raise a hand to phone reception. Our suite consisted of a huge bedroom/sitting room, with two televisions and a DVD player. The bathroom had a marble tub big enough for three and the ultimate surprise: outside, our own private pool shielded by walls of jasmine.

In the morning we woke to sss: sea, sunshine and spa. The spa, run by the reputable Banyan Tree chain — well-known for its pregnancy treatments — was wonderfully discreet. It had two bases: one for the voyeurs, overlooking the main infinity pool, and another for the obsessively private, where the many Muslim honeymooners who stay here every year could enjoy complete privacy while completing their ablutions à deux. I started off with an excellent hair cut followed by the most delicious pregnancy rub imaginable. My masseur was careful without being overprotective — she let me lie on my side, leaving plenty of room for the bump, as she kneaded me with safe oils (some of the aromotherapy ones are too strong and may induce labour) for more than an hour. By the time she’d finished, the office-chair stiffness was blancmange.

I also had a manicure and pedicure (which feel fantastic as your feet have so much extra weight to bear, and the baby’s calcium needs ravage your nails). At a time when glamour is the last thing on your mind, it’s amazing how a few coats of Candyfloss varnish lift the spirits.

Many spas tend to stamp their perfume and stern philosophy on to a hotel, turning the whole place into a chlorine-stinking fat camp. The leaders and their disciples constantly remind you that rather than tucking into that yummy holiday burger you should be having your thighs trimmed. At the Sahl Hasheesh the spa was just a part of the deal: my husband snorkelled in the sea and we swam in the infinity pool. In the evening we watched ospreys fly overhead as we sampled treats from the wine cellar and watched films back in the suite.

The staff, rather than being overly prescriptive, were as friendly and efficient as could be: from breakfast served on our private terrace (even my bowl of muesli appeared, apologetically, from underneath a silver salver) to the restaurants’ attentive waiter service. Four months gone, over the sickness and constantly hungry, I was delighted to find that they had one restaurant serving European and Egyptian specialities and another specialising in modern Indian which satisfied my cravings for spicy food and yoghurt. A spa with an Indian, a wine cellar, a film library and a masseur with magical hands? Health never looked so inviting.

The Sahl Hasheesh, Red Sea, Egypt (00 20 6544 0777), www.oberoihotels.com. Prices to December 2004 range from $250 (£140) to $1,400 a suite a night, depending on season.

TRAVEL TIPS

It is safe to fly in your second and third trimesters, although check with a GP if your pregnancy is complicated. The second trimester is the perfect time to travel, as sickness hopefully subsides and chances of miscarriage are low. Airlines are unwilling to carry passengers past their 28th week and you’ll have problems getting insurance past this date. Travel policies vary with each airline, so check. If you’re past 28 weeks you’ll need a letter from your GP saying that you’re not likely to go into labour in the next 72 hours.

Reduce stress Travel light; buy a fold-up luggage rack with wheels.

Preserve energy Slow down. Build relaxation time into daily routines.

Eat well Pack snacks and eat regularly. Drink lots of bottled water.

Vaccinations Your doctor should advise you which ones are safe.

Choose safe activities Avoid any activity which puts you at risk of falling. Stick to yoga and brisk walking.

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