 Honeymooning with my bumpWhat can you expect when you go on honeymoon when you're pregnant? A week by the seaside in the UK, or a long-haul trip to an island paradise? Mum-to-be Denise Hawes was pleasantly surprised by her honeymoon in the exotic, but short haul, destination of Morocco.
Honeymoon here I comeMy honeymoon began with two surprises: the first was the destination, which was revealed to me as we arrived at Gatwick. The second was the fact that our flight was leaving from Heathrow in two hours time. An expensive taxi ride later, we boarded the flight to Casablanca, too late to get a honeymoon upgrade to first class, although the attendants sneaked us through some pink champagne. From Casablanca, we flew to Agadir. My husband had booked us just one night here, as we arrived late and he had anticipated that after two flights, his 5 month pregnant wife may be in need of a good kip before the next leg of the journey. He was right. Getting to Essaouira, our final destination, was easy in a Grand Taxi, driving past ladies positioned on the roadsides selling oil. The taxi driver was keen to point out to me that this oil was not only fabulous in cooking, but great for stretchmarks. I didn't take any notice. I wish I had. Heat, haggling and happy daysWe arrived in Essaouira and were driven straight to the entrance of the Old Town where our bags were collected by the porter of the Villa Maroc. Despite the heat in Essaouira, bodies are covered, so with Ned in shorts and myself in a short sleeved top, we felt embarrassed and inappropriate, and determined to redeem ourselves the minute we checked in. The Villa Maroc was Paloma Picasso's favourite hotel, and a stay there is rather like staying at someone's house. Our room was bedecked with lavish Moroccan art, wall hangings, carpets and cushions. There is no communal dining area, so we just found a spot that we liked - a comfy sofa or an intimate terrace - for meals. At times it felt as if we were the only guests. The town itself is small and busy. There are numerous souks - fish (to be avoided if pregnant and of a delicate disposition), jewellery and pottery. Within two days, Ned and I had bought carpets, mirrors, tagines, lamps and clothes. We loved the haggling process. Ned conversed with the vendors while I sat on a stool, guzzling peppermint tea, every so often telling Ned loudly that we really didn't need the item he was haggling for. A successful ploy. Invariably the prices kept being slashed - the vendors seemed to understand that Ned could not argue with this formidable lady, sitting there like a big unmovable stone. Camel-riding - from bump to humpEssaouira is also home to the famous castle in the sand of which Jimi Hendrix sings. We decided to walk the mile or so across the beach to get to it and managed up until the point at which most people strip off and wade through a stretch of shallow sea. At this point we were approached by 'man with camel', who offered to take us to the castle. I was apprehensive about camel travel, but the man produced what he said was a 'certificate to ferry pregnant women by camel'. That is, he scrabbled around in his bag and found a photograph of a lady on a camel whom he claimed was pregnant and had had a lovely time on the camel. Convinced, we boarded Zidane the camel and enjoyed a good hour over by the castle, before he lugged us back to the city. After our four days in the Villa Maroc, we moved to the Hotel Riad el Medina - Hendrix's favourite hotel, apparently. Here, we temporarily wimped out on Moroccan food and had steak and chips. I had picked up an infection somewhere along the line and was uneasy as to whether it was a bug or whether I was going into labour. The former, fortunately. In every hotel and restaurant we visited, I was acutely conscious that my having a glass of wine with food was most disapproved of. The tuts and glances had the desired effect - I did start to feel guilty and abstained. Perfect for foodie cravings are the fish grills by Essaouira's harbour. There are about twenty stalls, each laden with freshly caught fish and shellfish. Though disgruntled by my pregnancy guide's insistence that lobster and prawns were off limits, I happily tucked into sea bass and red mullet. This was by far the best food we had all honeymoon and the best vantage point for the spectacular sunsets. On the Marrakesh expressWe decided to take the bus to Marrakech and were advised by everyone to travel on the more expensive air-conditioned bus, which is more comfortable for someone in my condition. The journey took four long hours, which we sweated out on the back seat. I wouldn't recommend this bus journey if you are pregnant, unless you have a bladder of steel. The one stop was not enough and, despite the air conditioning, the bus was swelteringly hot. We spent only two days in Marrakech, in an unimpressive hotel well outside Medina. The temperature soared and I found it difficult to cope, being denied the sea breeze of Essaouira. On our first night we had a wonderful time at Restaurant Yacout. This is probably the most memorable restaurant experience I have ever had - first, drinks on the roof terrace under a clear and starry sky, then a sensational five course set menu at a table strewn with rose petals around a pool at the centre of a courtyard. The porter, who escorted us to our taxi informed us that he was also a kinaesiologist and that he could sense my baby swimming about inside me. The following day in Marrakech, we decided to spend time in the souks and to check out the square - the Jemaa l-Fna. The souks are vast and we trekked through until I could no longer cope with the heat and the bustle. The square was even busier and really too much for me, so we returned to the hotel. Marrakech is a sensational city - incredibly beautiful with a crazy and intense vibe to it and I hope I'll go again one day - not pregnant, so that I can get the most out of it. Homeward boundTo catch our flight back home, we returned to Agadir by bus (another hot four hour trip). Later, we had to battle to get a taxi - although being pregnant seemed to give us some sort of priority. The line 'but my wife is pregnant' also helped us at the airport, for some reason. We had done so much shopping that our hand luggage was over the limit, but we eventually convinced everyone that my pregnancy warranted such excess baggage. The airport staff were keen, however, that I sign an agreement that they were not liable if I went into labour during the flight. Luckily I didn't - and, despite struggling with the heat every now and again, I returned home relaxed and blissed out. Essaouira was a perfect destination - plenty to do with the opportunity to relax completely too. Marrakech was too much - save that for unpregnant times. Villa Maroc, 10, rue Abdellah Ben Yassine, Essaouira (+212 44 47 61 47) Where to next?
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