by Denise Hawes

Newly-married mum-to-be Denise Hawes went on honeymoon to Morocco when she was five months pregnant. Here, she shares her experiences of travelling in sunny climes with a bump - and a new husband ...

My honeymoon began with two surprises: the first was the destination, which was revealed to me as we arrived at Gatwick Airport. The second was the fact that our flight was actually departing from Heathrow in two hours time. An expensive and swift taxi ride later, we boarded the Royal Air Maroc flight to Casablanca, too late to get the cheeky honeymoon upgrade to first class, although the understanding attendants sneaked us through some pink champagne to compensate.

From Casablanca, we flew directly to Agadir, to the Hotel Transatlantique. The assumption, in Agadir, is that if you are a tourist, you must be German (the Germans love Agadir, the hotel was brimming with them). My husband had booked us just one night here, as we arrived late and he had anticipated that after two flights, his five month pregnant wife may be in need of a good kip before the next leg of the journey. He was right.

Ned had enlightened me as to our itinerary on the plane. He had opted out of the package holiday thing and had booked this first hotel, then four nights in a hotel in Essaouira and then we were to stay or go wherever we fancied for the remaining six days. Essentially our movements would be based whether my ballooning ankles would cope with the heat - but he was far too tactful to say that.

Getting to Essaouira was easy, but expensive, as we had opted to travel by Grand Taxi rather than bussing it. It cost about fifty quid for the four hour ride, but it was a huge air-conditioned Merc, and very comfortable. The scenery en route was a combination of dramatic mountainous shoreline and very poor towns, with ladies positioned on the outskirts 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.

The first thing that is striking on arrival in Essaouira is the beach, which resembles an imagined island paradise. The sand is clean, soft and white and the sea blue. We were driven straight to the entrance of the Old Town where our bags were collected by the porter of our hotel, the Villa Maroc. The walk through the town to the hotel behind the porter made us realise that we were dressed very conspicuously. In Essaouira, bodies are covered - to the extent that we saw some children muffled up to the hilt in aran style jumpers - and with Ned in shorts, and myself in a short sleeved top, we felt embarrassed and inappropriate and determined to redeem ourselves the minute we had checked in.

The Villa Maroc is Paloma Picasso's favourite hotel. It is tucked away down a path that runs alongside the old city wall. The rooms surround a courtyard, and from each floor you can look down the middle to the other levels. It is clearly up there with the most glamorous hotels in Essaouira. Our room was bedecked with lavish Moroccan art, wall hangings, carpets and cushions. No impressive view, though - the height of the city wall saw to that - but the views were saved for the roof terrace from where you looked out towards the battlements of the city, the fish grills and the sea and over the central square.

Instead of being like a typical hotel, a stay at the Villa Maroc is more like staying at someone's house. There is no communal dining area, for example. For breakfast and the evening meal, (which are included in the cost of the room), you just find a spot that you like - comfy sofas and low tables can be found all over the place, either on the various terraces, up on the roof or in tiny rooms which seat only two or three - all very intimate and perfect for honeymooners. At times it felt as if we were the only guests.

The town itself is small and busy. There are numerous souks, brimming with fish, jewellery, pottery and slippers. Within two days of arriving, Ned and I had bought carpets, mirrors, tagines, lamps and clothes. We loved the whole haggling process. Ned conversed with the chatty vendors while I sat on a small 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.

Essaouira 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 a point where most people heading in that direction were stripping off and wading through a hundred metre stretch of shallow sea. At this point we were approached by man with camel who offered to take us to the castle for a modest fee. I was apprehensive about camel travel with a bump, but the man produced what he termed 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 the mighty Zidane lugged us back to the city.

After our four days in the Villa Maroc, we decided that we were enjoying Essaouira so much we would stay a bit longer so we moved to another hotel called the Hotel Riad el Medina, which is said to have been Jimi Hendrix's favourite hotel. This hotel is bigger and cheaper than the Villa Maroc, though equally beautiful. We were inevitably given a room on the top floor, (ask for a room on the first floor if you're pregnant - the staire are hard work!), which was small but very lavish, with a deep bath sculpted from concrete. In this hotel we temporarily wimped out on the Moroccan food and were able to have steak and chips. I had picked up a bug somewhere along the line and wasn't sure whether it was a bug or whether I was actually going into labour. The former, fortunately.

In every hotel we stayed in and every restaurant I was very conscious that my having a glass of wine with my food was being most disapproved of. The tuts and glances had the desired effect - I did start to feel quite guilty after a while and abstained.

Our baby was conceived in Egypt (according to the dates) and on the last day of that holiday, an Egyptian border guard told me that I was pregnant. At the time I had taken this as a suggestion that I was not a little overweight and was duly glum on the flight home. Since he was proved right, when we arrived in Essaouira and a market stall holder proclaimed that within me was a boy - I believed that it must be, since my experience was that North African men can accurately predict such things.

Perfect for cravings are the fish grills by Essaouira's harbour. These consist of about twenty covered stalls each with freshly caught fish and shellfish displayed at the front, with benches and tables and large barbecues to the rear. 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 stall owner even sneaked a bottle of wine under the table. This was also the best vantage point for the spectacular sunset.

We decided to take the bus to Marrakech and were advised by everyone to travel on the more expensive air-conditioned bus as it would be 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, it was still swelteringly hot - to the extent that someone further down the bus actually vomited, making the air less than sweet.

We spent only two days in Marrakech, in an unimpressive hotel well outside of the medina, recommended to and booked for us by the owners of the Villa Maroc. The temperature soared and I found it difficult to cope with, being denied the sea breeze of Essaouira. On our first night we did have a wonderful time at a restaurant in the Medina called the El Yacout. This is probably the most memorable restaurant experience I have ever had. First, drinks are taken on the roof terrace under a clear and starry sky, followed by a sensational five course set menu at a table strewn with rose petals around a pool at the centre of a courtyard in this ex-palace. The porter, who escorted us to our taxi, informed us that he was a kinesiologist and that he could sense my baby swimming about inside me.

The following day, we decided to check out the souks and to main 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 - 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.

To catch our flight back home, we had to return to Agadir via another four hour bus trip. Getting a ticket for the bus was traumatic as we had to battle with lots of other people for the last spare tickets at the ticket office. We were eventually successful, but the journey was again stiflingly hot and uncomfortable. The bus also dropped us off in the middle of nowhere and we had to battle for the only taxi there - though being pregnant seemed to give us some sort of priority. The line 'but my wife is pregnant' also helped us at the airport. We had picked up so many lamps and goodies that our hand luggage was somewhat 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.

Pregnant or not, Morocco is a fantastic honeymoon destination, and despite the heat, not bad at all for a heavily pregnant lady. Essaouira was perfect - plenty to do, plenty going on, with the opportunity to relax completely as well, but Marrakech proved a bit too much for me. Save that pleasure for unpregnant times.

Addresses
Hotel Transatlantique, Avenue Mohammed V, Agadir - +212 48 84 21 10
Villa Maroc, 10, rue Abdellah Ben Yassine, 44000 Essaouira - ++212 44 44 47 61 47
Hotel Riad el Medina, 9, rue Attarine, 44000 Essaouira - +212 44 47 59 07
El Yacout, 79 Sis Ahmed Soussi, Medina Marrakech (Medina) - +212 04 38 29 29