Finca Cortesin

This weekend away wasn’t just any weekend away. It was what’s fast turning into a new trend – the second most important getaway a couple can plan: the ‘babymoon’. That last trip before two becomes three, squeezed in just before the airlines decide your expanding waistline is too much of an insurance liability, and before blooming turns into bloomin’ uncomfortable. So our last escape à deux had to be perfect. As this Mr & Mrs Smith weren’t feeling particularly mobile, we were looking for somewhere we could check in and stay entirely put until check-out. Somewhere luxurious and super-comfortable with everything we could want within walking (or waddling) distance. The service had to be faultless, and everything had to be spacious: sardine-style sunloungers and bijou bathrooms wouldn’t cut it with this Mrs Smith.

Happily, within minutes of arriving at Finca Cortesin, it is evident we’ve landed on our (in my case, swollen) feet. The hotel, while built in a traditional style, is brand spanking new, and is laid out in super-generous scale among verdant, undulating golf courses and lush, immaculately manicured gardens. Seamlessly checked in – and upgraded to an executive suite, thanks to my bulge – we’re taken on a leisurely orientation stroll. The highlight is two enormous swimming pools on opposite sides of the hotel. The smaller is family-friendly with groups of stylish sunloungers dotted under capacious umbrellas, and a poolside restaurant at one end. The longer, slimmer one is adults-only: perfect for peaceful laps. Both are a mouth-watering shade of deep bluey-green which, we conclude, they colour-matched with the sea off the Amalfi Coast.

The palatial proportions continue to surprise and delight as we’re shown to our suite. Double doors open into a high-ceilinged living room, tastefully furnished in mid-tone neutrals and olives, with the odd splash of colour to add interest. Floor-to-ceiling glass doors open to a Juliet balcony with views over the gardens and the Med in the distance. Through the next set of double doors is our bedroom, featuring a bed more than big enough for me, bump and Mr Smith. The bathroom is equally grand at least five times the size of ours at home. Our room is so pristine, I’d have believed it if someone told us we’d been the first to stay – the overall effect is of understated but undeniable luxury. I admire how the designer has managed to incorporate quirky touches and eye-catching accessories – a bold sienna stripe on the back of a neutral chair, the wire chandelier above our bed – which add personality, without detracting from the harmony. I grin like a Cheshire cat as we get unpacked and argue half-heartedly about which pool to experience first.

After a dip and a snooze in the sunshine we wander back to get ready for dinner. Tonight we’re booked into El Jardin, one of the two restaurants at the hotel (Shilo is the other one, with a innovative and tempting fine dining menu, but is fully booked). The menu is Spanish/Mediterranean and as the night is gorgeously warm, the candlelit tables are dotted about on the terrace outdoors. After dinner and a quick non-alcoholic nightcap in the bar, we mosey back to our suite and give ourselves up to the expanses of our enormous bed. Breakfast is our next rendezvous. And after a pick-me-up of juices and pastries on the terrace, we head down to the adults-only pool to get down to some serious R&R. We know that the hotel is full – it’s high season after all – but we’re struck by the sheer luxury of space, and the privacy and peace that pervades.

At lunchtime, we move across to the other pool so that we can have a bite to eat at the poolside restaurant. We brace ourselves for a more family-friendly vibe, but it’s equally tranquil here, with the odd hedgefunder and their offspring – ‘hedgelets’ Mr Smith suggests – all in matching Vilebrequin, practising swimming strokes and diving styles all in a very well-mannered and unbothersome way. More snoozing occupies my afternoon while Mr Smith heads off to the spa for a massage. I’m disappointed when he tells me he didn’t brave the ‘snow cave’ (an icy therapy excellent for the circulation, apparently) although he declares the rest of the spa facilities, including the indoor hydrotherapy pool, impressive.

As Shilo is fully booked for supper, we venture out of the hotel for dinner – we’d read about an Italian restaurant called Don Giovanni, which, while not part of the hotel itself, is within the larger Finca Cortesin golf club and residential complex. Alas, that’s fully booked too (our advice: book ahead), so we decide to make the 10-minute car journey down to the coast to see what we can find there. Our next tip: don’t bother. Football shirts, karaoke bars and tattooed Brits abound. It’s a bit of a culture shock and we stay just long enough to wolf down a pizza before scurrying back to Finca Cortesin.

Once back at our beachside haven, we get the super-helpful Aña on reception to plead with Don Giovanni to squeeze us in for pudding – ‘pregnant lady craving chocolate torte’ is roughly the line she takes, and it works. We wander across and enjoy a delicious end to the evening in their pretty fairy-lit courtyard, rueing the fact that we hadn’t been clever enough to book a table here to start with. At least we know it’s there for next time. And there will definitely be a next time. Our Finca Cortesin stay has been so easy, relaxing and enjoyable – it was exactly what we were looking for. And, we imagine, probably just what we’ll need in about 12 months' time for our first leave-the-baby-with-the-grandparents post-pregnancy weekend off.