One&Only The Palm

Star ratings, diamonds, rosettes – not something us Smiths usually go in for. But in the official relaxation scale of 1 to 10 (1 being ‘all-out warzone’; 10 meaning ‘so calm you’re almost flat-lining’), our stay at One&Only The Palm came in at 9.25. The average was only dragged down after Mr Smith added dried green chilli flakes to his bespoke muesli one morning thinking they were pistachios. Unexpected and not very relaxing for Mr Smith; amusing for Mrs Smith. His excuse? He was wearing sunglasses at the breakfast bar.

One&Only The Palm really is at the end of the road. We passed through Dubai's gleaming airport, down the skyscraper-lined Sheik Zayed Road, past a dozen new Metro stations which look like giant futuristic cockroaches, then we snaked down into a pristine brightly lit tunnel which links the mainland to this famous man-made palm-shaped offshore development. When you arrive at the end of the Palm, everything changes. Low-key and low-rise, muted tones and not at all OTT, One&Only has its own end of the Palm crescent. It’s like a boutique-hotel pot of gold at the end of the high-bling rainbow that is Dubai.

At the Andalucia-inspired resort there’s still a nod to the United Arab Emirates location: low-storey buildings surround a palm-lined pool and stretch down to the sea. An Arabic influence makes itself felt in a subtle palette, fretwork and delicate arches carved into creamy browns walls a tad more ochre than a milky hot chocolate. The different levels and terraces give a crenelated effect – it’s a fortress against the tide of gilt and glitz. Contemporary music was just audible over the gently bubbling fountain, and moments after being handed an orange and mandarin welcome drink in the dazzling-white lobby we’d been ushered through the hotel to our room. We’d booked a Palm Beach suite looking directly out onto the sand. Large and light with a no-expense-spared feel, our bathroom was as big as the room itself.

Capacious king-size sun mattresses soon lured us out to the pool. Basking in the sun and the peace and quiet, the stresses of home seemed a million miles away. Only the very tips of skyscrapers were visible between the swaying palms giving away the fact that we weren’t somewhere further flung. For a change of scenery, we decamped to the beach. By now Mr Smith had made space at the top of his Favourite Hotels Ever league table. This ranking was confirmed when he spied the little truck dispensing cold beers and ice-cream directly to folks at their sun loungers: ‘Surely man’s greatest invention?’ he asked. Then we were visited by a man dedicated to de-gunking sunglasses. The chap spent under a minute at everyone else’s sunbed, but we kept him busy for over five. ‘Amazing!’ Mr Smith proclaimed in an almost biblical I-was-blind-but-now-I-can-see epiphanic way. This could be what saved him from further breakfast-bar mistakes.

A dedicated vegetarian section of the menu at Zest, the hotel’s main restaurant, inspired Mr Smith’s next outburst of delight. We had a candle-lit dinner on the terrace – all high-end woven outdoor furniture, cream plantation shutters and perfectly manicured hedges – and home-made ice-cream flavours elicited the verdict of ‘inventive’ from Mr Smith (and he’s something of a pudding connoisseur). After an age of him scouring the desserts and muttering ‘dilemma’ under his breath, he pushed the menu my way and asked what he should choose. This is unheard of. A chocolate-trio affair came out the winner.

My own dilemma loomed in the small but luxurious spa the next day. This time I asked Mr Smith to help me pick a treatment. ‘Dunno’ came the helpful response. Thankfully I was sufficiently intrigued by the much-lauded services of One&Only’s in-house ‘foot virtuoso’, Bastien. The Frenchman has carefully trained staff at every O&O resort, and since I’d always fancied a medi-pedi, I concluded I really had to try it (as I reasoned with myself). When a tiny softly spoken Mauritian lady welcomed me to my appointment, she asked if I’d ever experienced a Bastien pedicure before (no); she then warned me it was a little different and giggled sweetly: ‘Instead of water, we use blades and drills… It’s a bit like going to the dentist. But it doesn’t hurt’. I laughed nervously as she flicked a switch and my bed reclined. An hour later she was done and I can report back that it really wasn’t in any way unpleasant – just a question of holding your nerve against the whirr of the drill bits, and the clink of scalpels. ‘New feet!’ my therapist declared triumphantly. And they really were: soft and smooth with nails buffed to an unbelievable shine.

The rest of our stay was spent alternating between sea-view swimming pool and beach, mesmerised from time to time by groups of parachutists who, having taken off from the marina just across the water, floated gently down seemingly towards ‘our’ pool (none did). One&Only The Palm definitely wins the prize for most services offered to you at your sun lounger. Iced water, fruit skewers (so far, so luxury-hotel standard) but also a sunglasses concierge, chilled Espa face-mist spritzing, iced cucumber slices (I explained to Mr Smith they were for the eyes, not a Pimm’s), fresh iced tea in big clinky glasses, and a grandstand view of skydivers. Having escaped our young children for a few days of grown-up time, the experience of being waited on hand and foot had been just what the doctor ordered.