The Byron at Byron Resort & Spa

Australia’s most easterly point used to get visits from us a couple times a year. We even got engaged and married in Byron Bay. But that was BC. Before child. Like many of her kind, Baby Smith slammed a spanner in our freestyling, weekending ways. Our trip to the Byron at Byron resort marks the first time we’re holidaying alone, just Mr and Mrs Smith, since her birth two years ago. But enough of all that – it’s not as though you should suffer your style being cramped by nippers – let’s cut to the good bit. After a little setting of the scene.

Whisked away from the check-in queue, a friendly staff member registers us with minimal fuss and gives us a map of the resort so we can find our way around. We jump in the back of a golf buggy; our room is one of 92 scattered throughout the 45-hectare property – all easy meandering distance from the main restaurant and pool area. Oh yes.

‘Inspired by nature’ is a shtick that gets our thumbs up with sub-tropical rainforest backing onto the beach, and anything man made blended sneakily with the surrounds. Our one-bedroom deluxe suite is more self-contained studio apartment than hotel room. With fly-screened patios on both ends, you can leave the doors wide open to welcome the outside in. It’s like taking up residence in a chic jungle cabin. If I were to bang on about how clever the use of space is I’d tell you that the bedroom can be sealed off from the living area with Japanese-style sliding doors; as can the bathroom, with its stand-alone bath – truth is I’m just thrilled to appreciate a bath that doesn’t include rubber duckies and a tiny, squishy small person. Did I mention the fully equipped kitchenette with stove, microwave, full-size fridge, dishwasher and washing machine? No. That’s because I resolve to ignore each of these items for the duration of our trip.

While Mr Smith has a snooze, I skip down the boardwalk to throw myself into the great outdoors. It’s 6pm but still warm and light for another couple of hours. I grab a deckchair by the pool and order a glass of rosé. I even tuck into a new book. I haven’t read a book since the fall of the Roman Empire. Now to the good stuff. That pool. All glorious 25 metres of it. The rainforest provides a soundtrack of native Australian bird and insect life and wind rustling in the trees and it all alludes to us being in the middle of nowhere, not in one of the country’s most popular tourist towns. More than 1.4 million visitors descend on this casual 9,000-population beach town a year, yet right now. I’m the only person enjoying the pool’s serenity. I’ve noticed a mix of couples and families at the resort, but as I spy a sign declaring kids under-three banned from the main pool I discreetly do an air punch.

The Byron at Byron makes you feel like you're not in Byron. Which is good and bad – depending on your priorities. No backpackers. No drunken teenagers or bearded hipsters. It’s all very civilised. Sure there are no ocean views, but the beach is but a five-minute walk through the rainforest, and town is a short car ride or shuttle away.

Obviously for dinner we sit outdoors, and it is sublime. Just-baked sourdough with butter and dukka; fresh asparagus with goats curd; Balinese fish with Nimbin Valley rice, eggplant and chilli macadamias – it’s always local produce where possible. On Thursday mornings, you can even do a farmers’ market tour with the chef. The following morning, we abandon plans to do the daily yoga class by the pool in favour of a luscious lie-in, followed by more food. I’m a sucker for a hotel breakfast, but this buffet is overwhelmingly fresh and healthy. I run, nay, sprint there, where I stock up on sourdough, cheeses, roast tomatoes and mushrooms, fresh fruit, muesli, yoghurt and freshly squeezed orange juice. As I make my way back to our table, I notice there are pancakes and pastries. I drop my plates on the table and run back.

After my 19-course breakfast, we jump in the car to hit the beach before it gets too hot. There are a few spots to choose from – the resort backs onto Tallows Beach, which, while still patrolled, isn’t the best for swimming, so we head to Clarke’s Beach. Byron always looks beautiful, but today it is perfection. The water is crystal clear and 27 degrees. We frolic in the gentle waves and take a leisurely walk before retiring to our hotel’s pool.

An afternoon nap is followed by another spectacular meal. There are so many great restaurants in Byron these days. Once known as an alternative hippy town, Byron has well and truly shed that label, with an upmarket food-and-wine scene as shiny, sparkly and pricey as you’d find in any major city. Our day proves so dreamy that when we wake up we just hit repeat. We re-enact everything in the same order, with military precision, except this time I throw in a spa treatment. I’d love to rave about my one-hour spa pedicure, except I fall straight to sleep. On the plus side, I wake to coral-coloured toes; impressive, considering I twitch wildly when slumbering.

When our sojourn is close to ending, we make a snap decision to ask reception if there’s space to keep us another night. There isn’t. Our devastation is quelled with a magnificent cocktail overlooking the pool. We remind ourselves that we’re going home to the best tiny person either of us has ever met; though neither of us can recall her name. We toast a goodbye to the resort and vow to return urgently, if not sooner. Maybe next time we’ll bring the child. (As if.)