A solo trip, a sibling trip, a romantic trip, a family trip, and a friend road trip — all before the baby comes. What else would you expect from a travel writer who is expecting?
It was influencer o’clock at Beefbar restaurant in Santorini as the setting sun sparkled across the surface of the infinity pool that seemed to flow right into the Aegean sea behind it. And there I was, hunched over an ice bucket, puking my guts out. I could sense the stares from the beautiful people jockeying to get their shot before the sun sank below the horizon, and worried waiters who had no doubt dealt with their fair share of over-served party girls. Behind my back, which she was rubbing sympathetically, a manager waved off concern. “She’s pregnant.”
My first trimester had been a marathon of morning (and afternoon, and night) sickness. My regularly nonstop schedule juggling a full-time job with a freelance career as a travel writer came to a screeching halt, along with my will to do anything that might require getting off the couch. But when I finally made it to the second trimester, my energy returned. The nausea eased up enough for me to resume a place in the land of the living. And I became maniacally possessed with the idea of seeing as much of the world as I could in the dwindling window of time before I’d have to slow down again (and stay close to home). Then, I’d have a newborn, and who knew what life would look like after that?
Babymoons, a concept that made my Boomer parents chuckle, are de rigueur these days. But it wasn’t just my relationship with my husband that I wanted to invest in before everything changed. I wanted to prioritize quality time with everyone I loved. And, okay, maybe I wanted to prove that I was still up for an adventure, hanging on to my identity just a little while longer before figuring out who I’d be as a mom. I had three or four months to pack in as much as I could. I was a not-yet-waddling woman on a mission.
The Solo Trip
The Greek islands had been number one on my bucket list for years. If I’m honest, it was because of the Mamma Mia! movie. The beaches, the bougainvillea, the joie de vivre by way of the Mediterranean: yes, yes, yes. It seemed like fate (or perhaps Tyche, the Greek goddess of good fortune), when I received an invitation to visit Paros and Santorini with the luxurious Andronis hotel group. The only catch? I couldn’t bring a plus-one. But, I reasoned, I could count my relationship with myself as one worthy of nurturing during this wild and wonderful time. And so I set off on a solo trip to my dream destination.
Getting There
With just 13,000 residents, Paros is a sleepy island in the Cyclades and not where you should go if you have the Mykonos party scene in mind. Catch a flight (or a ferry) from Athens.
Staying There
The landscape on Paros is rugged and hilly, with striking stark white architecture that told me I’d officially arrived in Greece. My first home base, the Andronis Minois hotel, is perched on a picturesque bay, and when guests are ready to explore, shuttle service to the (relatively) bustling harbor village of Naousa makes it easy. Strolling around the just-busy-enough restaurants and shops, I couldn’t stop taking pictures of the hot pink bougainvillea framing cobblestone streets so charming I couldn’t believe I wasn’t on a movie set.
Trip Highlight
A pottery class at Keramiko in Lefkes made me feel like the main character in my own movie. In the dappled light under the shade of a carob tree, listening to the waves and enjoying a breeze off the water that smelled of sea salt and honeysuckle, I painted an olive oil dish that will forever remind me of this perfect afternoon on Paros.
Then, it was off to Santorini, for a full glam experience at the Andronis Luxury Suites. Built into the cliffs overlooking an astonishing volcanic caldera, this is the kind of hotel that doesn’t need to host influencers for them to come knocking; the Kardashians, for example, are repeat customers. When I got to my room, I could see why. The suites have dazzling views of the Aegean, and private pools. There’s fine dining and a spa on property, but it’s hard to stop an expectant mother from floating (the buoyancy of the water does wonders for the pregnant body and mind) . I spent a lot of time bobbing around my pool of paradise, wondering if my baby knew how lucky she already was.
The Sibling Trip
Alone in Greece, I reveled in the utter indulgence of a solo bucket-list trip, knowing that someday in the very near future I would probably be ready to sell a kidney for that kind of me-time. But I couldn’t help thinking about how much more wonderful it would’ve been to share the experience. So for my next adventure, I called up my brother. I had to go to Cabo to interview the chef at the Waldorf Astoria for a story; would he like to come? Yes. Yes he would.
Getting There
A direct flight from New York to Cabo made things easy, although I was dismayed to find out that while it’s basically a cross-country international journey, JetBlue does not provide a meal for your seven hours on board. Luckily, there was to be much feasting ahead: I was attending a culinary weekend at the Waldorf Astoria Los Cabos Pedregal, where they bring in celebrity chefs to collaborate on special menus and events. The hotel is on the southern tip of Mexico’s Baja California peninsula, accessible only through a private tunnel that opens up into a jaw-dropping welcome view.
StayingThere
Lightning struck twice, private pool-wise: My brother and I were spoiled in a casita with its own pool overlooking the ocean, plus a butler named Ricardo who seemed deadly serious about ensuring I never be caught without a mocktail in hand. (By the end of our stay, I had unfortunately been conditioned to agree). It was the end of whale season and we were lucky enough to spot some of the gentle giants in the water just outside our door. We did eventually muster up the will to go for a sweaty hike back through that tunnel and up the hillside to get the lay of the land, but this is a property whose siren song makes it difficult to leave.
Trip Highlight
The culinary weekend series is worth planning a trip around, not just to see how the guest chefs use local seafood and produce for their menus but also for the festive live music around every corner and general air of merriment that may or may not have anything to do with the guided tequila tastings. But my favorite memory of our Mexican getaway will always be sitting outside with my brother and a virgin margarita, a plate of chips and guac between us, using whale watching as an excuse to stay put for hours talking and taking it all in. Even though we both live in Brooklyn, as busy working adults with partners, dogs, and all the other things that demand daily attention even before kids come into the mix, I couldn’t remember the last time we’d spent this kind of time together — just the two of us. There’s a funny kind of comfort in that shared sibling language no one else understands.
The Family Trip
I came crashing back to reality after Cabo — my window of time for international travel was closing. My father-in-law is an octogenarian cancer survivor who lives in rural Devon, England… and he’s vowed never to leave. My husband and I suddenly realized if we didn’t squeeze in a last-minute trip to see him, it might be a while before we’d be making the schlep.
Getting There
Traveling to Devon from New York isn’t easy any way you slice it. After the flight across the pond, the last thing you want to do is haul your suitcases on a train to Paddington Station, where you switch to another train for the four-hour journey west. The best way by far is to break up the trip and spend a night in London before continuing on. I was researching a story on hotel pools, and found out that the Shangri-La in the iconic Shard building has the highest hotel pool in western Europe. It was the perfect excuse to book a night there. An exquisite afternoon tea service did more than provide a pick-me-up; it brought us back to life. We followed it with a float in that pool overlooking the city, and congratulated ourselves on getting over our jetlag in serious style.
The next morning it was onwards to Devon. We spent a week with my husband’s dad and assorted aunts and uncles, soaking in the quality time together and fixing everyone’s phone and computer issues.
Staying There
Leaving loved ones you don’t get to see very often is always hard, and it felt extra sad this time around. We needed something to look forward to — like a Relais & Chateaux hotel. There was one in the area, close enough that my father-in-law agreed to spend a night away from home to end our visit on a high note.
We all gasped as Lympstone Manor came into view on our drive over; for non-royals it’s like the posh English estate of your fantasies.
There’s a Michelin-star restaurant helmed by chef Michael Caines, who is, fittingly, a Member of the Order of the British Empire. We splurged on a very fancy dinner that tasted especially good after a week of microwavable meals (my father-in-law’s kitchen is not what you’d call well-equipped for hosting). We played croquet on the lawn overlooking the Exe estuary, which happens to be a bird-watcher’s paradise — excellent inter-generational fodder. And we went for long rambles around the estate (it’s a ramble when you’re in England, okay?), guided by the sculptures from over 20 British artists that dot the property.
Trip Highlight
My bump had finally popped and I was starting to slow down a bit; it was humbling to realize I now shared an ideal pace with an 84 year-old who normally calls me “go-go-go Emily.” But there could be no one better to teach me about the pleasure of an aimless wander. Our walks led to the kind of meandering conversations peppered with occasional flashes of insight and emotion that old men tend to excel at: childhood, parenthood, regrets, adventures. What it means to build a home.
He’s normally stoic, but I thought I saw him blinking back tears when we said goodbye.
The Friend Trip
I was staring my third trimester in the face. No more flights allowed. But how about a road trip? July 4th was coming up, and I realized I could finally visit three good friends who left the city.
Getting There
I planned a little East Coast itinerary and borrowed a very comfortable Rivian R1S to make it possible. I had the perfect excuse to be a passenger princess while we drove from New York up through Providence and Boston. I cranked the AC and gave our dog the backseat to herself while I leaned mine all the way back and napped as my husband ferried me around on what we’d begun jokingly calling my Friends Farewell Tour.
Staying There
To me, nothing beats the intimacy of soaking up the mundane details of a friend’s routine while making coffee in your pj’s and sharing a bathroom. Knowing a baby would soon make the prospect of slumber parties less appealing on both the guest and host side of things, I enjoyed it all the more. I’m sorry I had to pee so much, you guys. Stop feeding me coffee!
Trip Highlight
With all the socializing I’d been doing, my cup was filled and I finally felt like I was ready to nest. My energy levels were dipping again, and I was officially dealing with chub rub between my thighs. My sainted mom had been helping prepare the nursery at home while my husband and I ran around like lunatics; it was time to take a breath. (Albeit a shallow one, due to organ squishing by baby.)
My app tells me she’s as big as a pineapple this week, and I think about the long road to this point. Years of infertility, a pregnancy we lost, more puking than I ever thought possible. And yet here I am, still standing (well lately, more often sitting), filled with gratitude for the many relationships that helped us get through it all. A village that will soon be our daughter’s village too. I’ll tell her about the adventures we shared when she was still inside my growing belly, eating octopus in Greece, tea sandwiches in London, Rhode Island-style calamari. What a gift, what a joy, what a life.