Dedicated adventure girl Olivia Palamountain is a devout hater of resort holidays. We packed her off for a stay in Sharm El Sheikh, where there is little else
Call me contrary, but holidays that have been calculated to make life easier grind my gears. I’m the kind of person who enjoys the chaos of travel. I want the freedom to roam, the chance encounter, the dodgy decision – after all, adversity on the road brings the laughs back home. Unsurprisingly, I would never, ever book a resort holiday.
The Stepford Wives of the hospitality world, these controlled, manicured all-inclusive temples to indulgence are experts in what I don’t want. From the groaning buffet spreads full of things that will never get eaten (nobody needs a chocolate fountain at breakfast) to the lazy buggy drives and the monotony of spontaneity-free days in ‘paradise’, even the tropical ones leave me chilly. It doesn’t help that resort life is all about ‘getting away from it all’ and I’m rubbish at relaxing. As my serene Greek housemate says: “You’re always doing something.”
Please, someone, show me how to lose myself at a resort where it’s impossible to get lost. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve tried. Travel writers are often beggars rather than choosers when it comes to their assignments, and while I’ve found myself at all-inclusives the world over, I have rarely come to a more generous conclusion. The Four Seasons Sharm El Sheikh opened in the sprawling, purpose-built tourism destination on the utmost point of Egypt’s South Sinai peninsula some 20 years ago and remains the undisputed Sheikh of Sharm.
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Bathed in glorious, year-round sunshine, home to world-class watersports and just a nippy 10-minute transfer from the airport, my editor asked me to tackle my biggest fear: the resort holiday. I was ready. Set in a maze of meandering pathways clad in perfumed bushels of bougainvillaea, the Four Seasons really is an oasis in the desert. Yes, there are buggies, but I brave the heat to wander this “Arabian village” on foot, discovering cascading fountains and clandestine meeting spots that frame flashes of the blue beyond. Nods to Moorish design continue inside the opulent villas, complete with all the ultra-comfortable hallmarks of the Four Seasons.
I crack open a beer on my terrace and drink in dreamy views of the Red Sea as the sun wanes. The real beauty of Sharm, however, is what lies beneath. A Mecca for underwater adventures, dive master and all-round cool dude Amr guides me around the spectacular reef, alive with vibrant corals, kaleidoscopic fish and even the odd benign shark. From the Maldives to Mexico, the Caribbean, Indonesia and Australia, Sharm blows every other reef I’ve explored clean out of the water – and, with its new dive centre, training pool and classroom, the Four Seasons would make a fantastic place to earn your PADI. Hungry? I don’t find it easy to get excited about dining on the same property every night but with 14 restaurants, I guess there’s plenty of choice. Plus, there’s no baulking at an outrageous bill from a hipster joint slinging ‘small plates’.
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Still, I can’t help missing the beat of a local backstreet bistro: old habits die hard and a familiar sense of fomo starts to creep in. Fortunately, the free-flowing booze is banging. I recommend skipping the rip-off premium selection (these cost extra) and exploring the Egyptian-made options: the quaffable Château de Granville house tipple is an elegant semillon that slips down night after night. To offset the extravagant consumption there are fitness facilities galore, including tennis courts, a subterranean squash court and a fabulous gym.
At home, workouts have to be shoehorned between work, meetings, events and hangovers. With zero distractions, I’m in the gym twice a day, because that’s how hyper, intense people like me unwind. And it starts to work. I ease up on frantic comms, exchange doom-scrolling for a book and watch as the sad skin around my bitten nails starts to heal. With gym-beach-eat-repeat established, divine days melt into Arabian nights and I can’t be bothered to venture into Sharm – but Four Seasons has a chauffeured limo so my arm is twisted. The Old Market was built in 1986, which makes it younger than I am but hopefully I’m not nearly as tired, dusty or boring.
It does, however, have a much better bag collection, courtesy of the endless boutiques selling counterfeit designer garb, as well as the magnificent El Sahaba mosque, which looks a little forlorn surrounded by so much tat. As much as my independent spirit rebels against the package holiday, five days of cocooned at a resort with all the bells and whistles has been a balm for my frazzled body and mind. Despite the limitations of a manufactured environment, I found my own groove here, which I guess is what it’s all about.
For the record, I still think resorts are weird. I travel to feel, not to forget, and resorts are carefully constructed illusions designed to keep the messy realities of the world at bay. But at least Four Seasons Sharm El-Sheikh helped me to understand the point of resorts, even if I will go back to my stressful holidays of navigating my own travel and getting my timings wrong.
Rates at the Four Seasons Sharm El Sheikh start from £258 per night
