The full Monte: Get some pre-Christmas pampering in a Monaco spa

Ah, Monte Carlo, Monaco. So good they named it twice. Erm, yes, well, sort of. They did name it twice, but just not with the same name, you'll note. Monte Carlo tends to be used as a synonym for Monaco, while in fact it is the most significant of the four quartiers of the principality - just as New York City is the prime feature of New York State.

Having just been to Monaco, I can see why they thought the naming-twice thing, like New York, New York, might help nail the glamour of it all. Because it is glamorous, pornographically so. Thanks to Bond movies, luxury-car commercials, music hall songs ("The Man That Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo"), and a movie star marrying the prince, it's the stuff of legends.

One can, of course, get there in a workaday fashion by road or train, but the most fitting and swiftest way is by helicopter from Nice airport. Darlings, the breathtaking thrill! I'd never been in a helicopter before and I must confess being swept over the Med in the exclusive and too-too-busy manner evocative of that Nicole Kidman Chanel commercial certainly rendered Monaco impossibly alluring. Although, from the sea, or indeed from anywhere, the capital, Monte Carlo, is extremely ugly and ill-conceived. Tower block after tower block stands piled on top of each other teetering up the rugged mountains around a large central bay which is, predictably, crammed with the biggest yachts, all private, you've ever seen in your life. Talk about penis extensions.

Once you've entered Monte Carlo proper you finally get a glimpse of some spectacular belle époque buildings - notably the casino that looms majestically over the sea at the back and the Place du Casino at the front. Across from it stands the stunningly ornate, vast Hotel de Paris where I was to stay. Both buildings are beautiful but clearly little thought went into town planning after the few fabulous examples of that era had been erected.

My friend Helen and I were given a "junior" suite: a large, luxurious room gently curved, with no fewer than three balconies overlooking the sea and the casino. Having taken in the view and satisfied ourselves that the room was superior enough (I'm easily pleased, while Helen is a right princess) we went downstairs to check out the rest of the place.

The hotel has the most enormous lobby with a ceiling so high you could comfortably land a helicopter in it. We headed straight for the spa since, ostensibly, I had come to Monaco for a pre-Christmas fix to experience the Age-Perfection Cure at Les Thermes Marins. This is a verging-on-embarrassingly posh spa which is attached to both the Hotels Hermitage and de Paris. I say ostensibly because, let's be honest, that's a long way to go for a facial but, hey, any excuse to take a break from the grinding, relentless hell that is domestic life will do me.

As you might expect for a town catering principally for the über-rich (and, by and large, commensurately old), they take the anti-ageing programme pretty seriously. Slightly too seriously, one might be tempted to say, given that the very moniker is a contradiction in terms. But if money can't buy you love (not true - you should have seen the number of old guys accompanied by fit young girls), then it ought to be able to buy you a few years of youthful looks.

In keeping with the seriousness theme we were given a 40-minute talk on the theories of age-perfecting - in French. I can speak the lingo but am not exactly bilingual so have to admit that I spent most of the time trying to work out if the doctor was gay, and admiring the stunning view of the bay at night from his office. (NB if you take a break here, I'd skip the lecture.)

Dinner that night was at Le Cabaret du Casino. This is a restaurant below the casino where the tables are set out around a large stage. It is the single most naff place I have ever visited, and I've had a drink in a revolving bar. The food was dire and the wine equally awful. We couldn't work out how it survived in a town frequented, indeed kept alive, by those with very exacting demands until we realised that it clearly caters for the stop-off cruise crew. (You know, one of those cruises that docks for half an hour at every famous port en route, thereby giving the voyager the impression that they've "seen the world".) The moment the cabaret started up we knew it was time to leave, despite being advertised as "le plus sexy" show in Monaco; given the ambience and decor it felt a lot more like the sort of entertainment available only in a "gents only" establishment.

The next day was gloriously sunny and, basking in mid-November heat, I began to get a taste of the high life. Sun on tap, creakingly wonderful service in a five-star hotel, no woman wearing heels lower than six inches - it was all just too, too glamorous. I did wonder if perhaps it was against Monaco law for women to wear flat shoes and whether they'd checked your heel height at customs. Anything below a Manolo and out you go. Indeed, it might also be against the law there to be chunky. We only saw one overweight girl the whole time but she was staff so that doesn't really count, eh? We spotted plenty of fat blokes, natch, but not a fat lady, no way.

My spa treatments began with a luxury sea wrap - an enjoyable, but slightly mystifying scrub down with salt, then a soak in a Jacuzzi followed by a massage. In years gone by I sought out relentlessly sybaritic pursuits but that's all behind me and, like any convert, I now seek out pain to greater feel my salvation. Consequently, I like a body scrub to be so hard it's in danger of tearing off the top three layers of my skin. This was all a bit gentle, a bit is-that-it-ish? I suspect the treatment was invented to be more relaxing than anything else and capable of convincing rich old people that they're taking steps to hold back the years rather than for its actual rejuvenating benefits.

This was followed by lunch at the spa's Hirondelle restaurant on the still sun-baked terrace. The food was absolutely sensational and way beyond the quality of anything you'd expect ordinarily in a health resort. What's more, if you were taking your health seriously, which I rarely am, there were mouth-watering choices on the menu with the calories all calculated for you.

The four-page water menu - I kid you not, complete with detailed description of the differences between the waters - did make me giggle, but then, as I say, I don't take that sort of thing very seriously. Maybe there are people out there who genuinely care enough to browse through the various qualities offered by 25 different types of overpriced bottled water - chacun... and all that.

Dragging myself away from the sun, I descended to one of the spa's many levels to have a La Prairie Caviar facial. This, I must say, was the best facial I have ever had in my life. It's not that I now look 28, nor that my face emanates a girlie glow, it was just so unbelievably calming. Assuming we don't believe the procedure defied the advancing years, it did, I think, make me look a little, shall we say, fresher.

So, up I skipped to the hair salon to have a hair treatment. What can I say about hair treatments? I'll give you that they are probably a good thing if you do them all the time, if you are one of those people who applies themselves dutifully to a well-regimented and strictly adhered-to weekly beauty programme. However, since it's a red-letter day in my house when I manage to brush my teeth, you'll appreciate that I'm not the best qualified person in the world to give you the inside scoop on hair treatments. After all, hair is dead and there's only so much that can be done to make dead things look nice. The scalp massaging that comes with having one's hair treated was lovely, though. I could do that a couple of times a week, no sweat - that is, if someone else was doing it.

The nice woman then put phenomenal time into blow-drying my hair. I couldn't believe she was being so thorough. But then again, I reminded myself, the entire town, never mind the spa, caters for people who throw enough cash to feed a developing country for a decade at vital treatments such as upper-lip waxes and eyebrow shaping. Also, that is unlikely to be the kind of person who is satisfied with the quick tousle and two minutes of highest heat blast on the hairdryer to which my crowning glory has become accustomed.

If I say so myself, the time my appointed hairdresser put in was worth it in the end. I emerged from the salon looking ready for a premiere. Glancing fleetingly in the mirror (the time you spend looking in the mirror decreases exponentially with age, trust me), I did find myself fantasising briefly about how great it would be to have the kind of lifestyle * * which demands you have your hair set every time you left the house. I looked so unlike myself - so "done" - it was a real treat. I wanted to see a woman who lolls around without a care in the world in a luxury spa all day long and that is exactly what my reflection was giving me.

That night Helen and I took up a favourable position in the Hotel de Paris's Bar Américain and had four expensive Bellinis, each worth every penny. The people-watching there is the best I've ever done. More designer handbags, outré jewellery and grey ponytails - and that's the men - than you could begin to hope for at a Versace convention. Glorying in the show, we then dodged the Astons, Rollers and Lamborghinis to cross the square to dine at a marginally less naff but nonetheless themed restaurant, the Café de Paris.

The mind-boggling theme there was Tyrolean - why? Who knows? The menu was resolutely French yet as the Tyrolean dancing girls danced around the tables (true), no motivating explanation was forthcoming. We then went on to the Monte Carlo Casino. Neither my pal nor I had any intention of gambling but we felt one ought to see, at least, the interior. The casino, which was built in 1878, is a feast of architectural opulence. A vast marble-clad, onyx-columned lobby leads into even vaster gaming rooms. In its heyday, when gentlemen didn't work and it was filled with the idle rich, the atmosphere must have been fittingly devil-may-care and gloriously elitist. The problem now is that without expert movie lighting and that smoked-up look provided by movie props guys, it all looks a bit faded and low rent. Harsh lighting, not at all in keeping with the beautiful decor, picks out in hideous relief old men hunched over the green baize.

There are a few, ahem, working girls dotted around trying their luck, as it were, but otherwise that's pretty much the majority of the clientele - not a Daniel Craig type in sight. It's not a very edifying experience. I expected sheikhs, rajahs, gorgeous girls dripping in diamonds wearing dresses split up to their waists - you know, glamour, black tie, compulsory cummerbunds, not nylon jackets, chain-smoking moustachioed Russian millionaires adding up their losses and gains in a booklet with a pencil from a bookie.

The next day I stopped by the gym. I've seen a gym before, as I dare say you have too, so not that much to report there, except the running machines face a vast window which overlooks the sea, so that's nice, exceptional even, but I couldn't say it makes the running any easier. One thing I did notice, again - no fat people in the gym. I don't think I've ever been to a gym where there wasn't at least one chunky person pounding away on a machine. I'm not sure fat people are allowed out and about in Monaco, unless, of course, they own a football team or perhaps a state.

After my punishing session in the gym it was lunch at the Hirondelle, naturally. Then, up, up and away in the fabulous helicopter again and back to reality. And I mean reality - boy, there's really nothing like checking in at an airport to take the shine off a weekend away.

If my experience is anything to go by, you wouldn't go to Monaco for anything other than this spa, which is worth it, if you like that sort of thing. I am a controlling nightmare (see husband for full quote), so I'm difficult to pamper in that I'll have a niggle with everything. However, pampering probably doesn't come much better than here and the pool, restaurant, terrace with baking sun (if you get it) are all heavenly. Outside, it's all a bit pointless, tasteless and, frankly, silly.

Monaco is Disneyland for men withpersonalised number plates on their Ferraris, and women who take a bath in Jimmy Choos, giggle at anything a man utters and don't know what's wrong with wearing fur. Having said that, it is fabulously unreal in Monaco and makes a perfect destination for a hen or stag weekend. When the honeymoon is over, believe me, reality starts with a bang, not with a whimper.

TRAVELLER'S GUIDE

GETTING THERE

There are no direct flights between the UK and Monte Carlo. The writer travelled with easyJet (0905 821 0905; www.easyJet.com), which flies to Nice from Belfast, Bristol, Liverpool, Gatwick, Luton, Stansted and Newcastle. British Airways (0870 850 9850; www.ba.com) also flies from Heathrow, and bmibaby (08702 642 229; www.bmibaby.com) from Birmingham. Helicopter transfers from Nice to Monte Carlo are offered by Heli Air Monaco (00 377 92 050 050; www.heliairmonaco.com), which has one-way fares from €80 (£57).

To reduce the impact on the environment, you can buy an "offset" from Climate Care (01865 207 000; www.climatecare.org). The environmental cost of a return flight from London to Monte Carlo, in economy class, is £1.90. The money is used to fund sustainable energy and reforestation projects.

Alternatively, Rail Europe (08708 371 371; www.raileurope.co.uk) offers routes to Monte Carlo via Paris or Lille from London Waterloo and Ashford, Kent.

STAYING THERE

A one-week Monte Carlo Age Perfection at Les Thermes Marins de Monte-Carlo starts at €6,558 (£4,684) per person. The price includes seven nights' accommodation at the Hotel de Paris or Hotel Hermitage, a personal consultation with Les Thermes Marins' doctors, up to six hours of treatments a day, a personal training coach, a bespoke healthy menu plan and the use of hair stylists and beauty therapists. For further information or to make a reservation, call 00 377 92 16 49 46 or visit www.montecarlospa.com.

Hotel de Paris, Place du Casino

(00 377 98 06 30 16; www.montecarloresort.com). Double rooms start at €395 (£282), room only.

VISITING THERE

Les Thermes Marins Spa, 2 Avenue de Monte Carlo (00 377 98 06 69 00; www.montecarlospa.com).

Monte Carlo Casino, Place du Casino (00 377 92 16 20 00; www.casinomontecarlo.com).

EATING & DRINKING THERE

Café de Paris, Place du Casino (00 377 98 06 76 23).

MORE INFORMATION

Monaco Tourist Office: 00 377 92 166 166; www.visitmonaco.com

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