I’ll never forget the drive over to the Isle of Wight for our little family getaway – the ferry from Southampton was smooth enough, but then we hit a snag right after disembarking. I took a wrong turn near Sandown, ending up on some narrow lane that had us convinced we were lost before we’d even started. The sat nav was having a right old tantrum, and there I was, squinting at faded signs while the kids in the back chanted “are we there yet?” Classic me, always the navigator who could get lost in my own postcode. But honestly, that little mishap set the tone – it turned out getting lost was the best bit of the whole trip.

By the time we rolled up to our bright, charming seaside apartment on Shanklin’s Esplanade, I was buzzing with anticipation. Right opposite the sandy shore, it was perfect for us four – two cosy bedrooms, everything we needed without any fuss. First impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags, cracked open the windows to that salty sea air, and within minutes were kicking off our shoes on Shanklin Beach, literally on our doorstep. The sun was dipping low, painting the waves gold, and I thought, yeah, this is exactly what we needed.

We’d planned the obvious stuff – a stroll along the beach, maybe a wander into Shanklin Old Village for tea and cake – but the real magic happened when we veered off the beaten track. First hidden gem came by accident that very evening. Instead of heading straight to the Old Village, we followed a cheeky footpath signposted “Chine Walk” that we nearly missed. It led us through Shanklin Chine, that lush gorge just half a mile away, but not the main tourist drag. We stumbled on these tucked-away fern-filled nooks, proper secret spots where the trees overhang like a green tunnel and you can hear nothing but birdsong and trickling water. The kids went wild pretending it was a jungle adventure, and I had one of those dad moments, reflecting on how I’m always rushing about back home – here, just pottering along felt like proper luxury.

Next day, we got properly lost again, in the best way. Aiming for the beach, we took a detour up a winding path behind the esplanade that wasn’t on any map I’d seen. It spat us out at this forgotten little cove, shielded by cliffs and littered with rock pools teeming with crabs. No crowds, just us poking about with buckets, laughing as I slipped on seaweed (note to self: flip-flops are rubbish for exploring). It felt like we’d uncovered a private slice of paradise, far from the donkey rides and ice cream queues.

Wandering back via the Old Village – those thatched cottages and quaint pubs are as postcard-perfect as they come – we ducked into a tiny alley that led to a hidden tearoom we’d never have found otherwise. Scones the size of saucers and proper clotted cream; bliss. Our final off-piste find was a short amble towards what we thought was just another beach access, but it opened up to these wildflower meadows hugging the shore, buzzing with butterflies. We sat there for ages, watching the Channel sparkle, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at myself – turns out, my terrible sense of direction is a superpower for unearthing the island’s best-kept secrets.

That apartment was the ideal base for it all – close enough to dip in and out, but with the freedom to lose ourselves in Shanklin’s quieter corners. If you’re after a holiday where the highlights aren’t signposted, this is your spot. We left with sandy toes, full bellies, and a promise to return for more accidental adventures.