I’ll never forget the drive down to Hythe – sat nav had me convinced I’d make it in under two hours from London, but no, a cheeky little road closure near Ashford turned it into a proper faff. I ended up rerouting through some winding country lanes, swearing under my breath as the kids in the back seat started their “are we there yet?” chorus. Still, by the time we rolled into this gorgeous Cinque Port town, the sun was peeking through the clouds, and my heart lifted. Spotting the sea glittering ahead, I could already taste the salt air.

Pulling up to our sea-view apartment right on the beachfront, I was chuffed to bits. It’s one of those modern yet cosy spots with big windows framing the waves – perfect for a family of five like ours, and the first impressions were spot on. Bags dumped, we cracked open a cuppa and gazed out, anticipation buzzing. Hythe felt like it was rolling out the red carpet, with its maritime vibe whispering promises of adventures.

First day, the weather gods smiled: blue skies, light breeze. We laced up our boots for the Royal Military Canal path, right on our doorstep. That thing’s a cracker – seven miles of flat towpath hugging the water, lined with reeds and the odd heron eyeing us suspiciously. The kids raced ahead on their bikes while I ambled along, breathing it all in. We spotted canal boats chugging by, and I even managed a cheery wave to a fisherman pulling in a decent catch. By lunchtime, we’d wandered into Hythe’s charming streets, grabbing pasties from a little café before looping back. Pure bliss.

But oh, British weather – it’s got a wicked sense of humour. Next morning, we woke to grey skies and a drizzle that turned into a proper downpour. Our grand plan for a longer hike along the coast to Saltwood Castle? Scrubbed. Instead, we improvised with a sheltered stomp along the promenade, hoods up, laughing as waves crashed dramatically close. The rain lashed sideways, but there’s something magical about Hythe in the wet – the beach empty save for us hardy souls, the sea roaring like it owned the place. We ducked into St Leonard’s Church for a breather; that ossuary they’ve got is eerie in the gloom, bones stacked like forgotten firewood. Gave me a proper shiver, and a moment to reflect: when do we ever slow down like this at home? Rain or shine, it was forcing us to just be.

Day three, the clouds parted just enough for the Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch Railway – that miniature steam train is brilliant, puffing us a few miles down to Dungeness. We hopped off for a shingle beach hike, wind whipping our faces as we trudged over the pebbles, spotting seals bobbing offshore. The RSPB reserve paths were alive with birds – oystercatchers piping away – though the squalls had us zigzagging back early. Back at the apartment, drying off with hot chocolate, we chuckled about our soggy escapades.

Those few days taught me something: Hythe’s hikes are forgiving, weather be damned. The canal, the beach, the train trails – they bend to whatever the skies chuck at you. We left windswept, wiser, and already plotting a return. If you fancy a proper Kent coastal jaunt, this is your spot.