I’ll never forget the drive down to Truro in Cornwall last month – what should’ve been a straightforward two hours from Devon turned into a comedy of errors when the satnav decided to send us down a narrow farm track that dead-ended at a field full of very unimpressed cows. There we were, me swearing under my breath (quietly, mind), reversing back with hedges scraping the wing mirrors, while my other half laughed so hard she nearly spilled her coffee. But honestly, that little mishap set the tone for the whole trip: the joy of getting properly lost and stumbling on Cornwall’s best-kept secrets.

By the time we pulled up, the sun was dipping low, and I was buzzing with that arrival anticipation – you know, that mix of exhaustion and excitement where you just want to crack open a bottle and flop. First impressions? Spot on. It’s one of those holiday properties that’s spot-on for anyone with limited mobility or wheelchair users, with a super-spacious open-plan living area, tall ceilings and a fresh colour scheme blending modern rustic vibes. The dining spot and well-stocked kitchen make it dead easy to rustle up a feast or host mates, and those doors out to the private patio? Perfect for al fresco dinners or sinking into the hot tub with a chilled fizz as the stars come out.

We wasted no time diving into the local magic, but not the tourist traps – oh no, we let the getting-lost vibe lead us to hidden gems you won’t find on the usual maps. First off, a wrong turn down a winding lane took us to a secluded cove just a few miles from Truro, where the cliffs drop straight into turquoise water and there’s not a soul in sight. We parked up, scrambled (gently) down a path that felt like our own private discovery, and spent the afternoon beachcombing for sea glass, with seals popping up like nosy neighbours. Pure bliss, and zero chip vans in earshot.

The next day, aiming for a quick supply run, we veered off near the Fal estuary and found ourselves at this tucked-away wildflower meadow that locals must whisper about. Blankets out, pasties from a nearby farm shop (honestly, the flakiest I’ve had), and we picnicked overlooking the water, watching herons fish. It made me pause for a bit of self-reflection – back home, I’m always rushing, glued to screens, but here, wandering aimlessly, I realised how much richer life feels when you ditch the plan. No Instagram crowds, just us and the breeze.

Evenings back at the property were for hot tub unwinding, swapping stories of the day’s accidental finds. One night, a detour led to a hidden orchard path bursting with apple blossom – early season, but we picked a few windfalls for crumble, feeling like proper foragers. Truro’s close enough for a mooch into its quirky lanes if you fancy, but honestly, these off-the-beaten-path spots, born from getting gloriously lost, made it unforgettable. If you’re after that proper Cornish escape, pack your sense of adventure – and maybe a paper map, just in case.