I’ll never forget the drive down to North Devon – a proper faff from the Midlands, with rain lashing the windscreen and that classic moment when my sat-nav decided to have a hissy fit just past Exeter. “Recalculating,” it chirped, before leading me on a wild detour through some narrow lanes that had me gripping the wheel like it was a lifeline. I ended up in a muddy layby, laughing at myself for not printing out a proper map like in the old days. But as I finally crested the hill towards Westward Ho!, the clouds parted just enough to reveal the sea sparkling below, and my heart did a little flip. This was going to be brilliant.

Pulling into the small family-run caravan park on the outskirts, I was chuffed with the spot – a delightful little property overlooking the sea, all cosy and inviting, perfect for kicking back. First impressions? Spot on. The beach was just a short stroll away, with surfers dodging waves and families building sandcastles, but I wasn’t here for the crowds. No, my holiday turned into a happy ramble of hidden gems, stumbled upon by pure accident after one too many “wrong turns.”

Take the first afternoon: I fancied a quick wander along the South West Coast Path, but somehow veered off onto a lesser-trodden trail hugging the cliffs. Ended up at this secret cove – not a soul in sight, just pebbles crunching underfoot and seals barking from the rocks offshore. I sat there with a thermos of tea, feeling like I’d nicked a private slice of paradise. Later, trying to loop back, I got properly lost in the dunes behind the park. Stumbled across an old tennis court tucked away, overgrown and forgotten, where I had a daft game against the fence, pretending I was Federer. Laughed till I cried – who needs a court with punters when you’ve got that?

The next day, aiming for the golf course nearby, my dodgy sense of direction spat me out towards Appledore instead. What a find! Slipped down a back alley to a tiny quay where fishermen were mending nets, chatting about the day’s catch over mugs of builder’s tea. No tourist traps, just proper local life, and I scored a fresh crab sandwich that was pure heaven. Got lost again en route to Instow – thank goodness – and discovered a wildflower meadow right by the estuary, buzzing with butterflies. Picnicked there alone, watching the tide roll in, reflecting on how I’m always rushing about at home. Why don’t I slow down more? This trip was a gentle nudge.

Even horse riding turned serendipitous. Booked a trek from the stables near the park, but the route took us off-piste along hidden bridlepaths, popping out at viewpoints over the Torridge that weren’t on any map. And that evening stroll? Meant to hit the beach, but I looped round to a secluded spot where the cliffs meet the waves – perfect for sunset, with not a bather in sight.

Getting lost in North Devon isn’t a mishap; it’s the magic. Those off-the-beaten-track nooks – the coves, meadows, quiet quays – made this caravan park stay unforgettable. If you’re after proper relaxation with a side of adventure, pack your boots and embrace the detours. I’m already plotting a return.