I’ll never forget the drive down to Porthleven – or rather, the near-disaster that kicked it off. We’d piled into the car in Bristol, kids buzzing with excitement, me navigating via a dodgy sat-nav that decided to send us on a scenic detour through some winding lanes that felt more like tractor tracks. Just as we were convinced we’d end up in the next county, it spat us out right on the edge of this gorgeous Cornish spot, the sea winking at us from afar. Heart racing a bit, but honestly, that little mishap made the arrival all the sweeter – first impressions? Blimey, the place looked like a proper hug from the coast.

We’d booked this cracking five-bed cottage, all cosy and welcoming, tucked away in a quiet corner about a mile and a half from the beach. Perfect for our lot – me, the wife, two lads and the in-laws – with space to sprawl out and not trip over each other. From the moment we tumbled through the door, bags everywhere, it felt like home. But the real magic? It wasn’t the obvious stuff like the harbour or the cream teas in the village (though we demolished a few of those). No, it was the hidden gems we stumbled on by pure accident, getting properly lost in the best way.

First wander out, we aimed for the beach but took a wrong turn onto a skinny path snaking along the cliffs. Instead of sand, we found this secret cove – not a soul in sight, just seals basking on the rocks below and wildflowers nodding in the breeze. We picnicked there till the tide chased us off, laughing at how we’d have missed it sticking to the main drag. That set the tone: off-the-beaten-track or bust.

Next day, faffing about with maps that might as well have been scribbles, we veered inland from the South West Coast Path. Ended up in this lush little valley, what must’ve been Sally’s Bottom nature spot or something like it – a proper hidden pocket of countryside with babbling streams and butterflies everywhere. The kids went feral, building dens while we adults sipped thermos tea, marvelling at how Cornwall packs coast and green hills into one breath. We’d planned a straight beach hike to Porthtowan, a couple of miles up, but this detour? Gold dust.

Even closer to home, pottering around the harbour one misty morning, we ducked down an unmarked alley and discovered a tucked-away café run by a local artist. No tourists, just fishermen swapping yarns over pasties. Felt like we’d gatecrashed Cornwall’s best-kept secret. And on our last evening, getting “lost” again behind the cottage led to a wildflower meadow with views right over the sea – sunset like a painting, complete with a curious fox eyeing our crisps.

Looking back, I reckon that’s the joy of these spots: you don’t find them, they find you when you let go of the plan. Meant I spent less time herding the family and more soaking it in, reflecting on how a daft sat-nav cock-up turned into the holiday that’ll stick longest. If you’re after coast and countryside without the crowds, get yourself lost in Porthleven – you won’t regret it.