I’ll never forget the drive down to St Ives – or rather, the comedy of errors that got me there. We’d set off from Bristol full of beans, Spotify blasting some indie playlist, but halfway through Cornwall, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly. It routed us down a tiny lane that narrowed into a goat track, complete with a sheep blocking the way and me reversing into a hedge. Classic me, always the navigator who shouldn’t be. Still, by the time we crested the hill into Carbis Bay, hearts racing a bit from the near-miss, the anticipation melted away. There it was: this cracking luxurious two-bedroom apartment with two bathrooms, perfect for me, my partner and another couple. Up to four of us could sprawl out comfortably, and that balcony? Blimey, breathtaking sea views stretching across the bay to Godrevy lighthouse and out to the horizon. First impressions? Pure magic – we cracked open a bottle of prosecco before the bags were even unpacked.

From the off, we vowed no tourist traps, no queues at the big galleries or Porthmeor Beach crush. Instead, we embraced getting lost, letting footpaths and whims lead us to St Ives’ hidden gems. Our first wander was down from the apartment towards the bay, but we veered off the main drag onto a scruffy cliff path that looked like it hadn’t seen a boot in years. Turned out it spat us out at a secret cove below Carbis Bay, all rugged rocks and turquoise water lapping at our toes. No one else around – just us, some seals barking in the distance, and a thermos of tea. I sat there thinking, when did I last switch off like this? Work’s been a right treadmill lately, and here I was, accidentally stumbling on paradise without a soul in sight.

Next day, we ‘lost’ ourselves again behind St Ives, climbing up past Lavender’s tea room (grab a cream tea there if you must, it’s lush) onto those winding lanes towards Lelant. A wrong turn down a hedgerow tunnel led to an abandoned quarry turned wildflower meadow, buzzing with butterflies and overlooking the salt marshes. We picnicked on pasties from a no-frills bakery we’d spotted en route – proper job, stuffed with proper chunks of meat and spud. Laughing about my dodgy sense of direction felt good; it’s these daft detours that make holidays, innit? No maps, just hunches.

Evenings were balcony bliss, watching the sun dip behind the lighthouse, but we’d sneak out for more off-piste adventures. One dusk, we followed a faint signpost to a tucked-away spot near Porthkidney Sands – a pebbly beach hidden by dunes, where the tide pools glowed like jewels. We skimmed stones till our arms ached, unearthing bits of sea glass that still sit on my mantel. Another time, looping back via the coastal path from Carbis Bay station, we tripped over a minuscule harbour at low tide, fishermen mending nets and sharing yarns about wreck dives. Proper local vibes, zero Instagram hordes.

Looking back, that mishap on the road was the best thing – it set the tone for ditching the plan and uncovering St Ives’ quiet corners. If you’re heading to a spot like this, ditch the guidebook, get lost, and let Cornwall work its charm. We left knackered but buzzing, already plotting the next ‘accidental’ getaway.