I’ll never forget the drive down to St Ives – or rather, the near-disaster that kicked it off. We’d piled into the car in Bristol, full of excitement for our first proper holiday in ages, only for the sat-nav to chuck a wobbly just past Exeter. It sent us down some winding B-road that turned into a single-track nightmare, complete with a sheep blockade right in the middle. Me, reversing into a hedge while my other half laughed hysterically – classic us. But by the time we crested the hill into Carbis Bay, hearts still racing a bit, the stress melted away. There it was: this cracking luxury first-floor apartment perched on the cliffs, all bay windows begging you to gawp at the sea. Looking out from the living area, you get why it’s called a ‘lookout’ in Cornish – panoramic views from St Ives Bay one way to Godrevy Lighthouse the other, boats bobbing about like toys. Binoculars on the sill, ready for seal-spotting. Two comfy bedrooms for our little family of four, perfect setup. First impressions? Blimey, we’d struck gold.

We weren’t here for the tourist crush on the main drag, mind. No, the real magic happened when we ditched the map and let curiosity lead. Day one, wandering down from the apartment towards Carbis Bay beach, we veered off the path onto what looked like a smugglers’ trail – overgrown, unsigned, the works. It spat us out at a tiny cove I’ve since learned is Porth Kidney Sands’ forgotten corner. No crowds, just us, a thermos of tea, and seals barking like cheeky neighbours. We spent hours poking rock pools, finding crabs the size of my thumb. Pure joy, that unexpected hideaway.

Next morning, fueled by the view (and a fry-up), we hopped the little train from Carbis Bay station – two minutes from the door – into St Ives, but instead of the Tate, we got properly lost in the back lanes behind the harbour. Twisty paths took us to a hidden garden nook off The Digey, where wildflowers spilled over walls and an old bench overlooked a secret sliver of beach. Felt like we’d stumbled into someone’s private paradise. Lunch? A no-frills pasty from a shack we found by accident near Porthmeor – best one yet, flaky and steaming.

The afternoons were for cliff-top rambles, always veering onto faint paths that rewarded us with gems like the secluded sands at Portreath Beach’s edge (well within a cheeky stroll) or a blowhole that whooshed like a dragon when the tide was right. One evening, getting ‘lost’ again led to a clifftop wildflower meadow buzzing with bees – sat there with binoculars, watching the lighthouse wink as the sun dipped. Made me reflect a bit, you know? In the rush of life back home, we forget how good it feels to wander without a plan, just breathing in the salt air and letting the world surprise you.

By the end of the week, we’d mapped our own mental atlas of these offbeat spots, far from the selfie sticks. That apartment was the perfect perch – views to die for, space to flop, and a launchpad for serendipity. If you fancy ditching the beaten track in Cornwall, this is your spot. We’re already plotting a return.