I’ll never forget the drive down to St Ives last month – a proper Cornish adventure that started with a comedy of errors. I’d packed the car the night before, convinced I was organised, only for the sat-nav to chuck a wobbly just past Redruth. “Recalculating,” it chirped, as we veered onto a narrow lane that felt more like a goat track than a road. Turns out I’d forgotten to charge my phone properly, so no Google Maps backup, and we ended up looping through some forgotten hamlet, laughing at the absurdity while munching pasties from a roadside van. By the time we trundled into Carbis Bay, golden hour was painting the sea in that unreal Cornish light, and there she was: 55 Una, our little slice of seaside heaven.

Pulling up to this tucked-away cottage felt like stumbling on a secret. It’s not one of those flashy spots screaming for Instagram; no, 55 Una is the sort of place you find by happy accident, nestled in the quiet folds of Carbis Bay, just a hop from St Ives but worlds away from the Porthmeor Beach crowds. We’d chosen it on a whim after scrolling holiday lets, drawn by the promise of sea views without the tourist scrum. Unloading the bags, I caught that first whiff of salt air mixed with blooming hydrangeas from the garden – proper Cornwall, that. The owners had left fresh scones and clotted cream on the kitchen table, a touch that made me grin like an idiot. “Welcome to paradise,” the note said. Cheeky, but spot on.

First impressions? Bloody brilliant. We dumped our stuff and cracked open a bottle of local Porthminster cider on the sun-drenched terrace. From up here, the bay stretched out like a postcard: turquoise waves lapping at the sand, the railway line hugging the cliff for that iconic St Ives vibe. But the real magic hit when we decided to wander, no map, no plan – just the pull of getting lost in the best way. That’s the joy of 55 Una; it’s perched perfectly for serendipitous discoveries, those hidden gems that make you feel like the only soul in Cornwall.

Our first accidental find was a teeny cove you’d miss if you blinked. From the cottage, we followed a faint path snaking down through brambly hedges – not the main steps to Carbis Bay Beach, mind, but a scrambly shortcut that locals probably use to dodge the day-trippers. It spat us out onto a sliver of sand called Hawkyns Cove, or something like that; I never did check the sign. Empty bar a couple of seals barking offshore, it was pure bliss. We paddled in the rock pools, unearthing tiny crabs and starfish, me nearly twisting an ankle on the seaweed but giggling through it. “This is what holidays are for,” I thought, that gentle pang of reflection hitting me – how often do we charge around ticking boxes back home, missing these quiet wonders?

Day two, hunger drove us off-piste again. Instead of the bustling St Ives high street, we veered left from the cottage along the coastal path, away from the harbour hordes. A wrong turn (or right one?) led us to a wildflower-strewn headland with a bench overlooking Porth Kidney Sands – another off-the-beaten-path beaut, all dunes and dunes backed by dunes, with the Longships Lighthouse winking in the distance. We picnicked there with pasties from a hole-in-the-wall bakery we’d spotted by fluke near the station, devouring them as gulls wheeled overhead. Light humour in the wind whipping our napkins away – “Seagull buffet!” I yelped, chasing them like a daft corgi.

By evening, back at 55 Una, we’d unearthed one more gem: a sundown stroll to a secluded nook behind the bay’s spa, where the cliffs frame the sea like a natural theatre. Cosy inside after, with the wood burner flickering and fish suppers from a chippy we found down a side lane (best batter ever, crispy as), I reflected on how these three days had already rewritten my idea of a holiday. No agendas, just the thrill of the unplanned – getting lost in St Ives’ secret corners from our perfect base. If you crave that unscripted magic, 55 Una’s your accidental treasure. Can’t wait to go back.