I’d like to talk about a hidden little cove I visited late last summer on the south-west coast of England, just a couple of miles outside a tiny fishing village. It wasn't the sort of beach you see plastered all over holiday brochures; in fact, to get there, you had to follow a fairly steep, winding footpath down a cliff face, which keeps the massive crowds away.
I went there on a warm Saturday afternoon with an old university friend. We’d both had quite a hectic few months at work and desperately needed to get out of the city and recharge our batteries. When we reached the bottom of the path, we were amazed to find that there were only three or four other people scattered across the entire stretch of golden sand.
We spent the afternoon doing very little, to be honest, which was precisely the point. We laid out our towels, read our books, and took a refreshing dip in the crystal-clear water. The sea was surprisingly calm, with tiny waves gently lapping against the shore, and the breeze kept the heat bearable. Later on, we unpacked some sandwiches and fresh fruit we’d picked up from a local bakery on the way down.
What made the afternoon so remarkably restorative was the total absence of the usual seaside hustle and bustle. There was no mobile phone reception down in the cove, so we were forced to have a genuine digital detox. There were no noisy jet skis or beachside arcades either, just the soothing sound of the tide and seabirds. It was the first time in months that I felt completely detached from everyday stress and genuinely present in the moment.