retreat

WHEN it comes to booking a family getaway, holiday parks always tick the right boxes for us.

But taking a kid-free, romantic mini-break at one? That probably wouldn’t have made the checklist.

After a blissful weekend in one of the new Butterfly Lodges at St Ives Bay Park, however, I’m more than happy to add it to the list.

The Cornish park has the air of a fancy hotel — only without the steep price tag.  

Snuggled in the golden sand dunes facing the wild Atlantic Ocean on the three-mile, award-winning Towans beach, the front row lodges — all wooden boards and fishing net decking — look more akin to a project from Grand Designs or George Clarke’s Amazing Spaces than a static caravan.

And the luxury look is mirrored inside, too. The master bedroom is kitted out with orange and teal velvets, wooden surfaces and an ultra comfortable super-king bed.

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Plus there is a stylish sideboard in the spacious entrance hallway, mood lighting and sofas and throws worthy of a smart New York apartment.  

Even the bathrooms were a cut above — stylish matt gold taps and smart black framed shower screens. 

And if we had decided to bring the kids, there was also a second bedroom with twin beds that could be converted into another super king, as well as two bunks above, each with their own TV and curtain for privacy.

Looking out towards our private decking area, however, we were a little relieved we’d left our children at home.  

This meant we could enjoy the splendid St Ives sunset views from the hot tub, glass of bubbly in hand, without the fear of being dunked at any minute. Bliss.

Aside from the lavish accommodation, one of the best highlights of a grown-up getaway to St Ives Bay Park is the location.

It goes without saying that this part of Cornwall is utterly stunning and there are walking routes aplenty from your doorstep.

Although if you’re after something truly spectacular, the seven mile hike from Porthcurno (around a 40-minute drive away) to Land’s End along the South West Coast Path is a must.

We started in the white sandy cove of Porthcurno beach which, framed by craggy cliffs and with the clearest blue sea, could have easily been mistaken for a cove in Thailand.

The water, of course, is a tad colder, but some brave souls, including a wetsuit-clad teenager, were having a great time being hurled around in the huge foamy waves.

A steep climb up some stairs carved into the cliffs followed, and then beautiful beach, after beautiful beach, after beautiful beach along the coastal path, from tiny little fishing cove Porthgwarra to the lofty rocks and golden sands of Nanjizal Bay.

It’s a taxing hike, but the views make it totally worthwhile.

Just make sure to plan ahead as the buses back from Land’s End to Porthcurno, where we had parked, are a little unpredictable, so we were stung for a costly taxi ride.

It’s not just glorious beaches and cracking rambling trails that our park was surrounded by either.

The town centre of St Ives is a 15-minute car ride from the lodge and is home to some brilliant little restaurants.

On our first night we had visited Porthminster Beach Cafe, a gorgeously relaxed place that received a mention in the Michelin Guide for its delicious seafood dishes — we tucked into a delicious monkfish curry and a yummy piece of halibut loin with artichoke and chicken butter sauce.

For something a little more casual, though, Talay’s Thai Kitchen really hit the spot.

The pleasingly spicy roasted duck red curry and juicy weeping tiger steak really added some warmth to our windburnt cheeks post hike.

Stuffed and tired after the day’s exertions, it was back to the lodge for a recuperating sunset soak in the hot tub.

We ended the night hunkering down in the gorgeous living area as the wind buffeted the lodge from the Atlantic beyond.

And there hadn’t been a mini disco or mascot in sight. How’s that for an affordable romantic getaway?

Holidaying as a single parent is a tricky balance. You want to ringfence the kind of extended one-on-one time that can be difficult to find during term time; but too much of that and you know you’ll drive each other a little crazy. Kids need other kids, and you could do with some adult company too. You also need a break. It’s a nice idea to pack the car with camping gear and head out into the wilderness, but it can be a lot of work – and you end up in a field, attempting to put up a tent, alone.

Friends of mine have suggested holiday parks, some of them with bars and restaurants and a daily schedule of kids’ activities. That all sounds a bit overstimulating. I’d been dreaming about sinking into a quiet landscape. But would there be enough to do?

The potential answer came in the shape of One Cat Farm, a small nature reserve tucked in a remote valley in Ceredigion, west Wales, which may have the balance just right. Owners Jessie and Lyndon bought the old pig farm when they moved from London in 2013. Setting up a glamping site, running and raising it with three young children, a barely functioning bathroom and no internet was “not quite as fun” as they’d intended, they tell me, but they persevered, and after years of hard work it is – I soon discover – an incredibly special place.

The four cabins, which sleep two adults and up to three children, were designed and built by the couple and are spaced discreetly through the site. There’s a growing woodland (Jessie and Lyndon have planted more than 300 trees since moving here), a wild-swimming pond, and another where nature is left to do its thing. To the east are the Cambrian Mountains; to the west, the hidden beaches of Cardigan Bay – not that we see much of this when we first arrive, in the dark, having driven straight from school pickup. We’re met by Jessie, who shows us to our cabin, which (with double glazing and heating) is wonderfully warm. My six-year-old daughter can’t contain her excitement; she loves the cushions, the lights, the luxury bedding, and the enormous window through which we glimpse the last of the sunset. On discovering the bar of chocolate left as a welcome gift, she calls the place “paradise”.

I’m impressed by how much thought has gone into One Cat Farm. It is simple in the best kind of way, each detail carefully considered without ever feeling overbearing. On our first morning, we find pond-dipping equipment by the communal shed and head down to the water. We’ve dipped nets before without much success, but here the discoveries come thick and fast. There are newts and caddisfly larval cases, damselfly nymphs and water boatmen. Red kites wheel overhead. I strip down to my swimming costume and slip into the water; it is bitingly cold, and glorious. My daughter whoops. She’s standing by the reeds with a towel ready; I realise, with some surprise, that I’m feeling cared for, too.

Over the next few days we explore the nearby beaches, where there are resident dolphins and seals, along with miles of sand. We eat street food from the Manuka food van on the harbour wall in Aberaeron, and fresh pizza and gelato at Tafell a Tân in Llangrannog; we comb high-tide lines and peer into caves, discover mussels on rocky outcrops and stare up at sheer cliff faces. Walking the hedgerows, we forage pennywort and garlic mustard, and wild garlic in droves (Lyndon tells us to come back in autumn for the mushrooms, his favourite time of year).

It’s easy to be a visitor here, but Ceredigion faces challenges, with about 30% of children living in poverty. Jessie is keenly aware of this, and speaks passionately about the difference that places such as One Cat Farm are able to make to the local economy. “Our existence supports not just our family, but also two employees. And, because of our size, we don’t have onsite facilities like a cafe or pub, so guests go out and support local businesses.” She compares this model with those of bigger holiday sites, which are often run from afar by big businesses: “The difference between them and us is like comparing a big wealthy farm to a small subsistence farm.” Jessie and Lyndon clearly care deeply about what they do, and that the place is of benefit to the community and its wildlife.

It’s incredible to think how much must have changed here in the last decade or so, since the project began. By the pond, we spot an otter and a heron; there are rumours of polecats and a peregrine falcon. Crouching in the grass, a network of small tunnels becomes visible – evidence of voles and shrews, now permanent inhabitants.

I’m not always good at slowing down, but here it’s possible to do just that – even with a small person in tow. One night, she and I try the wood-fired outdoor baths; we soak (and splash) for hours, and watch the stars come out. It’s been ages since I’ve felt so relaxed, and so free to revel in my time with her.

While community is encouraged – there’s a communal kitchen and fire pit – it’s not enforced, and if you’ve come for quiet it is easy to be secluded. But before long my daughter has buddied up with the boys in the cabin down the slope, who are here with their dad. Soon they’re moving in a pack, playing on the rope swing, making clay models at our picnic table, drawing maps of the wood. As they head off again, I open a book, then stare at the hills, and yes, I think, it is a kind of paradise. This, I see now, is what we needed; not crowds, not endless choices and constant stimulation, but a bit of time to recoup, reconnect and get immersed in the world.

Accommodation was provided by One Cat Farm. Cabin rates start from £134 a night (sleeps two adults and up to three children), minimum two nights.