I have always believed that the best holidays begin with a small disaster, if only to give you something to laugh about once the kettle is on. Our trip to Helligso Strand in North Jutland proved me entirely right.

The drive up from Aalborg Airport had been surprisingly pleasant, all flat farmland and big skies, the kind of scenery that makes you feel you have properly escaped somewhere. My partner had done the sensible thing and booked a hire car with a boot large enough for our ridiculous amount of luggage. We had packed for every weather eventuality, which for Denmark in late spring apparently meant three coats each and a pair of sandals, just in case. I was in charge of navigation, a role I take far too seriously given my complete inability to read maps.

The trouble began at a roundabout somewhere near Fjerritslev. I was convinced our holiday home was to the left. My partner, who had actually read the directions, said right. I won the argument through sheer volume, which is never a winning strategy. Twenty minutes later we found ourselves down a farm track, surrounded by curious cows and absolutely no sign of the sea. A three-point turn became a twelve-point turn. The cows watched in silent judgment. I waved at them apologetically, as if this might help.

When we finally arrived at Helligso Strand, I was determined to redeem myself by being the one to open the key safe. I had the code written on my phone, on a scrap of paper, and memorised, which naturally meant I forgot all three the moment I stood in front of the little metal box. I tried the code backwards, upside down, and once with what I can only describe as interpretive dance. My partner took over and opened it first try. I laughed, perhaps a touch too loudly, and made a mental note that humility is a virtue I should probably practise more often.

Stepping inside the house, though, any lingering frustration simply dissolved. The place smelled of pine and clean linen, that particular scent of a well-kept Danish holiday home. Floor-to-ceiling windows in the living area framed a view I had not properly expected, despite having seen photographs. The Limfjord stretched out beyond the terrace, calm and grey-blue in the afternoon light, with low hills on the far shore. I stood there with my hand still on my suitcase, mouth slightly open, looking very probably like one of those cows.

The kitchen was immediately appealing in that practical Scandinavian way, all pale wood and everything in its proper place. I opened a cupboard and found a proper coffee machine, not the dusty filter thing I had feared. Small victories matter enormously on arrival day. The bedrooms were simple and bright, with that particular Danish talent for making minimalism feel cosy rather than cold. I claimed the room with the better view, citing my earlier navigational suffering as justification. My partner rolled their eyes and let me have it.

I insisted on exploring before unpacking, which meant wandering down to the water's edge in entirely inappropriate shoes. The beach at Helligso Strand is not the sandy bucket-and-spade affair of childhood holidays but something wilder and more interesting, pebbly in parts, with reeds and low dunes. The water was far too cold for swimming, though a local dog seemed perfectly happy splashing about. I watched it enviously, my toes already numb from a brief paddle.

Back at the house, I made tea with the terrible bags we had brought from home, refusing to admit they were inferior to whatever Danish alternative existed. We sat on the terrace as the light faded, wrapped in blankets against a breeze that still carried winter's memory. A heron landed on the shore below us, utterly unconcerned by our presence. I felt that particular shift that happens on proper holidays, when the ordinary world loosens its grip and you remember how to simply sit still.

The mishaps of arrival had already become funny, as I knew they would. The wrong turn, the key safe, the frozen toes, these were the small human moments that made the place ours already. North Jutland had welcomed us with its particular quiet generosity, and I was already certain we would not want to leave.