I should have known the holiday was going to be memorable when I put the sat nav postcode into my phone and it directed me to a field full of very unimpressed cows. Turns out there are two roads with almost identical names near Wardersee, and I had confidently chosen the wrong one. The cows, for what it's worth, looked like they had seen this exact mistake before.

After a rather sheepish three-point turn on a narrow lane that definitely was not built for turning, we finally found the actual entrance to Feriendorf Wardersee. My partner sat in the passenger seat with that particular expression of patience that only comes from being married to someone who refuses to admit they are lost until the evidence is literally mooing at them.

The first thing that struck me was how green everything was. Schleswig-Holstein in late spring is basically various shades of green fighting for dominance, and the little cluster of holiday homes sat nestled among trees with the lake glinting through beyond. It looked properly peaceful, which was a relief because my blood pressure was still recovering from the cow incident.

We had booked one of the smaller terraced houses, and I immediately made my second mistake of the day by trying to open the wrong front door. In my defence, they all look remarkably similar, and I had managed to drag our suitcase halfway up the path before realising the key was not going to work. A friendly wave from an actual resident in the correct house next door sent me scurrying back to check the number again. I am almost certain they watched the whole thing from their window.

The interior was simple but spotless, all light wood and functional German efficiency. The kitchen had everything you actually need rather than the decorative nonsense you find in some holiday lets. I opened the fridge to check its capacity, because priorities, and was immediately reminded that we had not actually bought any food yet. The nearest supermarket was a drive away, and my grand plan of a relaxed first evening with local wine and cheese was looking rather optimistic.

We dumped the bags and headed straight for the lake, partly because it was right there and partly because I needed to redeem myself after the cow and door debacles. A short path led down through the trees, and then suddenly there was Wardersee stretching out ahead of us, properly still and reflecting the sky like it had been waiting for us to stop making mistakes long enough to notice it.

The beach area was small and sandy, with a few wooden jetties poking out. A couple of families were already set up with the serious German beach equipment that always puts my single folding chair to shame. I waded in up to my knees and immediately yelped, because apparently northern German lakes in spring have not received the memo about being refreshing. My partner laughed for the first time since the cows, which I chose to take as progress.

That evening we drove to the nearest village and found a bakery still open, which felt like a minor miracle. We ate bread and cheese on our small terrace as the light faded, watching bats flicker between the trees. I had managed to arrive at the wrong place, try the wrong door, and freeze my feet in a lake, yet somehow we were sitting there with full stomachs and the particular quiet that only comes from being somewhere properly away from everything.

The sat nav sat dark and unhelpful on the table. I did not trust it anymore, and I think it knew.