I should have known the holiday was going to be eventful when I put the postcode into my sat nav and it tried to send me to a field full of very unimpressed cows. Three hours up from Hamburg, cruising through the flat green sprawl of Schleswig-Holstein, and my technology had decided I belonged in agricultural pasture rather than the sleek waterfront promise of Ostseeresort Olpenitz.

The mishap, though, came after I finally found the actual resort. I was so relieved to spot the modern timber-clad buildings that I grabbed my rucksack, my carrier bag of snacks, and what I thought was my suitcase. It was not my suitcase. It was my partner's enormous toiletry bag, which he had packed with enough skincare to stock a small branch of Boots. I stood in the car park, holding this absurdly heavy bag of face creams, watching the actual suitcase still sitting smugly on the back seat. A seagull laughed at me. I am fairly certain it was laughing at me.

The check-in process was mercifully smooth, a small mercy after my luggage humiliation. The reception area had that clean, Nordic-ish aesthetic that these places do so well - lots of pale wood, enormous windows, and a faint smell of something expensive and maritime. I kept expecting someone to expose me as an impostor, a woman who had arrived with nothing but a bag of moisturiser and a packet of Haribo. But the staff were wonderfully matter-of-fact, handing over keys and pointing me toward my holiday home with the calm efficiency of people who have seen far worse arrivals than mine.

Walking to the property was when it properly hit me. The resort sits right where the Schlei fjord meets the Baltic, and even on a grey afternoon that water has this particular silvery quality that makes you stop and stare. The architecture is striking - contemporary houses with sharp angles and enormous terraces, clustered together like a very ambitious architect's sketchbook. Mine was one of the terraced holiday homes, all floor-to-ceiling glass and decking that practically begged for a glass of wine later.

I fumbled with the key card, dropped it, retrieved it from a puddle with a small yelp, and finally stumbled inside. The first impression was space and light - an open-plan living area with a kitchen that looked actually usable, which is rarer than you'd think in holiday lets. The furnishings were modern without being sterile, all greys and soft blues that echoed the water outside. I dumped my ridiculous bag on the sofa and finally allowed myself to breathe.

The balcony was the moment of gentle self-reflection, if I'm honest. Standing there with my cup of tea that I definitely deserved, watching the light shift over the water, I thought about how I always do this - rush, panic, forget things, make everything more chaotic than it needs to be. I had driven through beautiful countryside barely looking up from my sat nav anxiety. I had arrived flustered and ridiculous. And yet here I was, in this extraordinary place, with a whole week ahead to do absolutely nothing properly.

A heron landed on the railing, looked at me with complete indifference, and flew off. I took that as approval. The suitcase could wait in the car until my partner arrived to mock me. For now, I had a balcony, a view, and enough face cream to last several lifetimes.