I have never been so grateful for a pair of wellies in all my life. That is the first thing I need to say about our trip to the Seeraeuber Koje at Ostseeresort Olpenitz in Schleswig-Holstein. The second thing is that Sat Navs lie. Ours lied spectacularly, depositing us down what I can only describe as a farm track that grew progressively more apologetic until it simply gave up and became a field. My partner, ever the optimist, insisted we were "nearly there." We were not nearly there. We were in a cabbage patch somewhere near Kappeln, and the only living creature confirming our existence was a very judgmental goose.

Forty minutes, one three-point turn, and a tense silence later, we found the actual resort. And I will tell you now, the relief of seeing that smart little holiday home with its proper driveway and actual numbered parking space made me want to kiss the tarmac. I did not, because it was raining. Of course it was raining. We had packed for a Baltic spring getaway with visions of brisk coastal walks and perhaps a coffee outside somewhere picturesque. The British weather had apparently followed us across the North Sea like an unwanted house guest.

The Seeraeuber Koje itself, though, immediately lifted spirits. It is one of those modern timber-clad places that manages to look both smart and slightly nautical, which suits its pirate-themed name rather well. The key safe opened on the third attempt because I was reading the code upside down through rain-spattered glasses. A small thing, but by this point my dignity was hanging by a thread.

Inside, everything was warm and dry and blessedly functional. Underfloor heating, which I normally consider a bit posh, became my new favourite thing. We dumped our bags, made tea with the urgency of people who had just survived something mildly traumatic, and stood at the enormous windows watching the weather do its worst across the Schlei inlet. The water was doing that particular grey-green churning thing that the Baltic does so well. It looked entirely uninviting. I loved it.

The following morning brought what I can only call typical Schleswig-Holstein optimism. The rain had paused, not stopped, but paused, and there was a watery brightness to the sky that felt like an invitation. We set off walking towards Olpenitz harbour, me in my trusty wellies and a waterproof that makes me look like a traffic cone, my partner in what he calls "walking shoes" and I call "suede deck shoes that will not survive this."

The coastal path here is flat and well-maintained, winding through low dunes and patches of scrubby grass. We made it perhaps twenty minutes before the heavens reopened. Not a gentle drizzle either. This was proper, stair-rod, German rain with commitment and follow-through. We squelched back, me laughing, him muttering about his shoes, both of us genuinely delighted to be back in that warm little house with its underfloor heating and proper drying rack for unfortunate footwear.

By day three we had developed a system. Walk out when the sky looked merely suspicious rather than actively murderous. Carry the waterproof regardless. Never trust a Schleswig-Holstein cloud further than you can throw it. We managed a glorious stretch along the Schlei shore towards Kappeln, watching the sailing boats bob at their moorings, before the weather turned again and we retreated to a harbour-side cafe for fish rolls and hot chocolate. The fish was sensational. The hot chocolate was medicinal.

What struck me, walking those damp paths, was how the weather became part of the experience rather than ruining it. There is something properly reflective about striding along a Baltic coast with rain on your face, knowing a warm, dry, slightly pirate-themed sanctuary waits at the end. The Seeraeuber Koje, for all its modern comforts, sits in a landscape that demands you engage with it properly. No half measures. You walk, you get wet, you dry off, you walk again.

On our final morning, the sun actually appeared. We did one last loop, boots finally dry, and I caught myself already planning a return. Same time of year, same questionable weather, same glorious sense of having properly earned every warm cup of tea afterwards. Some holidays give you sunshine on demand. This one gave me something better. It gave me wellies that finally justified their existence, a partner who now owns proper walking shoes, and the certain knowledge that a Schleswig-Holstein sky, however grey, is always worth walking under.