I have always believed that the best holidays begin with a small disaster, and our trip to Portoroz Krkavce did not disappoint on that front. We had been driving down from Ljubljana, full of excitement about a week of coastal walking and sunshine in Slovenia's beautiful Coast and Karst region. The sat nav had other ideas. Somewhere near Sezana, it decided we absolutely needed to take what I can only describe as a goat track through someone's olive grove. My partner, ever the optimist, insisted it was a shortcut. I, wedged against the door with a suitcase digging into my ribs, was less convinced. We emerged twenty minutes later with a scratched wing mirror, a newfound respect for dry stone walling, and the realisation that we had been chasing a non-existent postcode for the better part of an hour.

When we finally found the property, perched on a hillside with views down toward the Gulf of Trieste, I was ready to collapse in a heap. But stepping out of the car, something shifted. The air smelled of pine and salt, warm and heavy in that particular Mediterranean way. The house itself was simple and unpretentious, the sort of place that knows exactly what it is and sees no reason to apologise for it. Terracotta pots with somewhat optimistic geraniums lined the entrance. A lizard darted across the wall. I could hear cicadas already, though it was only late morning. My irritation evaporated faster than the sweat on the back of my neck.

We had planned, rather ambitiously as it turned out, to walk the coastal path to Portoroz that very afternoon. The guidebook had made it sound straightforward. A gentle amble, it said. Suitable for all fitness levels, it promised. I should have paid more attention to the date of publication and less to the sunny photograph of someone in inappropriate footwear looking pleased with themselves.

The heat hit us like a physical barrier as we set off downhill toward the water. Within ten minutes, my supposedly breathable walking shirt had become a second skin. The path, where it existed, was narrow and stony, cutting through scrubland that seemed to radiate warmth back at us. We passed a vineyard where the vines looked as exhausted as we felt, their leaves drooping in the afternoon sun. A local man watering his garden watched us pass with the expression of someone who has seen this particular mistake many times before.

By the time we reached the first proper viewpoint overlooking the bay, we had consumed most of our water and any illusions about our fitness levels. The sea sparkled below, impossibly blue and impossibly far away still. We sat on a rock, sharing the dregs of a warm bottle, and laughed at our own ridiculousness. There is something humbling about nature reminding you, gently but firmly, that you are not in charge here.

That evening, back at the house with the shutters closed against the lingering heat, we revised our plans over a simple supper of local cheese and prsut. The weather, we realised, was not our enemy but our guide. Early mornings and late evenings would be our walking windows. The fierce midday hours were for reading, for dozing, for watching the light change over the hills toward Croatia.

The next dawn, we were up before the cicadas, walking in cool grey light through olive groves still damp with dew. The path to Strunjan felt different entirely, generous and welcoming, the sea visible through gaps in the trees like a promise kept. We walked further than planned, drunk on the quiet and the soft air, returning only when the sun had properly claimed the sky and sent us seeking shade.

That became our rhythm for the week. The heat that had nearly defeated us became the organising principle of something rather wonderful. We learned to read the days, to respect the weight of them, to find pleasure in the simple fact of being outdoors when the world felt gentle.

I think back to that wrong turn now with something like gratitude. It taught us early that this place would not be rushed, that it asked for attention rather than demand. The scratched wing mirror was a small price to pay for that understanding.