A five hour drive from London, luggage thrown into a hotel room, and I jump back in my car and head for the sea that has been beckoning to me increasingly insistently as I’ve traversed the rolling hills of the A30 and seen the promise of expansive blue sky to my right. Some baffling road layouts successfully negotiated, and I follow a road that becomes increasingly coastal. I pass a caravan park and glimpse sand dunes and my excitement kicks up a notch. For someone with a dedicated penchant for planning ahead when leaving the house, I have only a vague idea of where I’m going. But I come to a turn-off which clearly heads towards the sea, with a promising sign – “Gwithian Towans” – helpfully accompanied by the big “P” indicating parking.

I swing left and start down the narrow, single-track road. A small parking area to my left is too jammed with cars to allow entry, but a little further and another slightly larger car park. Examination reveals a single space. I manage to manoeuvre myself safely into it. Next to me, there’s activity at the rear of a dusty Jeep that has clearly seen better days. I peer over and spy the tall figure of a man in a wetsuit leaning his surfboard against the side of his vehicle as he prepares to get ready to head home. He’s turned away from me as he peels his suit down to his waist to reveal a quite spectacular back: broad shoulders and muscles sculpted as if by Michelangelo. I decide that if that’s what surfing does for a man’s back, more men should definitely surf. I look away as he secures a towel around his waist to facilitate the removal of the rest of his suit.

I exchange slip-on trainers for walking boots, pick up my small rucksack with my camera inside and head off across the dunes – or “towans”, as I learn they’re called in these parts. The sea breeze is gentle and comforting, and quickly I spot a sliver of silver and there it is: the sea! I make my way down a narrow, well-trod path, increasingly excited by the treat of being here in this beautiful place. I brush grasses and wildflowers as I go, then I crest a small rise and the expanse of the bay reveals itself, and in the far distance – a lighthouse! Sitting on a small rocky island to the east and putting out a siren’s call for me to go and take a closer look.

I quicken my pace towards the sea. The sky above me over land has been grey, but above St Ives Bay, it is much clearer: a beautiful blue interspersed with fluffy clouds. The sun streams through to make the sea shimmer. I reach where the sand dunes give way to the beach (but no way down here; the cliffs are too steep) and I’m able to take in the vast expanse of azure blue sea and a sky so glorious it’s as if God has been giving it her own special attention. I am immediately and irrevocably in love.

The second part of this brief memoir, To the Lighthouse, can be read here.