The moment we arrived, I felt something shift in me. I wasn’t prepared for how viscerally Cornwall would remind me of Aotearoa. That familiar dance between farmland and forest tumbling down to meet the sea, the way golden beaches curve into hidden coves – it was like finding a piece of New Zealand tucked into Britain’s southwestern corner.
The Journey and Our Woodland Retreat
We’d booked something special through Canopy & Stars – a stay at Honeydown in Hatherleigh, just over the Devon border. Yes, technically not Cornwall, but perfectly positioned for our coastal adventures.
Our home for the week was a ‘Truffle’, one of five gleaming wooden domes that owners Sarah and John have nestled into their lovingly tended woodland. The name couldn’t be more apt – these gorgeous structures really do spring from the forest floor like magical fungi.
The woodland buzzed with life – the birds song, rustling creatures in the undergrowth, and the gentle creaking of trees in conversation. I spent hours swinging in the hammock, charcoal in hand, trying to capture the play of light through leaves on paper. There’s something about drawing that forces you to really see a place, to notice how branches reach for sky and roots anchor into earth. My sketches are nothing to write home about but what a meditative way to ease into this trip.
Evenings included crackling fires and star-gazing through gaps in the canopy. Without city light pollution, the night sky reminded me New Zealand’s backcountry.
We planned a few day trips which were really lovely, too.
Clovelly
Our first proper Cornish adventure took us to Clovelly, a village frozen in time, and actually it’s known for “its Devonian identity.” This isn’t just any village – it’s a living, breathing piece of history clinging impossibly to a 400-foot cliff face.
Nothing quite prepares you for that first glimpse down Clovelly’s cobbled street (yes, singular – there’s only one!). The gradient is so steep that donkeys and sledges still transport goods, as cars simply can’t navigate the ancient thoroughfare. White-washed cottages cascade down to the harbour like a tumbled stack of sugar cubes, each one draped in flowers that seem determined to soften the harsh Atlantic winds.
I loved the details – rope handrails worn smooth by centuries of grateful hands, doorways so low they speak of smaller ancestors, cats lounging in sunny spots with the confidence of creatures who know they own the place. The descent to the harbour wasn’t bad, however the climb back up was… character building, but the reward was worth every burning muscle.
At the bottom, the tiny harbour offers a perfect sheltered spot where fishing boats bob alongside pleasure craft. We treated ourselves to fish and chips while watching the tide retreat across the pebbled beach. The whole village felt like stepping through a time portal – no modern shopfronts, no traffic noise, just the eternal conversation between village and sea.
Bude
If Clovelly was a step back in time, Bude brought me rushing into the present with its brilliant surf beaches and laid-back vibe. This was where Cornwall’s similarity to New Zealand hit me strongest – surfers dotting the waves, that particular quality of light you only get where ocean meets sky, and beaches that stretch on forever.
We spent most of our time at Summerleaze Beach, watching the Atlantic rollers crash in while dogs chased tennis balls and families built ambitious sandcastles. The beach’s sea pool, carved from rock in the 1930s, provided calmer waters for those seeking a gentler swim.
What struck me was Bude’s unpretentious charm. Unlike some Cornwall hotspots, it hasn’t been prettified beyond recognition. Fish and chip shops, surf hire places, and ice cream vendors create an authentic British seaside atmosphere. We wandered the coast path towards Compass Point, where the landscape opens up to show the raw power of the Atlantic. The wind nearly knocked me sideways, but the views – endless blue meeting dramatic cliffs – were worth bracing against the elements.
Port Isaac
Port Isaac harbour offers views from Roscarrock Hill, and that’s exactly where we started our visit. From above, this fishing village looks almost too perfect to be real – a tight huddle of cottages wrapped around a working harbour, squeezed into the narrowest of valleys.
Descending into the village proper, we entered a maze of tiny lanes (called ‘opes’ locally) barely wide enough for two people to pass. The village’s fame from the TV series Doc Martin has brought tourists, but Port Isaac maintains its authentic fishing village heart. We timed our visit for high tide when the harbour fills completely – apparently at low tide, it empties entirely, leaving boats stranded on the harbour floor like beached whales.
Stone steps overhung with valerian lead down to patches of sparkling water, and everywhere the smell of salt and seaweed reminds you this is still a working port.
We explored the narrow streets, popping into galleries and gift shops, before settling with a takeaway coffee right on the stone steps leading to the water. The village’s Platt (the harbour beach) had children crabbing from the harbour walls, just as Cornish children have done for generations.
Finding Home in Unexpected Places
What these Cornish adventures gifted me was more than beautiful views and charming villages. They reminded me that home isn’t just about geography – it’s about finding those places where your soul exhales, where landscape speaks to something deep in your bones.
Cornwall’s combination of rugged coastline, hidden beaches, and communities shaped by the sea called to the Kiwi in me. From my woodland base at Truffles, creating art among the trees, to standing on Bude’s beaches feeling Atlantic spray, to navigating Clovelly’s ancient streets and Port Isaac’s tiny opes – each place offered its own magic.
visitcornwall.com speaks of Cornwall offering “freedom by the bucket load,” and that’s exactly what I found. Freedom to reconnect with nature, to slow down to village pace, to remember why I fell in love with travel in the first place.
Have you found unexpected echoes of home while travelling? Where do you go when your soul needs to breathe?