Arriving at Amaia on a late September afternoon was a dramatic affair. A thick sea mist shrouded the house, scrambling over walls and clinging to trees, a blanket of milky white broken only by the occasional rock dove wheeling on the air. Despite the ocean view hiding behind this moody veil, the sound of lazy waves ebbing and flowing on the shore below floated up the cliffside to greet us and we knew; Amaia would make lasting memories.
Bags discarded at the door and the house eagerly explored from top to bottom, we gathered in the open-plan kitchen to toast our arrival. Through softly chinking glasses of fizz and excited chatter about what to do next, the fog that hugged the windows suddenly began to retreat, drawing our gaze outwards as rays of sunshine burst through the house, revealing miles of glittering ocean stretching out to the horizon.
Weather decidedly brighter, the afternoon was spent wending our way through the tranquil gardens and onto the beach below, toes in the sea and locally made pasties in hand. At nightfall, we curled up under heavy blankets in the cosy cinema room for movie night before happily climbing into cloudsoft beds.
The next day started slowly, slipping into a hot bubble bath before cradling steaming mugs of coffee on the decking, morning sunlight playfully dancing on the oscillating tide. Dragging ourselves away, we headed off to explore nearby Looe, a quaint fishing village made up of a tangle of alleyways and curious shops with low-slung doorways. After padding through the winding lanes awhile, bags stuffed with goodies, we ducked into The Old Sail Loft for a swift drink with the friendly locals before heading back.
Luggage packed and ready to start our journey home, we bid Amaia a bittersweet adieu, but not without one last lingering gaze.
