An atlantic interlude

Words by Hannah Tapping

Finding sun, solace and serenity at St Moritz Hotel.

The ‘Ladies that – indecision – spa’ WhatsApp group pings on my phone. It’s that time of year when we plan our annual weekend of pure indulgence. No husbands, no children, no work, no responsibility… other than for ourselves and a short shopping list that majors on prosecco. While we might be a group of ladies of a certain age who sometimes struggle to remember our own names, we are a discerning bunch and as it’s the group’s ten-year anniversary we want to treat ourselves. But here’s the rub… as our group name suggests, finding something that we can all agree on takes deliberation and planning on a global scale. The wish list is long and detailed… rooms must be big enough to accommodate snoring quinquagenarians, there should be an open-plan kitchen-living area for hours spent putting the world to rights, a balcony for sundowners and morning coffee, a sea view, a spa, world-class treatments, walking distance to the beach and a fridge big enough to chill our veritable vat of prosecco.

“I know the very place,” I post. St Moritz Hotel has been on my bucket list for a while and is a destination for foodies, ocean-lovers and design-minded travellers alike. Not only does it tick all our boxes in terms of needs and wants, its location at Trebetherick means we have the wider ocean playground that is North Cornwall literally on our doorstep. The St Moritz is somewhat unique in its hotel makeup, in that its garden and sea-view suites offer luxury self-catering facilities with full-size kitchens and living-dining areas that can be booked alongside smaller rooms across the corridor to make up a family ‘pod’ if required. King, twin and cosy rooms offer a more traditional hotel option and all come with heavenly Cowshed spa toiletries and fluffy bathrobes. St Moritz also offers a wide range of self-catering options – many of which are dog-friendly – from on-site coastal houses to cool apartments housed on the upper floors of the main hotel building.

We choose a three-bedroom hotel apartment and count down the days to our arrival. We hail from various corners of the West Country, so plan to meet for arrival drinks by the outdoor pool which has panoramic views out across the bay. The weather gods must know it’s a special weekend as the day dawns with expansive blue skies and a gentle breeze. It’s October, but warm enough for shorts and shirt sleeves and as each of our party arrives, amidst long hugs and tears of happiness, we clink chilled glasses and settle in for our celebration. 

The hotel has the feel of an ocean liner, art deco in design and blending seamlessly with its clifftop location. Our apartment is a delight, with full height windows looking out towards the ocean and views that draw the landscape into the space. The proportions are generous and the atmosphere feels calm and restorative – just what we were looking for. We spend a happy first evening watching the sunset from the balcony until the last rays disappear beneath the horizon and the autumn chill of a clear Cornish night sends us inside. There’s nothing quite like a dose of sea air to lull you to sleep and so there are early nights all round as we snuggle into super-comfy beds, cocooned by Egyptian cotton sheets, and drift off to the sound of the waves… and the odd snore!

The next morning dawns with one of those soft Cornish hazes that promises sunshine if you just give it a little time. We congregate in the kitchen, bleary-eyed but cheerful, each clutching a mug of coffee as though it’s a lifeline. Someone has popped to nearby Flo’s Deli Café to buy pastries, and the scent of warm almond croissants mingles with the salty morning air that drifts through the open balcony doors. There’s gentle chatter, sporadic bursts of laughter and the familiar chaos of five women trying to get themselves organised for a simple walk.

Eventually, bags packed, water bottles filled, layers debated, we set off along the coast path towards Polzeath. The path curls gently around the clifftop, revealing new vignettes of sea and shoreline at every turn. It’s the kind of walk that demands frequent pauses, partly because the views are so extraordinary and partly because we keep stopping to take photos, remove layers, reapply layers and generally faff about in a way that only a longstanding group of friends can do without annoying each other.

As Polzeath unfurls below us, the beach spread out like brushed gold, the call of the surf becomes irresistible. There are murmured excuses… “I didn’t bring my swimsuit,” “it’s October,” “we’ll freeze,” but the sea has its own persuasion. Within minutes, we are stripping down to whatever passes as acceptable swimming attire, squealing as we run across the firm sand and into the water. The first shock is brutal, but then comes the exhilaration: the salt, the surf, the whoops echoing across the bay. We bob, dive under, float on our backs watching gulls drift overhead, laughing so much our faces ache. There is something curiously youthful about being tumbled in the waves with your oldest friends, it knocks loose the stresses that lodge in the shoulders and reminds you of who you were long before life layered itself on top.

Drenched, sandy, hair plastered to our heads, we emerge from the water feeling reborn. Towels are shared, jumpers borrowed and then we begin the slow amble back up the beach in search of something warm and caffeinated. Polzeath is alive even in October; surfers with boards under arms, dogs shaking sand everywhere, families wrangling small children enticed by tidal pools. It hums with the low-key energy of a coastal community that thrives year-round. From here we catch the St Moritz electric minibus, a delightfully smooth and quiet ride that glides us back towards Rock. The novelty of being transported by something that feels both futuristic and charmingly local has us grinning like children. We hop out near the waterfront where the estuary gleams silver beneath the soft midday sun.

The ferry across to Padstow is waiting, bustling with a mix of locals, walkers and visitors like us. We pile aboard, clutching the rail as the boat chugs across the water. The air is fresh enough to make your cheeks sting, but the view of Padstow’s pastel waterfront drawing nearer and the fishing boats bobbing like toys, is worth every shiver. As we dock, the energy of the harbour wraps around us: the smell of fresh seafood, the sound of ropes clinking against masts, the shuffle of feet up the walkway.

We amble through Padstow’s narrow streets, ducking instinctively towards Aloft, drawn in by the call of coastal homewares that none of us need but all of us desperately want. We touch everything, discuss at length the merits of objects we have no practical space for and inevitably someone emerges with a carefully wrapped parcel. Then it’s on to Jam Industries, where the vibe shifts to laid-back surf culture. There’s something irresistible about their soft tees and sweatshirts, the ones that feel like they’ve already lived a life before you even try them on. A couple of us succumb. Someone else – resolute all morning – cracks and buys a beanie for beach walks and bad hair days. Finally, we pop into Bibi:A boutique of temptations: delicate jewellery, boutique clothing, things that whisper rather than shout. We browse slowly, reverently, as though in a gallery. Somehow, inevitably, more bags appear.

Shopping done, appetites sharpened, we head to Caffé Rojano for lunch. It is, as expected, busy and buzzing, with tables full, plates clattering, waiters weaving expertly between diners. The room is bright with the happy hum of people who know they’re about to be well fed. We tuck into bowls of pasta so delicious we fall into a rare silence, punctuated only by the occasional “Oh my goodness, try this!” and the clink of glasses raised in toast to ten years of our annual escape.

After lunch, full and content, we make our way back to the ferry, the return journey slower and softer. The tide has shifted, the estuary smelling sweet and earthy. Back in Rock, we meander past bobbing boats and slipways before catching the electric minibus once more for the final stretch home to St Moritz. We all conclude this is the perfect base for north-coast adventuring. The effortless ease of accommodation, location and exceptional service, should make St Moritz everyone’s go-to, whether for a romantic break, family holiday or a special stay with friends. We return to our balcony to sit outside, the dipping sun still warming our faces, sipping drinks in that effortless way that comes when no one is in a rush and everything feels exactly as it should be. By late afternoon our thoughts turn to the spa and, with the conviction of women on a mission, we make our way there. The treatments – Cowshed at its best – are sublime, so much so that someone books another for the following morning. Massages melt away tension, facials leave us glowing and the relaxation room becomes a temporary sanctuary where time seems to slow. Afterwards, we drift between steam room, sauna, pool and hot tub in the spa, luxuriating in the simple joy of having nowhere else to be.

As evening settles in, we return to our apartment, dress up just enough to feel special, and wander across to the hotel restaurant, Shorecrest. Dinner is elegant but unfussy, each plate a quiet triumph. We linger over every course, sharing bites, savouring flavours, replaying the day’s highlights and already plotting tomorrow’s adventures. By the time we return to our apartment, the night is ink-black and scattered with stars. We stand on the balcony for a moment, wrapped in blankets, listening to the distant hush of the waves; a perfect punctuation mark to a weekend that has held everything we needed. And then, with happy exhaustion settling into our bones, we retreat one by one to soft beds and drifting dreams, grateful beyond measure for a place and a friendship that fills us up so completely.

stmoritzhotel.co.uk