There are three things I most remember about Majorca; a beautiful wedding at a castle on a cliff overlooking the sea, laughing so hard my sides ached and cheeks suffered, and hunting hidden beaches...

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As the day faded I wondered if we’d ever find the beach in time to enjoy it with the sun and if we should abandon our efforts, but Loni was determined to find this beach, this very specific one. A beach that was on no map and without roads leading to it. Being veteran travel companions, I knew there would be no deterring her on this matter, we were going to end up on that beach one way or another if we had to spend all evening and the next day looking for it – but I'm sure by then Loni likely would have managed to sweet talk our way onto a boat to get us there by sea.

The three of us had already got lost once, having wandered, in our flip flops, down a dead-end hillside path covered in brush and stones. When the more obvious path ended, we debated bush-whacking our way the rest of the way down. We could see the beach of our desire in the distance, but as we continued in our efforts were getting no closer to our goal.

Giving up on that path, we marched back to our car (lovingly named Alessandro) to find a different trail. We decided to abandon public roads, driving down private property instead. The more ‘Privado’ and ‘No entrar’ signs we passed, the closer the beach seemed to be getting - at least according to google maps and our patchy internet signal. When we finally arrived at a dead end and cliff edge, we saw a path leading downwards. There were ‘No Parking’ signs, as well as bright yellow signs featuring what could only have been a tow truck, posted in unmissable and unmistakable places across the area. We parked anyway. (Silly us, we should have known we’d need to break some rules to get there.)

Descending on this new found trail, the scene in front of us was white sandstone cliffs, covered by dessert greens set against an unending expanse of blue - a bright aquamarine that turned to a deep cobalt as the water pushed further away from the shore.

Loni, Rebekah & I finally arrived at the beach at 3pm, hungry, dirty, scratched from our hike and much later than intended. Or, at least, much later than I had intended. But as the sea opened in front of us none of that mattered. The three of us sat, transfixed, all silent as we drank our beers, ate our lunch of baguette, chorizo and manchengo cheese and simply stared at the most impossibly beautiful turquoise sea. A sea so colorful and stunning it didn't seem to be real.

We stayed for hours, swimming, staring, spotting jelly fish in the crisp, clear waters... I could have stayed on that beach soaking in that view forever.

As it happens, however, this secret beach is no secret. There were plenty of others there to join us. A group of Italians were showing off for their girlfriends, climbing rocks and cliff jumping back into the sea; grandmothers, topless, were looking after their grandchildren; and plenty of lovers embracing on the beach. The lack of seclusion didn't lessen the charm.

I'm glad we didn't give up. I'm glad we broke some rules and drove down those private roads. I'm glad our car didn't get towed. I suppose when you don’t know where you are going or how you are going to get there, arriving late is better than never.