I’ll never forget the drive to our holiday house near Inverin in County Galway – a proper Irish adventure that started with me taking a wrong turn somewhere around Spiddal, thanks to my hopeless sense of direction. We’d been buzzing with anticipation, windows down, fiddling with the radio for some trad music, dreaming of cosy nights by the fire and salty sea air. But no, I managed to veer off onto a narrow lane that looked promising on the sat-nav but led us straight into a flock of sheep. Cue honking, bleating chaos, and my other half laughing so hard she nearly spilled her coffee. Classic me – always the navigator who ends up lost before we’ve even arrived.

Pulling up to the house at last, though, it was love at first sight. This delightful family spot, perched with those cracking ocean views, felt like a hidden hug from the west coast. So much space around it, right by the beach, and stepping through the back door into the kitchen was pure bliss – everything laid out for lazy suppers, hobs ready to fire up, and room to stash all the fresh local spuds and fish we’d nabbed from a nearby market stall. It flowed straight into the living-dining area, timber floors underfoot, two squishy sofas facing the woodburning stove that we got crackling that very evening. TV up high for a family film night as the light faded – couldn’t have felt more settled.

What turned this trip into magic, though, were the hidden gems we stumbled on by pure accident, thanks to my knack for getting lost. First morning, we headed out for a ‘quick walk’ along the beach, but I took a left instead of right and found ourselves on a tiny path winding through dunes to Silverstrand – not the touristy bit, but a secluded cove where seals bobbed about like cheeky locals saying hello. We picnicked there with cheese and soda bread, waves lapping, no one else in sight. Pure off-the-beaten-track gold.

Next day, aiming for a pub lunch in the village, we missed the sign and ended up deeper into the Gaeltacht countryside. Stumbled on Traught Beach, a wild sweep of sand you’d never spot on a map unless you’re properly disoriented. Kids built epic castles while we skimmed stones, the Atlantic breeze whipping up that fresh, briny tang. Felt like we’d gatecrashed paradise. Evenings, we’d potter back, stove roaring, sharing stories of our ‘discoveries’ over stew made from mackerel caught that morning – who needs plans when wandering pays off?

One quiet moment by the fire, pint in hand, I had a proper think: I’m always rushing about back home, timetabling everything. Here, getting lost taught me to loosen up, let the landscape lead. Those accidental finds – the empty beaches, secret paths through the bogs – made the holiday. Galway’s west coast is full of them if you stray off the path. If you’re after that real Ireland, ditch the guidebook and embrace the detour. We’re already plotting a return.