I’ll never forget the drive to Brecon – sat nav insisting we were nearly there, only for us to take a wrong turn down a narrow lane that dead-ended at a sheep-dotted field. Typical me, always too busy chatting and munching crisps to double-check the signs. We laughed it off, reversed like pros (well, with a bit of swearing under our breath), and finally rolled into Brecon Town just as the sun dipped low, casting that golden glow over everything. Heart racing a tad from the detour, but buzzing with anticipation – I’d been dreaming of ditching the daily grind for some proper Welsh wilderness.

Pulling up to our spacious apartment, tucked away in a quiet central spot, it was love at first sight. Proper comfy vibes, with its own parking spot – a godsend after that faff on the road. First impressions? Spot on: clean, cosy, and perfectly placed for wandering out the door into the market town’s charm without needing the car. We dumped the bags and headed straight out, stomachs rumbling.

That first evening stroll turned into the best kind of accident. Instead of hitting the obvious pubs, we veered off down the canal towpath just 100 yards away, following the water’s gentle ripple. No map, no plan – just us getting lost in the best way. The path twisted alongside the Monmouthshire and Brecon Canal, lined with wildflowers and the occasional heron eyeing us suspiciously. We stumbled on this hidden picnic spot under a weeping willow, where locals must fish for trout (we didn’t have rods, mind). Sat there with fish and chips from a takeaway we’d grabbed en route, watching barges chug by. Pure magic, and not a tourist in sight.

Next day, we embraced the getting-lost ethos fully. From the doorstep, we joined the cycle path snaking towards the Taff Trail – hired mountain bikes from a bloke at the bottom of the street who looked like he’d pedalled every inch of these hills. What started as a casual spin veered off-piste when we ducked down a unmarked riverside path. Bam – secret gem alert: a secluded stretch of the River Usk, alive with salmon leaping and otters darting (or so we convinced ourselves). We picnicked on damp grass, feet in the water, feeling miles from anywhere despite being slap bang in town.

Wandering back, we accidentally found the real heart of Brecon: a cluster of independent eateries down a side alley off the high street. Nipped into this tiny café for bara brith and a chat with the owner about her nan’s recipe – proper warm Welsh welcome. Evening took us to the art deco cinema just half a mile away; caught an indie flick in a theatre that felt like stepping back to the 1930s. No big crowds, just velvet seats and that nostalgic hum.

Reflecting on it now, over a cuppa back home, that holiday was a reminder I need more “lost” days. In a world of Instagram itineraries, stumbling on Brecon’s off-the-beaten gems – the whispering towpaths, hidden river bends, and hole-in-the-wall spots – felt like reclaiming adventure. Pen y Fan loomed temptingly close, but it was these accidental finds that made our stay unforgettable. If you’re after a base that lets you wander wild, this is it. Can’t wait to go back and get lost again.