I’ll never forget the drive to Conway last autumn – the leaves were turning that gorgeous coppery gold, carpeting the A55 like a rumpled patchwork quilt. I’d been buzzing with anticipation all week, dreaming of cosy nights in after a day of crisp coastal walks. But typical me, I took a wrong turn just past Colwyn Bay, ending up in a snarl of one-way streets with the satnav throwing a proper wobbly. Fifteen minutes of mild panic later, I finally spotted the turn-off to our holiday cottage in Llandudno, a sweet little Victorian semi right on the edge of town, all twinkly mullioned windows and a front garden bursting with late-season asters. First impressions? Magic. It felt like stepping into a hug from an old friend.

Autumn in Conway is pure poetry for the soul – that golden hour light turning the sea to molten amber, and the air so fresh it nips at your cheeks just enough to make you feel alive. We wandered straight out through the pretty park behind the cottage, leaves crunching underfoot like nature’s own ASMR. The paths were lined with those massive horse chestnuts, shiny conkers littering the ground – I couldn’t resist pocketing a few, feeling like a daft kid again. Into town we went, Llandudno’s promenade alive with families wrapped in scarves, dodging the odd gust that whipped up the waves. This seaside spot never feels overcrowded in October; it’s got that perfect mellow vibe, shops spilling out with woolly jumpers and fudge, and eateries serving steaming bowls of Welsh cawl that hit the spot after a bracing stroll.

We timed it brilliantly for the season’s events – caught a folk music night at Venue Cymru, the theatre glowing warm against the darkening skies, mulled cider in hand. The next day, we ambled along North Shore Beach, the tide out revealing pebbly treasures, seals barking in the distance as the sun dipped low and early. No summer crowds meant we had the longest pier in Wales almost to ourselves; fish and chips wrapped in paper, eaten on a bench with the briny wind tousling our hair. For a bit of height, we hopped on the open-top bus tour – top deck, naturally – watching the Great Orme loom like a sleeping giant, its slopes alive with bracken turning fiery red. Didn’t fancy the full climb in that chill, but the views over the bay, with Conway Castle’s silhouette sharp against the harvest moon? Breathtaking.

A gentle boat trip from the pier spotted seabirds wheeling overhead, and we even squeezed in a cycle along the quiet coastal path, rustling through fallen leaves. It was all so effortlessly seasonal – no sweaty hikes, just invigorating wanders that left you rosy-cheeked and ravenous. One evening, sat by the cottage fire with a cuppa, I had a quiet moment reflecting: in the rush of life, we forget how a place like this, wrapped in autumn’s embrace, resets you. No distractions, just the rhythm of tides and turning leaves. Conway in fall? It’s my new happy place. Can’t wait to go back.