I’ll never forget the drive to our holiday cottage near Conway – a proper British road trip that started with high spirits and ended in a comedy of errors. We’d piled into the car from Manchester, me navigating with my trusty phone while my mate Dave drove, blasting out some classic Oasis to get us in the mood. About halfway, just past Llandudno Junction, we hit a massive downpour that turned the A55 into a sloshy nightmare. Dave, bless him, missed the turn for Eglwysbach in the spray and we ended up doing a daft loop through some back lanes, laughing our heads off as the wipers battled the rain. By the time we crested the hill to our spot high above the village, we were soaked but buzzing with anticipation – what adventures awaited in this Welsh wonderland?

First impressions? Magic. The cottage was this cosy, welcoming gem perched with cracking views over the rolling hills, the village pub twinkling below like a beacon. We dumped our bags, cracked open a couple of tins, and just soaked it in – Conway’s castle silhouette visible on the horizon, promising proper exploration. Little did we know the weather would be our cheeky sidekick for the week.

Day one, we laced up our walking boots full of optimism. The forecast was ‘bright spells’, so off we went on a gentle stroll down to Eglwysbach, past babbling streams and sheep-dotted fields. That pub? A gem – we popped in for a pint and some hearty scran, plotting our next hike. But classic Wales: by afternoon, clouds rolled in like uninvited guests, and we dashed back as hail pelted down. Sat by the window with cups of tea, watching the storm rage, I had a proper moment of reflection. Here I was, mid-40s, still chasing hills instead of spreadsheets – felt like a win, rain or no rain.

Next morning, blue skies! We tackled a cracking loop up to the nearby hills, lungs burning on the climbs but rewarded with panoramic views over Conway Valley. Breath-taking doesn’t cover it – you could see the town walls snaking around the castle, the harbour glinting below. We pushed on to a tougher path towards the RSPB reserve, spotting buzzards wheeling overhead and herons by the river. Perfect for a bit of wildlife watching, though my binoculars skills need work; Dave ribbed me mercilessly when I mistook a sheep for an eagle.

But oh, the weather’s fickle dance kept us on our toes. Mid-hike, fog descended like a blanket, turning our planned ridge walk into a misty meander – visibility down to ten feet, compasses out for a laugh. We pivoted to a lower riverside path, chatting about life as the drizzle set in. Ended up fishing off the Conway River for a bit – didn’t catch owt, but the peace was gold. Back at the cottage, drying off and warming up with local Welsh cakes from the village shop, we chuckled at how the rain forced us to slow down, savour the views we might’ve rushed past.

By week’s end, we’d notched up miles of hikes from easy village ambles to those heart-pumping ascents, all shaped by the ever-changing skies. Conway’s got it all on your doorstep – castle, walls, indie shops for a post-walk browse – but it was the walks and weather that made it unforgettable. If you fancy boots-on-ground adventures with a side of British unpredictability, get yourself up there. I’m already plotting a return.