I’ll never forget the drive up to Conway from Manchester – it’s only about an hour and a half, but wouldn’t you know it, I took a wrong turn near Llanrwst and ended up on some narrow lane that had me white-knuckling the wheel past sheep that looked at me like I was the intruder. Still, by the time I pulled into that tiny hamlet of Rhydlydan, just outside Betws-y-Coed, the stress melted away. Spotting the delightful first-floor cottage right by the babbling Afon Nug stream had me grinning like a kid at Christmas. Those external steps up to the door promised a cosy hideaway, and I couldn’t wait to chuck my bags in and crack open a beer.

First impressions? Spot on. The open-plan living space was compact but brilliant for two – a neat kitchenette stocked with everything I’d need, a little dining spot, and a comfy sofa facing the telly. The double bedroom was snug, and that shower room was a godsend after the drive. But the real star? That decked garden outside, where I plonked myself down with a cuppa, listening to the stream and eyeing up the Hiraethog hills. Pure bliss, and it screamed “relax and eat well” from the off.

Food became the heartbeat of the trip, naturally. I’d nipped into Betws-y-Coed village first thing – it’s just a short hop away – and loaded up at the local market stalls by the River Conway. Fresh bread, crumbly Welsh cheeses, and those fat, juicy strawberries that taste like summer. Back at the cottage, my first cooking attempt was a classic: bacon sarnies with local eggs I’d grabbed. The kitchenette’s hob was small, mind, and I nearly set off the smoke alarm juggling the frying pan on the deck (note to self: wind’s not your friend for outdoor cooking). Laughed it off with a cup of builder’s tea, though, and scoffed the lot while the stream provided the soundtrack.

Evenings were for pub-hopping, and this area’s got gems on tap. The Gwydir Arms in Betws-y-Coed was our first port of call – proper roaring fire, and their lamb cawl was hearty enough to fuel a hike up Moel Siabod (though we saved that for daydreams). I went for the bara brith sticky pudding after, which hit the spot. Next night, we wandered to the Ty Gwyn in nearby Pont-y-Pant, just a mile or so off. Their fish and chips were legendary – crispy batter, mushy peas on point – washed down with a pint of Conway Brewery’s Welsh Pride. I’m no food critic, but it felt like the kind of grub that sticks to your ribs after a day pottering about.

One morning, I tried getting fancy in the kitchenette: a full Welsh breakfast with laverbread and cockles from the market. Disaster struck when the sausages spat fat everywhere, leaving me with a tea towel mop-up and a slightly charred plate. Sat there on the deck, picking at it with a fork, I had a proper moment – you know, that gentle nudge that holidays give you? Work’s mad rush back home, always grabbing takeaways, but here, faffing about with simple ingredients by the stream made me realise how much I miss proper cooking. Slowed me right down.

We wrapped up with a lazy lunch at the Stables Tearoom in Betws, their homemade Welsh cakes still warm from the griddle, slathered in butter. No grand adventures needed – just good scran, cracking pubs, and a cottage that made every meal feel special. If you’re after a foodie bolt-hole in North Wales, this corner of Conway’s got it in spades. Can’t wait to go back.