I’ll never forget the drive up to Conway last autumn – the leaves were turning that glorious mix of gold and rust, carpeting the A55 like nature’s own welcome mat. Me and Sarah had been buzzing with anticipation for weeks, dreaming of crisp coastal walks and cosy nights in. But typical me, I took a wrong turn just past Colwyn Bay, ending up in a snarl of narrow lanes with sheep eyeing me suspiciously from the verges. Twenty minutes of mild panic and a sheepish (pun intended) U-turn later, we rolled into Llandudno, hearts racing but grins plastered on.

Pulling up to our spot in the heart of town felt like stumbling into a hug from an old mate. It’s a charming ground-floor studio apartment, dead handy for couples like us who fancy a blend of seaside chill and a bit of exploring. Tidy layout, central as can be – we unpacked in minutes, cracked open a brew, and just breathed it all in. First impressions? Spot on. The autumn light was filtering through the windows, soft and golden, making everything feel properly inviting after that daft detour.

That time of year shaped the whole trip, didn’t it? No scorching summer crowds clogging the prom, just a gentle hum of locals and fellow leaf-peepers. We’d wander Llandudno’s Victorian pier first thing, the sea breeze nipping at our cheeks while we munched fresh cockles from a stall – salty, warming perfection against the chill. The pier’s amusements had that nostalgic glow under overcast skies, and with the season winding down, we had the penny arcades almost to ourselves. I won Sarah a tacky plush seagull on the second-go machines; she still teases me about my “pro gamer” skills.

Afternoons meant ambling along the North Shore beach, where the tide pools shimmered like mirrors under weak sun, and the waves crashed with a moody rumble that autumn brings. We’d spot dog walkers bundled up, their labs splashing about regardless of the cooler water. One day, we hopped the short stroll to the West Shore, where the dunes were alive with marram grass whispering in the wind – proper wild Welsh vibes, but close enough for a quick cuppa back at base. The season’s mellow pace let us linger, no rush, just us and the turning tides.

Evenings were pure magic. As dusk fell early – that’s autumn for you – we’d snuggle in the studio with fish and chips from a nearby chippy, the vinegar tang cutting through the sea air wafting in. One night, we caught the Great Orme tramway’s last runs of the season; the views over the bay were epic, all fiery sunsets bleeding into twilight. I had a proper moment there, staring out at the lights twinkling on – realised how knackered I’d been from work, and how this quiet getaway was just what we needed to reset. Gently reminded myself to do more of this, you know?

A week flew by in that seasonal sweet spot: bracing walks up to Conway’s castle walls (mere minutes away), where the wind whipped through the battlements and the valley below glowed russet; pub lunches at the Albert in town, hearty stews chasing away the damp; and lazy mornings watching paragliders launch from the Orme, their colourful chutes popping against slate-grey skies. No regrets, just a lingering hankering to return when the leaves crunch underfoot again. North Wales in autumn? Absolute belter.