I’ll never forget the drive up to Llandudno last month – we’d packed the car with enough snacks to feed a small army, but halfway through the A55, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us on a detour through some winding back lanes near Conway. typical North Wales chaos, with sheep eyeing us suspiciously from the verges. I was convinced we’d end up in a field, but it actually built this lovely buzz of anticipation. By the time we spotted the sea glinting ahead, we were proper excited.

Pulling up to our second-floor apartment in a charming old building right opposite the Great Orme Tramway, the first impressions were spot on. It’s the sort of place that feels like a proper seaside hug – cosy, characterful, with a master bedroom boasting a superking bed that swallowed us whole, and a family room with a bunk and single perfect for the kids. Steps from the promenade’s bustle, but we weren’t here for the obvious donkey rides and ice creams. No, our holiday turned into a glorious ramble of accidental discoveries, the kind you stumble on when you ditch the map and just get lost.

First hidden gem came that very afternoon. Instead of tram-riding straight up the Orme, we wandered off-piste along the West Shore, away from the main crowds. Tucked behind some dunes, we found this secluded pebbly cove where the waves whispered secrets and locals were fly-fishing for mackerel. No tourists in sight, just us picnicking on cheese rolls, laughing as the kids built wonky stone towers. Pure magic, and we’d only been there hours.

Next day, we proper got lost in the maze of lanes behind the high street. Aimless strolling led us to a tiny family-run café called something like “Orme Brew” – can’t recall the exact name, but it served the fluffiest Welsh cakes I’ve ever scoffed, slathered in butter, with a sea view that snuck up on you. The owner chatted about secret spots, and off we went again, up a unmarked path to the Orme’s headland. There, hidden from the tram path, was a wildflower meadow buzzing with butterflies and a sheer drop to caves below where seals sometimes bask. We sat for ages, wind tousling our hair, feeling miles from anywhere.

The real joy was those moments of gentle confusion – like when we veered off the promenade path near the pier and unearthed a forgotten bandstand, echoing with an impromptu busker’s folk tunes. Or the evening we chased a sunset along the North Shore, ending up at a quiet inlet where bioluminescent plankton danced in the shallows (okay, maybe imagination helped there, but it felt real). I had a quiet think one night, staring out our window at the twinkling lights: holidays like this remind you life’s best bits aren’t planned. They’re the detours, the “oops, where are we?” giggles.

By week’s end, we’d mapped our own offbeat Conway treasure trail – no guidebooks needed. If you’re after that authentic seaside soul, get yourself lost here. You won’t regret it.