I’ll never forget the drive to our holiday farmhouse in Tyn Y Groes, just four miles from Conway’s coast. We’d piled into the car in Manchester, full of beans after a greasy spoon breakfast, with the sat-nav promising a breezy hour and a half. But oh no, typical us – I took a wrong turn near Betws-y-Coed, chasing what looked like a scenic shortcut on the map. Cue an hour of narrow lanes, sheep giving us the side-eye, and me pretending I knew exactly where we were. By the time we rolled up, sweaty and laughing, the anticipation had turned into proper excitement. There it was, this stunning farmhouse, all cosy and welcoming with its classic rural charm, nestled in the hills like it was waiting just for us.

First impressions? Blimey, it blew us away. The views from the garden stretched out over rolling fields towards the sea, and stepping inside felt like sinking into a warm hug after that daft drive. We dumped the bags and cracked open a bottle of local cider, toasting our good fortune. Little did we know, the real magic of the place was in its knack for leading you astray – in the best possible way.

We weren’t ones for the obvious tourist traps; instead, we let footpaths and bridleways dictate the adventure. Day two, a gentle stroll from the farmhouse turned into a happy accident when we veered off the main track onto a hidden bridleway. It spat us out at a tucked-away RSPB reserve spot we’d never heard of – think serene ponds buzzing with kingfishers darting about, otters slipping through the reeds, and not a soul in sight. We spent hours there, binoculars in hand, feeling like proper wildlife sleuths. “This is better than any guidebook,” I grinned to my other half, as a heron posed dramatically for us.

Getting lost became our theme. One afternoon, cycling a quiet route near the property, we missed a signpost and ended up on a winding path through ancient woodland. It led to this off-the-beaten-track waterfall – not the famous ones, just a locals’ secret with crystal water tumbling over mossy rocks. We picnicked there, feet dangling in the icy stream, chuckling about how we’d stumbled on pure bliss by accident. Another time, a wrong turn on a hike took us to a forgotten corner of Conway’s town walls, away from the crowds. Up close, it was magical – peering over at the castle from a hidden vantage point, with the fishing harbour twinkling below and indie shops just a wander away.

Even evenings brought gems. We popped into a wee pub down a side lane in Conway, the sort you’d miss if you weren’t paying attention. Proper hearty grub – lamb from nearby farms, washed down with a pint of something crisp and Welsh. And that self-reflective moment hit me one sunset, sat on the farmhouse patio: here I was, mid-forties and still getting lost like a kid, but it’s those unplanned detours that make life sparkle, isn’t it? No regrets about that sat-nav fiasco; it set the tone perfectly.

We left buzzing, already plotting a return. If you fancy ditching the crowds for serendipitous discoveries, this neck of the woods – and a stay like ours – is pure gold.