I’ll never forget the drive up to Llandudno from Manchester – what should’ve been a straightforward hour and a half turned into a comedy of errors when we took a wrong turn near Colwyn Bay and ended up on some narrow back lane that had us convinced we’d stumbled into a rally stage. Bumping along with hedges scraping the sides of the car, my other half muttering about sat-navs being out to get us, we finally emerged laughing, hearts racing a bit, onto the open road with the sea winking in the distance. By the time we reached that peaceful rural spot just inland near the River Elwy, I was buzzing with anticipation – proper countryside escape, you know?

Pulling up at the end of a long country lane, fields rolling out like a green blanket, the pace slowed right down. It’s a converted cartshed in a working farm setting, all cosy and tucked away, with parking right there so you can just breathe it in. First impressions? Spot on. The woodburning stove was already tempting us with promises of toasty evenings, and that hot tub bubbling away with countryside views had us grinning like kids. Eryri National Park’s not far, and Llandudno’s coast is a quick hop, making it perfect for our little family jaunt with mates.

But honestly, the real magic was the characters we met – proper quirky locals who made the whole trip feel like stepping into a warm pub tale. First up was Dai, the farmer next door, who wandered over as we unpacked, his wellies caked in mud and a sheepdog at his heels called – wait for it – Baa-rack Obama. “You lot from the big smoke?” he chuckled, eyes twinkling under his flat cap. Turned out he’d lived there 50 years, knew every inch of the Elwy’s banks where we’d later spot otters. Over a cuppa he pressed on us (made with milk straight from his herd, naturally), he regaled us with stories of the time a fox nicked his best hen and led him on a midnight chase through the fields. “Lesson learned,” he winked, “never trust a fox with a feather in its cap.” We were in stitches before we’d even settled in.

Then there was Mrs Evans from the village shop in Llangernyw, a tiny powerhouse with a laugh like a foghorn. We popped in for essentials – bread, cheese, and her famous bara brith – and she clocked our accents straight away. “City folk, eh? Don’t go getting lost in the mists up by the park, or you’ll end up like old Tom who married a sheep by mistake!” She roared at her own joke, piling our bag with extra scones “for the road.” Chatting about Llandudno’s pier and the Great Orme’s wild goats, she shared how her grandad used to fish the Elwy with just a bent pin. “Simpler times,” she sighed, but her eyes said she wouldn’t swap it.

Even at the local pub down the lane, we bumped into Huw, the barman-poet with a beard like a wizard’s and tales of ghost sheep haunting the hills. “They bleat at midnight,” he deadpanned over our pints, “but only if you’ve had one too many.” We spent evenings swapping yarns, him on the old smuggling routes along the coast, us on city chaos.

Looking back, amid the hot tub soaks and riverside walks, it was those chats that stuck. Made me reflect – in the rush of daily life, we forget how a natter with proper characters recharges the soul. If you’re after a Welsh getaway that’s more heart than Instagram, this is it. Can’t wait to go back.