I’ll never forget the drive up to Barmouth – what should’ve been a straightforward jaunt from Shrewsbury turned into a comedy of errors thanks to Sat Nav Sally, as I’ve dubbed her. She decided halfway through that the A458 was suddenly a no-go, rerouting us down some winding back lane that felt more like a sheep’s personal runway. We ended up behind a flock that was in no rush whatsoever, and by the time we escaped, my other half was gripping the door handle like it was a lifeline, muttering about my “shortcut skills”. Still, as we crested the hill and spotted the glittering Mawddach Estuary, all was forgiven. Barmouth’s harbour twinkled below, and I could practically taste the sea air already. Anticipation bubbled up – this was going to be our little escape on the edge of Eryri.

Pulling into the car park for our two-bed apartment, hearts racing a bit from the drive, we grabbed the bags and dashed for the entrance just as the heavens opened. Typical Welsh welcome, eh? I fumbled the key code – entered it upside down first time, naturally – and we tumbled inside dripping like drowned rats, laughing our socks off. But oh, what a first impression. The place was a stylish gem, all cosy and modern with a nod to seaside chic: soft neutrals, plush throws, and those massive windows framing views straight across the estuary to the hills beyond. It sleeps four comfortably, perfect for us lot pretending to be a glamorous couple rather than knackered parents sneaking a break. Kitchen was a dream too – we cracked open a bottle of fizz while the rain drummed on the panes, toasting our soggy arrival.

First morning, we shook off the travel cobwebs and wandered the 0.5 miles to Barmouth’s sandy beach, past little harbour boats bobbing in the swell. It’s that proper bucket-and-spade stretch, wide and golden, with families building epic sandcastles and dogs chasing waves. We grabbed fish and chips from a beachfront stall – crispy batter, mushy peas, the works – and plonked on the pebbles, watching the world go by. Later, we hopped on the passenger ferry across to Fairbourne, just a short chug away. That little resort on the other side is pure nostalgia: steam trains puffing along the front, donkey rides, and ice creams that taste like childhood. We strolled the prom, feet in the surf, dodging seagulls eyeing our 99s.

Evenings were bliss – firing up the hob for a simple pasta, then curling up with a film as the sun dipped behind Eryri’s peaks. One night, we even spotted seals playing in the estuary from the balcony. Looking back, that chaotic arrival was the perfect icebreaker; it reminded me how the best holidays aren’t polished Instagram reels, but these messy, joyful moments that stick. If you’re after a harbour bolthole that feels like home but with epic views, this North Wales spot’s got it in spades. We’re already plotting a return – Sat Nav be damned.