I’ll never forget the drive up to our holiday spot in North Wales – a proper British road trip with all the trimmings. We’d piled into the car in Manchester, kids in the back bickering over crisps, and me navigating with that eternal optimism that Google Maps won’t let us down. Big mistake. Somewhere near Bangor, the satnav decided to have a midlife crisis and directed us down a narrow farm track that was more mud than road. We ended up stuck behind a flock of sheep for half an hour, the farmer waving us on with a grin while our youngest announced she needed the loo. Classic. But as we finally crested the hill towards the Llyn Peninsula, the anticipation kicked in – those first glimpses of the sea sparkling below Nefyn and Morfa Nefyn had us all buzzing.

Pulling up to the cottage, I was gobsmacked. It’s one of those lovingly renovated traditional Welsh long cottages, perched high up with the most jaw-dropping panoramic views over the coast and hills. You could see right out to the Isle of Anglesey on a clear day, and the sunsets? Pure magic, painting the sky in pinks and oranges that no photo could capture. The owners have poured their heart into making it a proper luxury retreat while keeping that old-school charm – parts of it date back to the 18th century, you can feel the history in the air. We tumbled out of the car, bags everywhere, and just stood there soaking it in. First impressions? Ten out of ten.

We’d planned the whole week around walking – the Llyn Peninsula’s got some of the best coastal paths in Wales, and from our elevated spot, they were practically on the doorstep. Day one was perfect: bright blue skies, not a cloud in sight. We headed out along the cliffs towards Porthdinllaen, that gorgeous little beach village you can only reach on foot or by boat. The path winds high above the bay, with seals barking below and gulls wheeling overhead. It’s about three miles there and back, but felt like a stroll with those views – Nefyn’s golf course clinging to the headland, waves crashing on the rocks. We picnicked on the sand, kids building epic castles, me pretending I wasn’t knackered.

Then the British weather did its thing, as it always does. Next morning, the fog rolled in thick as pea soup, turning our ambitious hike to Yr Eifl into a no-go. Visibility nil, paths slippery – safety first, eh? We adapted with a gentle loop around Morfa Nefyn instead, just a couple of miles through dunes and marram grass, the mist adding a moody, mysterious vibe. It was eerie but brilliant, like stumbling into a Brontë novel, only with welly boots and thermos flasks. Lunch in the local pub, chips all round, laughing about how we’d nearly got lost in the car park.

By midweek, the rain hammered down – proper Llŷn deluge. Plans for the full coastal path to Tre’r Ceiri’s ancient hillfort? Scrapped. We layered up and tackled a shorter inland ramble instead, up to the headland behind the cottage. Muddy going, but the wildflowers were out, and every now and then the clouds parted for a rainbow over the sea. I had one of those moments trudging back, soaked to the skin, thinking: why do I love this so much? It’s the unpredictability, isn’t it? Forces you to slow down, appreciate the small stuff – like hot tea waiting at the cottage, or the way the hills glow after rain.

Our last day gifted us sun again, so we nailed a cracker: the path from Porthdinllaen back via the golf links, clifftops alive with heather. Legs aching, hearts full. North Wales walks are like that – weather throws curveballs, but that’s the joy. We left buzzing for next time, already plotting more hikes. If you’re after proper tranquillity with epic views, this corner of the Llyn is unbeatable.