I’ll never forget the drive down to Pembrokeshire – we’d packed the car to the gills with wellies, maps (yes, actual paper ones), and enough snacks to survive a siege. About halfway there, just past Carmarthen, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us down a narrow lane that got progressively sketchier. Branches scraping the roof, a sheep giving us the evil eye – classic British road trip mishap. I was convinced we’d end up in someone’s farmyard, but we emerged laughing, buzzing with that anticipation of turning a corner into something magical.

Pulling up to this beautifully restored, Grade II-listed retreat in the quaint hamlet of Newchapel, surrounded by the Cilwendeg Estate, my first impressions were spot on. It’s the perfect base for couples or families, cosy and characterful without being fussy. From the doorstep, you’re straight into those rolling Pembrokeshire hills, with footpaths begging to be wandered. We dumped the bags and headed out, no real plan, just eager to breathe it all in.

That’s when the real magic kicked in – getting properly lost in the best possible way. The Cilwendeg Estate paths twisted us into hidden gems we’d never have found with a guidebook. One afternoon, we veered off what we thought was the main track and stumbled on a secret wildflower meadow, alive with butterflies and the hum of bees. It was like nature’s own little secret garden, far from any crowds. Sat there with a thermos of tea, I had one of those gentle moments of self-reflection: when did I last just stop and let the world unfold without my itinerary? Felt a bit daft for always rushing about.

The next day, we aimed for Boncath, just 1.5 miles away, but took a “shortcut” that wasn’t. Ended up in a proper off-the-beaten-track hollow, where an ancient oak tree stood sentinel over a bubbling stream – perfect for paddling and skipping stones. No signs, no tourists, just us and the birds. We laughed about my dodgy sense of direction, but honestly, it’s these accidental discoveries that make holidays sing. Newchapel itself is steeped in history, and we wandered into its lovely local pub by chance after a loop around the estate. Pint in hand, chatting with locals about their tales of the area – pure gold.

Evenings were for toasting marshmallows over the fire pit, plotting the next meander. Sure, the coast’s tempting – those Pembrokeshire beaches like Newport Sands or Poppit Sands are only 14 miles off – but it was the hidden corners right here that stole the show. We’d return dusty and windswept, hearts full from uncharted walks that led to unexpected views over misty valleys.

If you’re after a holiday where the best bits find you by accident, this is it. Pembrokeshire’s countryside has a way of whispering its secrets when you let yourself get lost. We left already plotting a return – next time, I’m ditching the sat-nav for good.