I’ll never forget the drive down to Tenby – sat nav decided to play silly buggers just past Carmarthen, sending us on a detour through some winding back lanes that had me gripping the wheel like it was a lifeline. We ended up in a field with a flock of sheep giving us the evil eye, but honestly, it broke the ice with the family and had us laughing by the time we finally rolled into town. As we pulled up to this elegant Georgian apartment – one of those self-catering gems split from an original old home – my heart did a little flip. It slept the six of us perfectly, all luxurious and cosy, right in the heart of things but with that National Park vibe just steps away. First impressions? Spot on – sea glimpses from the windows, and we were buzzing to explore.

With older kids in tow, we figured we’d hit the obvious spots like the beaches (Pembrokeshire’s got more awards than you can shake a stick at), but the real magic happened when we veered off the beaten track. Day one, instead of joining the crowds on the main drags, we wandered aimlessly towards the quieter edges of Tenby’s old walls. Got properly lost down a snicket that spat us out at this hidden cove – Caldey Sound, I think it was – where the water was so clear you could see crabs scuttling about. No one else around, just us paddling and skim-reading the waves. The kids declared it better than any Instagram beach.

Next morning, anticipation high after brekkie in the apartment’s sunny nook, we aimed for the Coast Path but took a wrong turn at Amroth (only nine miles out, mind). What a fluke! Stumbled on these secret sea caves tucked under the cliffs, echoing with the slap of waves. We poked around with torches on our phones, pretending we were smugglers – pure daft fun, and the older ones loved the adventure without the tourist hordes. Lunch was a picnic of pasties from a blink-and-you-miss-it bakery we found by accident near the path’s start; proper flaky, buttery things that tasted of holidays.

Afternoon saw us pottering through Tenby’s back alleys, away from the main shops. Lost again (my sense of direction’s shocking, I’ll admit), we chanced on a tiny gallery run by a local artist – walls crammed with moody seascapes and driftwood sculptures. Chatted with the chap there for ages; turns out he knows every hidden nook. He tipped us off about a lesser-known harbour slipway just 0.5 miles from the apartment, perfect for crabbing. We spent hours there, lines dangling, pulling up dinner amid gulls squawking overhead. The heritage bits snuck in too – we wandered past crumbly Tudor houses without even trying, feeling like we’d time-travelled.

Reflecting on it now, over a cuppa back home, that’s the joy of these spots: getting lost led to the best bits, the ones no guidebook bangs on about. No mega hikes to far-flung places, just gentle wanders revealing Pembrokeshire’s quiet soul. The apartment was the ideal base – comfy for evenings in after our off-piste days. If you fancy family time that’s sporty, cultural, and blissfully unplanned, this is your spot. We’re already plotting a return.