I’ll never forget the drive down to Saundersfoot – or rather, the near-disaster that kicked it off. We’d packed the car with enough snacks to feed a small army, plugged in the satnav, and set off from Swansea full of that giddy holiday buzz. But about halfway, just past Tenby, the bloody thing decided to throw a wobbly and reroute us down some twisty back lane that looked like it hadn’t seen tarmac since the war. Cue me white-knuckling the wheel while my other half helpfully suggested we were lost. Spoiler: we were, but it turned out to be the best detour ever.

Finally rolling up to this welcoming barn conversion in the sleepy hamlet of Llanmill – just two miles from Narberth – I felt that proper flutter of anticipation. Tucked next to the owners’ place on their quiet smallholding, it screamed cosy romantic retreat, with those dreamy seating spots around a little lake that made you want to crack open a bottle of wine before you’d even unpacked. First impressions? Spot on. It’s the sort of spot where you arrive knackered from the road and instantly unwind, especially knowing the owner’s a pro chef who can whip up high-end dinners or simple local grub on request. We went for a homemade breakfast the next morning – think fresh eggs from their own chickens and Pembrokeshire bacon that melted in your gob. Pure bliss.

But the real magic? Getting properly lost around Saundersfoot and stumbling on its hidden gems. That first afternoon, we fancied a wander and ended up on a footpath behind the property that spat us out at a secluded cove I’d never heard of – not the main Saundersfoot beach with its donkey rides and chip shops, but a pebbly secret called something like Mill Bay, where the water’s so clear you could see the crabs scuttling about. No crowds, just us, a thermos of tea, and seals bobbing in the distance. Laughed our heads off when we realised we’d parked miles away and had to trek back via a farmer’s field.

Next day, same story. Aiming for Narberth’s quirky boutiques – think independent shops flogging Welsh woollies and artisan gin – we took a “shortcut” that led us down a single-track lane to this forgotten woodland spot near Stepaside. There’s a tinny old mine there, all overgrown and eerie, perfect for poking about with a torch (don’t worry, it’s safe enough). We picnicked on the grass, pretending we were explorers, and watched buzzards circle overhead. Felt like we’d nicked a page from a fairy tale.

Even a rainy evening stroll went off-piste. Instead of the obvious harbour pubs, we followed a sign for “local walks” and found ourselves at a tucked-away wildflower meadow overlooking Amroth beach. Picked blackberries that were basically free jam, then dashed back for the chef’s cookery class – learned to make cawl with veg straight from their plot. Hilarious when I botched the pastry, mind.

Looking back, that initial satnav faff was a gift. These off-the-beaten-track finds – the coves, woods, meadows – made the trip ours, not some Instagram checklist. In a world of crowded hotspots, getting lost near Saundersfoot taught me to ditch the map more often. Can’t wait to go back and lose myself all over again.