I’ll never forget the drive up to Snowdonia – rain lashing the windscreen like it had a personal grudge, and then, just past Porthmadog, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us down a narrow lane that dead-ended at a sheep-dotted field. Typical me, I thought, packing for a Welsh getaway only to get properly lost before we’d even arrived. A quick U-turn and a bit of faffing with Google Maps later, we were back on track, hearts racing a tad, but buzzing with that proper holiday anticipation. As we crested the hill into Llanfair, the clouds parted just enough to reveal this stunner of a detached cottage perched high, with jaw-dropping sea views over the bay towards Shell Island and the Llyn Peninsula. Spacious, airy rooms that felt like a hug after the drive – perfect for our little group, plenty of nooks to spread out without tripping over each other.

First impressions? Magic. We dumped the bags and cracked open a bottle of fizz on the terrace, watching the waves crash below. Harlech beach was only a 400-yard stroll away, but honestly, we didn’t rush it. The real joy was stumbling on Snowdonia’s hidden corners, the off-the-beaten bits you only find when you let the map gather dust and just wander.

Take that afternoon tramp along the clifftop path from the cottage – we veered off the obvious trail, chasing a glimpse of what looked like a secret cove, and ended up at this tucked-away spot near Llandanwg beach, just 1.5km down the way. Empty sands, gnarled dunes whispering with marram grass, and not a soul in sight. We picnicked on cheese rolls from the village shop, feet in the frothy surf, laughing as the dog chased imaginary rabbits. Pure bliss, the kind of place postcards forget.

Next day, we got properly lost in the best way. Aiming for a quick hike up towards Mochras (that’s Shell Island if you’re posh), we took a wrong turn onto a bridleway that snaked through boggy meadows. Hours later, we’d discovered Morfa Harlech nature reserve – a wild, windswept marsh alive with skylarks and orchids poking through the heather. No crowds, just us, the squelch of wellies, and a flask of tea. I had one of those gentle what-am-I-doing-with-my-life moments there, sat on a tussock, thinking how daft it is to chase deadlines back home when this – getting muddled and finding gems – is what recharges the batteries.

Evenings were for cosying up in the roomy living-diner, bay views turning golden at sunset, while we swapped tales of the day’s detours. One night, a daft scramble down a sheep path led to a pebbly inlet we dubbed our private beach – seals bobbing offshore like nosy neighbours. Light humour in the mishaps, like when I slipped arse-over-tit on wet rocks (fine, no harm done, but the photos are gold).

Staying here in Llanfair was less about ticking off guidebook sights and more about those accidental treasures – the quiet lanes, forgotten dunes, and paths that reward the wanderer. Snowdonia’s got the big peaks, sure, but it’s these coastal secrets, found by getting gloriously lost, that make it unforgettable. If you’re after space, views, and a bit of aimless magic, this is your spot. We’re already plotting a return.