I’ll never forget the drive down to West Wales – rain lashing the windscreen like it had a personal grudge, and then, just past Swansea, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us down a narrow lane that was more puddle than path. We bumped along for what felt like miles, convinced we’d end up in someone’s farmyard, but eventually it spat us out right at the caravan. First impressions? Blimey, what a spot. Perched with these stunning views over the valley, a private garden that felt like our own little kingdom, complete with a heated kennel and run for the dog (handy, that), a hot tub, barbecue area, and a massive patio for sunset gins. Walks straight off the back onto the mountain – pure magic. I was buzzing already.

But honestly, the real joy came from ditching the map and just wandering. No grand plans, just us, wellies, and a vague sense of direction. Day one, we headed out from the caravan’s back gate, up onto the hills behind, and somehow veered off the main path. Lost? Maybe a tad. But that’s how we stumbled on this hidden cove down by Caswell Bay – not the car park madness, but a sneaky little beach you reach by scrambling over rocks. Empty apart from a couple of seals bobbing about, and the water so clear you could see the crabs scuttling below. We picnicked on cheese rolls, laughing at how we’d never have found it without getting properly disoriented.

Next morning, same story. Aiming for a gentle valley stroll, we took a wrong turn down a bridleway that led to this forgotten waterfall tucked in a ravine – water crashing down like it was auditioning for a film, ferns everywhere, and not a soul in sight. I sat there on a mossy rock, mug of tea in hand, thinking how daft it is that we city folk chase Instagram hotspots when these off-the-beaten-track gems are right here, free and wild. Made me reflect a bit – life’s too short for sticking to the script, innit? We’ve been grinding away back home, and this holiday was a nudge to loosen up, embrace the detours.

Afternoon brought more accidental brilliance. Hot tub soak turned into a barbecue feast on the patio, valley views turning golden as the sun dipped. Then, fuelled by a cheeky cider, we roamed again – ending up at a secret spot near Bracelet Bay, a pebbly inlet with rock pools teeming with anemones and tiny fish. Got lost twice en route, once looping back past a herd of wild ponies that eyed us like we were the intruders. Laughed our heads off, faces windswept and salty.

By the end of the week, we’d mapped out our own mental atlas of these hidden treasures – all within a stone’s throw, no tourists trampling the vibes. That small sat-nav faff on arrival? Best mishap ever. West Wales has this knack for rewarding the wanderers, and I’m already plotting a return to lose myself all over again.