I’ll never forget the drive to River View Cottage in Llandudno – or rather, the comedy of errors that got me there. I’d set off from Manchester full of beans, Spotify blasting some cracking indie tunes, only for the sat-nav to chuck a wobbly just past Colwyn Bay. “Recalculating,” it chirped, as I ended up in a narrow lane that looked suspiciously like a sheep’s personal driveway. Twenty minutes of reversing past bemused farmers later, I finally spotted the Conwy Estuary glinting in the late afternoon sun, and there she was: River View Cottage, tucked away on the fringes of Llandudno, right by the water’s edge. What a belter of a first impression – a cosy stone cottage with a garden that literally hangs over the river, seagulls squawking overhead like they owned the place.

Stumbling out of the car, knackered but buzzing, I unlocked the door with the key in the flowerpot (classic, innit?) and was hit by that instant holiday glow. The place was proper quaint: low-beamed ceilings, a wood-burner begging for a fire, and windows framing the tidal river like a living painting. I dumped my bags and cracked open a tin of Welsh lager from the fridge – thoughtful touch from the hosts – then wandered straight out to the garden. Blimey, the view! The water laps right up to the edge, with herons picking their way along the mudflats. I sat there as the sun dipped, feeling like I’d gatecrashed paradise. First impressions? Ten out of ten, with extra points for the free fishing rod propped in the corner (which I later discovered was knackered, but still).

Keen to explore before dark, I decided to ditch the main drags – you know, the pier and the tramway crowds – and just let my feet lead the way. Llandudno’s got that magic where you can veer off the beaten track in seconds. I followed a scruffy footpath from the cottage garden, past some overgrown brambles, and suddenly I was on a hidden stretch of the estuary no tourist coach ever touches. It’s bonkers how close it is – barely five minutes from the door – but worlds away from the donkey rides on the North Shore beach. The river mud sparkled with wading birds, and I spotted a seal bobbing about, cheeky as you like, eyeing me up like I was the intruder. I chuckled to myself, plonking down on a driftwood log for a impromptu picnic of cheese pasties from the local bakery I’d nabbed en route. Pure bliss, that – getting lost on purpose, no map, just the cry of curlews.

Next morning, still buzzing from that first evening’s find, I laced up my boots for more accidental adventuring. A wrong turn down a residential lane near the cottage spat me out onto the West Shore’s back paths – another gem you’d miss if you stuck to the prom. It’s wilder here, dunes rolling down to a vast pebble beach where the wind whips up proper dramatic waves. I mooched along, unearthing sea glass smoothed by the Irish Sea, and stumbled on a tiny cove sheltered by gorse bushes. No one around, just me, the waves, and a family of oystercatchers piping away. Light humour in the form of me nearly twisting an ankle on a rogue rock, mind – “Graceful as a giraffe on ice,” I muttered, dusting off and laughing it off with a selfie for the mates back home.

That second day’s wander led to my favourite hidden nook yet: a secluded spot along the riverbank trail, where an old fisherman’s hut leans drunkenly against the cliffs. I perched there with a brew from my flask, watching kayakers paddle past oblivious to my private viewpoint. It got me reflecting, you know? In the rush of everyday life, we chase the big-ticket sights, but it’s these off-piste discoveries – sparked by a dodgy sat-nav and a nose for the untrodden – that stick. River View Cottage nailed it as a base for that; its riverside perch practically dares you to get lost locally. By day three, I was hooked, plotting return trips to these secret corners. If you fancy ditching the hordes for estuary whispers and serendipitous seals, this is your spot. Absolute cracker of a first getaway.