I’ll never forget the drive to Cherry Tree Lodge in Saundersfoot – a proper Welsh adventure that started with me taking a wrong turn just outside Narberth and ending up in a muddy farm lane, swearing at the satnav like it was my ex. “Recalculating,” it chirped cheerily, as if that fixed my daft decision to trust it over the faded road signs. Half an hour late and splattered with Pembrokeshire clay, I finally pulled up to the lodge, heart sinking a bit at the thought of explaining my grand entrance to the hosts. But there it was, this cosy little haven tucked away down a quiet lane, all stone walls and flower baskets bursting with fuchsias, looking every bit the perfect hideaway for a three-day escape.

First impressions? Bloody brilliant. Cherry Tree Lodge isn’t some flashy holiday let; it’s the sort of place that whispers “relax” from the moment you step through the gate. The wooden front door creaked open to reveal a snug living room with a wood burner (thankfully not needed in that balmy August sun), squishy sofas piled with cushions, and a kitchen that had every gadget you could want without feeling cluttered. Upstairs, the bedrooms were simple but spot-on – crisp white linens, sea-view windows that let in the salty breeze, and that faint scent of lavender from the sachets in the drawers. I dumped my bags, cracked open a cold cider from the welcome hamper (cheers for the local Tenby Brewing Co. touch), and just breathed it all in. After the drive’s farce, it felt like the universe was saying, “Sit down, you muppet, and unwind.”

But the real magic of Cherry Tree Lodge hit me when I wandered out that first afternoon, no itinerary, just a vague notion of “beach.” Saundersfoot’s main sands are lovely, don’t get me wrong – golden arcs perfect for paddling – but I veered off the beaten track straight away, following a whim down a narrow path behind the lodge that snaked through brambly hedges. That’s when I stumbled on my first hidden gem: a secluded cove you wouldn’t find on any app. It was like Saundersfoot’s secret handshake – a pebbly inlet called Coppet Hall, maybe a ten-minute scramble away, shielded by cliffs and lapped by waves so clear I could see the crabs scuttling below. No crowds, just me, a thermos of tea, and the thrill of having “discovered” it by pure accident. I plonked down on a rock, shoes off, and let the tide nibble at my toes, chuckling at how getting lost post-mishap drive had paid off.

The next morning, still buzzing from that find, I set off again, letting my feet lead down unmarked trails from the lodge’s back garden. Another off-the-beaten-path wonder: a wildflower meadow edging into the woods near Sunnyhill Lane, alive with butterflies and the hum of bees. It’s not signposted, just a gap in the hedge that locals probably take for granted, but to me, it was paradise. I lay back in the grass, staring at the sky, and had one of those gentle moments of self-reflection – you know, the kind where you realise you’ve spent too long chasing deadlines back home, and here you are, accidentally blissed out amid the ox-eye daisies. Light humour kicked in when a cheeky rabbit popped out, eyed my sandwich, and bolted; I swear it was smirking.

By day three’s lazy start, I was hooked on the pleasures of getting lost. A wander along the coastal path from the lodge led me – via a forgotten stile – to a tucked-away sea arch near the caravan park’s edge, where the water roared through like nature’s own sound system. No tourists snapping selfies, just echoing waves and the odd gull overhead. Cherry Tree Lodge made it all effortless; its quiet spot encouraged these serendipitous detours, turning a simple stay into a treasure hunt of Saundersfoot’s understated charms. If you’re after proper relaxation laced with accidental magic, this is your spot – wrong turns and all.