I’ll never forget the drive to Saundersfoot last month – a proper Welsh adventure that started with me taking a wrong turn just outside Tenby, thanks to my sat-nav deciding to have a mid-journey sulk. Instead of the straightforward A-road, I ended up on a narrow, twisting lane that hugged the cliffs, heart pounding as a tractor loomed round the bend. Classic me, always managing to turn a 20-minute jaunt into a white-knuckle rally. But honestly, that little mishap was the perfect opener for my three-day escape at Cornerstones Brython, a cosy stone cottage tucked away in the village that felt like it was winking at me from the moment I arrived.

Pulling up to the place around teatime, I was knackered but buzzing. The owner, a cheery local chap named Dai, handed over the keys with a grin and a warning about the seagulls – “They’re proper thieves round here, mind!” Cornerstones Brython is one of those unpretentious gems: a traditional Pembrokeshire cottage with a slate roof, whitewashed walls, and a front garden bursting with fuchsias that screamed “welcome home.” Stepping inside, the first impression hit like a warm hug – low-beamed ceilings, a wood-burning stove begging for a fire, and a kitchen that smelled faintly of fresh scones from some previous guest’s baking spree. The bedrooms upstairs were snug as a bug, with views peeking out to the sea if you craned your neck just right. I dumped my bags, cracked open a tin of Welsh cakes I’d nabbed from a farm shop en route, and felt the city stress melt away. First impressions? Spot on. It’s the sort of place that makes you want to kick off your wellies and never leave.

But the real magic of Saundersfoot unfolded when I ditched the main paths and let my feet lead me astray – or so I thought. That first afternoon, fancying a wander before the sun dipped, I veered off the bustling harbour promenade (lovely as it is, with its ice cream stalls and fishing boats) onto a barely marked footpath behind the cottage. What a hidden gem that turned out to be! It snaked through wild gorse bushes down to a secluded cove I’d never heard of – let’s call it Smuggler’s Pocket, though the locals might scoff. Empty save for a couple of seals barking lazily on the rocks, it was pure bliss. I paddled in the freezing shallows, laughing at myself for packing flip-flops instead of proper trainers, and munched a pasty while watching the waves crash. No crowds, no selfies – just the raw Welsh coast whispering secrets.

The next morning, bleary-eyed after a fry-up in the cottage’s Aga (I’m no chef, but even I managed not to burn the bacon), I set off again, “getting lost” on purpose this time. A wrong turn up a hedgerow-lined track led me to an overgrown meadow overlooking the bay, dotted with wildflowers and what looked like an abandoned lime kiln – a proper off-the-beaten-track relic from Saundersfoot’s quarrying days. I plonked down with a thermos of tea, sketching wonky outlines in my notebook, and had a rare moment of self-reflection. There I was, mid-30s city lad, realising how daft it is to chase Instagram hotspots when these accidental discoveries – the sting of salt on your lips, the unexpected rustle of a fox in the undergrowth – are the ones that stick. Who needs guided tours when stumbling upon a forgotten WWII pillbox half-buried in dunes feels like unearthing treasure?

By day three’s early hours, another “mishap” stroll took me along a clifftop path I’d missed before, revealing a pint-sized beach accessible only at low tide, fringed by sea thrift and echoing with oystercatchers. I skimmed stones till my arm ached, chuckling at how my so-called holiday plan had dissolved into joyful aimlessness. Cornerstones Brython wasn’t just a base; it was the launchpad for these serendipitous finds, proving that in Saundersfoot, the best spots hide in plain sight if you’re daft enough to get lost. If you’re after that proper escape, book it – just watch your sat-nav.