I have never been so grateful for a sat nav giving up on me as I was on the way to Altaussee. There we were, my partner and I, cruising through Styria in our hire car, convinced we had this whole Austrian road trip lark sorted. The sat nav had other ideas. Somewhere between Bad Aussee and what I thought was our destination, it decided the best route involved a track that looked like it had last seen a vehicle when Mozart was still touring. We bounced along for a good ten minutes, me gripping the steering wheel like it owed me money, before the thing beeped mournfully and went black. Classic.

The mishap, though, turned out to be the making of the holiday. We were properly lost now, no signal, no map, just rolling green hills and the occasional confused-looking cow. We pressed on because turning around on that track would have required skills I definitely do not possess. Rounding a bend, we stumbled upon a tiny chapel, barely bigger than a garden shed, with a bench outside and views across a valley that made us both shut up for once. We sat there for half an hour, eating the emergency biscuits we had packed, and I had one of those moments where you realise how much of life you miss by never getting lost. I am usually the person who plans toilet breaks. This felt like progress.

Eventually we found our bearings and reached the property, which sits right on the edge of Altaussee village. First impressions? Quiet. Properly, deliciously quiet. The kind where you can hear yourself think and do not much like what you find. The house itself was spot on, all wooden beams and that solid Austrian build quality that makes you feel slightly ashamed of your own DIY attempts back home. But here is the thing: having been bitten by the accidental discovery bug, we spent the whole week deliberately wandering without much of a plan.

One morning we set off towards what we thought was the lake path and ended up on a forestry trail that petered out into nothing. Rather than turn back, we pushed through some trees and found ourselves at a tiny clearing with a stream running through it. No signs, no benches, no other people. Just us and the water and the sort of silence that feels expensive. We went back three times and never saw another soul.

Another afternoon, trying to find a recommended cafe in the village, we took a wrong turn down a lane that looked private and probably was. At the end sat an old wooden barn with its doors open, and inside an elderly chap was carving something with a patience I found almost offensive. He did not speak English, we do not speak German beyond ordering beer, but he showed us his work anyway. Beautiful little wooden birds, each one different. We bought two for a tenner and felt like we had robbed him.

The lake itself, Altaussee, is gorgeous in the obvious way, all turquoise water and mountain backdrop. But our favourite spot was a pebbly little cove we found by accident on our last day, having taken a path that looked like it led to a dead end. It did not. It led to us sitting with our feet in freezing water, watching dragonflies, wondering how we would ever explain to organised future selves that this was the best bit.

I came back from Styria with two wooden birds, damp walking boots, and a slightly worrying new attitude that getting lost might be the whole point. My sat nav remains in a drawer, unloved and unforgiven. I am not sure I will ever turn it on again.