We set off for Casaprota on a bright spring morning, but the sat nav decided to test our patience by steering us down a lane so narrow that the wing mirror kissed an olive branch. By the time we parked outside the stone house, I was laughing at my own navigation skills and wondering why I had not printed a paper map like a sensible person.

The April air felt soft and warm, carrying the scent of wild rosemary that grows along the verges. Our host, a cheerful woman from the nearby village, handed over the keys with a quick explanation of the shutters and then left us to explore. Stepping inside, the thick walls kept the rooms cool despite the sunshine outside, and the tiled floor was pleasantly cool under bare feet.

We opened the shutters wide and the light poured in, showing a small garden dotted with lemon trees already heavy with fruit. Beyond the low wall the hills rolled away in gentle greens and browns, the sort of view that makes you linger with a coffee rather than rush off anywhere. Because it was shoulder season, the lanes stayed quiet except for the occasional tractor or the distant bark of a farm dog, giving the place a calm that summer crowds would probably erase.

After unpacking we wandered the short path behind the house that leads to a tiny stream, now running clear after the winter rains. The water was cold enough to make us yelp when we dipped our toes, but the sun on our backs soon warmed us again. We returned to the terrace with bread, local cheese and a bottle of the house red, watching the light shift across the fields as the afternoon lengthened.

Later, when the temperature dropped, we lit the wood burner in the sitting room and listened to the crackle while sharing stories from earlier travels. It struck me then how different this stay felt compared with our usual rushed city breaks; the slower pace of spring had given us permission to do very little and still feel we had done enough. By the time we turned in, the only sound was the faint rustle of leaves outside the window, and I realised that sometimes the best part of a holiday is simply arriving and letting the season do the rest.