I have spent the last three hours of my life convinced that Artogne was a coastal village. There I was, sat on the train from Brescia, scrolling through maps on my phone with the confidence of a man who had definitely done his research, mentally packing flip-flops and planning which coastal path I would conquer first. The Lake Iseo glinted through the window and I thought, splendid, nearly at the seaside. Reader, there is no seaside. Artogne sits in the Val Camonica, surrounded by mountains, and my walking boots were still in my suitcase because I had been so certain about those beach hikes.

The mishap revealed itself gradually, like a bad haircut. First, the taxi driver asked if I was planning to walk Monte Elto. I nodded enthusiastically, assuming this was some local name for a particularly rugged cliff path. Then the road began to climb, and climb, and the air grew thin and pine-scented rather than salty. By the time we pulled up at the stone house, my coastal dreams had evaporated entirely. I paid the driver, turned around, and found myself looking at peaks. Just peaks. Beautiful, daunting, entirely landlocked peaks.

The property itself, a traditional stone house with wooden balconies and that particular faded terracotta roof you see everywhere in Lombardy, suddenly made much more sense. The garden was not arranged for post-beach lounging but for shade and mountain views. I stood there with my completely inappropriate beach bag, feeling like a man who had turned up to a wedding in scuba gear.

Still, I am nothing if not adaptable, or at least stubborn enough to pretend. I unpacked my walking boots, left the flip-flops to contemplate their uselessness, and set out the next morning to explore what was actually here. The weather, naturally, had its own opinions. June in the mountains is not June by the coast. The morning started bright and warm, perfect for the lower path I had chosen towards the Cividate Camuno direction. I walked through chestnut woods, the light dappling pleasantly, feeling rather pleased with my improvised plan.

By midday, the sky had turned that particular bruised purple that mountain locals recognise immediately. I did not recognise it. I was too busy congratulating myself on finding a lovely ridge trail when the first thunder rolled down the valley like a dropped wardrobe. The temperature dropped fifteen degrees in what felt like fifteen seconds. My light linen shirt, so perfect for my imaginary coastal stroll, became utterly pointless.

I sheltered under a rock overhang with a family of goats who seemed deeply unimpressed by my life choices. Rain came horizontally. I thought about my abandoned coastal fantasy, about warm sea breezes and gentle promenades, and laughed at myself until the goats shuffled away from my hysteria.

The storm passed, as storms do, and I squelched back to the house changed in ways I had not expected. My walking plans for the week shifted entirely. Early starts became essential, catching the stable morning weather before the afternoon theatrics. I learned to read the clouds building over the Adamello range, to pack a proper jacket, to love the sudden clarity after rain when the mountains emerge scrubbed and vivid.

I never did get my coastal hike. What I got instead was better, though I would not admit this to my smug taxi driver. The Val Camonica offers something the coast cannot: the sense that you are walking through deep time, past rock engravings thousands of years old, through villages where the stone seems to have grown rather than been built. My warm-weather adventures became warm-morning adventures, the afternoons given over to reading on the balcony, watching weather happen to other people on distant peaks.

On my final evening, I sat with a local beer and watched the sun set behind the mountains, painting them in shades I have no names for. My phone showed me photographs of coastal paths I will walk someday, perhaps, when I remember to check a map properly. For now, I am content with where my wrong turn took me. Some mistakes, it turns out, lead exactly where you needed to go.