I have never been so grateful for a dodgy sat nav in my life. There I was, supposedly following the route to our Lesjaverk cabin in Oppland, when the thing decided that a gravel track through someone's sheep field was definitely the main road. My partner gave me that look. You know the one. The "I thought you said you checked this" look. I had checked it, for the record. Three times. But Norwegian country lanes have a way of humbling even the most confident navigator.

We bumped along for what felt like an age, sheep staring at us with that particular judgement only livestock can manage, until the track petered out at a small wooden bridge over a stream. Dead end. Brilliant. I was all for reversing back in shame when my partner spotted a narrow path leading up through birch trees. "Might as well have a look," she said, already halfway out of the car. I followed, muttering about Norwegian hiking culture and its unreasonable expectations of casual holidaymakers.

Ten minutes later, we found it. A tiny clearing with a bench facing a view that made me actually stop talking, which anyone who knows me will tell you is a minor miracle. The valley opened up below us, all patchwork fields and distant mountains still holding their summer snow. No signposts, no car park, no gift shop. Just a bench and a view and the faint sound of a river somewhere down in the trees. We sat there for half an hour, sharing the packet of biscuits that had survived my chaotic packing. It was only later we realised we'd stumbled onto what locals apparently call a "utepils" spot, though being British we had tea instead of beer and felt thoroughly pleased with ourselves.

The actual cabin, when we finally found it proper, turned out to be one of those traditional Lesjaverk properties with timber walls that smell faintly of pine and history. Red paint, white trim, the whole charming package. But that accidental discovery set the tone for the whole week. We stopped trusting the map and started trusting our feet instead.

Another morning, we took a wrong turning on what was meant to be a gentle stroll to the local shop. Ended up following a stream for an hour, no path to speak of, just picking our way over rocks and through patches of wildflowers I couldn't name. The stream led to a small waterfall, nothing dramatic enough for the guidebooks, but perfect for dangling tired feet in freezing mountain water and feeling terribly pleased with our ruggedness. My partner took a photo of me looking windswept and slightly damp. I have never looked more authentically outdoorsy in my life, and I cannot take any credit for it whatsoever.

The shop was closed when we finally found it, naturally. But the baker round the corner had fresh boller straight from the oven, and we ate them on a bench outside, still slightly muddy, plotting our next deliberately accidental expedition.

I think what struck me most was how different it felt from the usual holiday rhythm. No ticking off sights, no rushing to beat the crowds. Just wandering, getting properly lost, finding things that felt like secrets. There was the small lake we discovered because I needed a wee behind a tree, which I will admit is not the most romantic origin story but produced an absolutely gorgeous swimming spot. The old farm building we peered into, half-collapsed and covered in moss, that turned out to have a small plaque explaining it was a traditional seter, a mountain dairy farm from the 1800s. No one around to explain it, just the plaque and our curiosity.

By the end of the week, my sat nav remained firmly in the glove box. I had become a convert to glorious disorientation. There is something deeply restorative about not knowing exactly where you are, about trusting that interesting things exist just off the edges of plans and expectations. I came back with muddy boots, a phone full of photos of places I cannot precisely locate, and a slightly embarrassing realisation that some of my best travel moments have come from being absolutely rubbish at following instructions.

We are already planning to go back. I have not updated the sat nav. Some mistakes are worth repeating.