We set off from Stockholm in good spirits, the satnav promising a straightforward drive up to our little Mora cottage. Two hours later we were still circling the same roundabout after a wrong turn that had us laughing at our own navigation skills. By the time we pulled up outside the red wooden house with its neat white trim, the sun was already low and the air smelled of pine and woodsmoke.

The garden sloped gently down to the lake and two striped deckchairs waited on the veranda like they had known we were coming. We dumped our bags inside, grabbed a couple of cold beers from the fridge and simply sat. The only plan was to have no plan, and it felt marvellous.

Next morning the mishap repeated itself in miniature when I tried to light the little barbecue and managed to send a puff of smoke straight into my face. My partner took a photo before helping, and we ended up eating slightly charred sausages while watching dragonflies skim the water. After that we decided the safest activity was to do nothing at all.

The days slipped by in a gentle rhythm of coffee on the steps, a short wander along the quiet lane to the nearby bakery for fresh cinnamon buns, and long stretches of reading with the sun on our legs. Sometimes we took the rowing boat out just far enough to feel the breeze, then drifted back in without bothering to reach the far shore. The cottage itself was simple and spotless, the kind of place where you notice the quality of light on the wooden floors rather than the number of plug sockets.

One afternoon we walked the few minutes into the centre of Mora, bought ice creams and sat by the river watching families drift past on bicycles. We talked about how rarely we manage to switch off at home, how easy it is to fill every hour with something that feels important. Here the important thing seemed to be noticing how the light changed on the water as the afternoon wore on.

By the end of the week we had explored barely beyond the nearest jetty and the small supermarket, yet we felt as though we had travelled much farther. The wrong turn on the way up had turned out to be the best thing that happened; without it we might never have arrived quite so ready to stop.