I had been on the road for what felt like forever by the time the ferry finally docked in Visby, and my stomach was doing little flips from all the coffee I had gulped down on the boat. The drive across Gotland to Aminne should have been straightforward, but my satnav decided to send me down a narrow farm track lined with tall grass that brushed the sides of the car like it was giving it a wash. I ended up reversing half a mile with the wing mirror folded in, muttering under my breath while my partner tried not to laugh too loudly from the passenger seat. By the time we pulled up outside the little red wooden house tucked behind a low stone wall, both of us were ready to collapse onto the nearest patch of grass.

The first thing that struck me was the quiet. Not the empty kind, but the gentle sort where you can actually hear the breeze moving through the trees and the faint clink of a neighbour’s wind chime a couple of gardens away. The house itself looked exactly like the photos, only better because it was real and sun-warmed. Pale curtains fluttered at an open window, and the wooden steps up to the door creaked in a friendly way under our bags. Inside, the kitchen smelled faintly of coffee someone had left behind, and the living room had that lovely mix of old pine floors and bright cushions that made you want to kick your shoes off straight away.

We wandered out into the garden almost straight away, still in our ferry clothes, and found a little table and chairs set under an apple tree. The grass was soft underfoot and a bit overgrown in a way that felt welcoming rather than neglected. From there you could just see the edge of the sea between the trees, a thin strip of silver that caught the late afternoon light. My partner pointed out a hammock strung between two posts near the shed, and we both grinned at the thought of actually using it instead of just taking photos of it like we usually do.

Later, when we walked the short lane down to the nearest stretch of beach, the sand was still warm from the day and the water looked calm enough to tempt even me in for a paddle. We did not stay long, just long enough to feel the salt on our skin and watch a couple of locals walking their dogs along the shore. Back at the house we unpacked in that slow holiday way, stopping every few minutes to look out of the windows at the changing light. I caught myself thinking how rarely we actually slow down like this, and how the mishap on the farm track had somehow made the stillness feel even better earned. By the time we sat down with a simple supper from the local shop, the house already felt like ours for the week.