We set off for Gotland with the sort of optimism that only comes after booking a place you have never seen. The ferry from the mainland was smooth enough, but once we landed the satnav decided we should take the scenic route through a maze of tiny lanes. By the time we reached the outskirts of Visby I was convinced we were driving in circles. Then came the small but funny mishap: I confidently turned down what looked like a shortcut and promptly drove straight into a dead end bordered by a low stone wall. Reversing out while a local cyclist watched with polite amusement set the tone for the whole stay.

Our little house on the edge of Visby was exactly what we needed after that shaky start. It sat quietly among narrow streets where the old town walls still stand, and the first thing I noticed was how the light seemed softer here, filtered through the leaves of the trees that lined the lane. After unpacking we decided to leave the car behind and simply wander. That decision turned out to be the best one we made all week.

Without a map or plan we followed a gravel path that wound away from the main tourist drag. It led us past gardens heavy with roses and into a small clearing where an old wooden jetty stretched out over calm water. No one else was there. We sat on the edge and watched a heron fish in the shallows, the only sound the occasional splash and the wind moving through the reeds. Later the same aimless walking took us to a tiny bakery tucked behind a row of houses. The woman behind the counter spoke just enough English to sell us warm cinnamon buns still dusted with sugar, and we ate them on a bench overlooking a field of wildflowers.

Getting properly lost became our favourite activity. One afternoon we followed a footpath that seemed to lead nowhere and ended up at a disused windmill surrounded by tall grass. The door was unlocked, so we stepped inside and climbed the creaky stairs to look out over the rooftops of Visby. From up there the town looked smaller and somehow more ours, as if we had discovered it by accident rather than arriving on purpose. Another evening we stumbled across a quiet beach reached only by a narrow track through the woods. The water was cold but clear, and we paddled until the sun dipped low enough to turn everything golden.

I had arrived expecting to tick off sights and follow guides, but the dead-end mishap had forced us to slow down. In the end the best parts of the trip were the ones we never meant to find. Standing on that hidden jetty or eating buns on an unmarked bench felt more memorable than any planned itinerary could have been. By the time we packed to leave I realised the real charm of Gotland was not in rushing from one landmark to another, but in letting the island show us its quieter corners when we stopped trying to steer.