I had been on the ferry from the mainland for what felt like ages when we finally rolled into Visby, and the first thing that happened was me confidently driving straight past the turn for our holiday home. The satnav had been sulking since we left the port, and before I knew it we were winding down a narrow lane that definitely was not on the map. My partner just sighed and muttered something about my sense of direction being a national treasure. We ended up parking beside a low stone wall with a view of the sea that made the mistake feel almost intentional.

Once we found the right cottage tucked behind a cluster of apple trees, the first thing that struck me was how quiet everything felt. The place was simple and welcoming, with a little garden where the grass was already dotted with daisies. After unpacking the bare essentials we decided to stretch our legs before dinner, and that is when the real adventure began. Instead of heading towards the main streets we followed a footpath that curved away from the road and into a patch of woodland. The path was barely marked, just a faint track through the trees, and we kept telling ourselves we would turn back in five minutes.

Of course we did not. The woodland opened onto a small clearing where an old wooden bench sat beside a trickling stream. We sat there for a while listening to the birds and watching a couple of deer wander through the undergrowth on the far side. From there we followed another track that led us past a field of wildflowers and eventually to a tiny cove that was not on any of the tourist leaflets. The water was cold enough to make us gasp, but we paddled anyway and laughed at how quickly our feet turned pink.

By the time we made it back to the cottage the light was fading and we were both starving. We cooked a simple meal with whatever we had picked up on the way and ate it outside, watching the sky turn soft shades of pink over the treetops. It was not the polished, planned day I had pictured, but somehow that made it better. I realised I had spent so much time worrying about getting everything right that I had forgotten how nice it can be to just wander and see what turns up.

The next morning we tried to retrace our steps to the cove but took a different path by mistake and found a ruined stone wall covered in moss instead. We spent an hour poking around and making up stories about who might have lived there centuries ago. It felt like the island was gently nudging us towards places we would never have thought to look for. By the end of that first full day I had stopped caring about the perfect itinerary. Getting lost on Gotland had turned out to be the best part of arriving.