We set off from the ferry in high spirits, convinced we had the route to Boekeberg sorted on the satnav, only to discover ten minutes later that we had turned left instead of right at a roundabout and were heading towards a forestry track instead of the cosy red cottage. My partner laughed so hard she nearly spilled the coffee, and I had to reverse down a narrow lane while a curious elk watched from the trees. By the time we finally pulled up outside the white-trimmed house near Hylte, the sun was already low and the air smelled of pine and woodsmoke.

The mishap turned out to be the best thing that could have happened. Because we were late and slightly lost, we decided to ignore the main road the next morning and simply follow a gravel track that looked promising. It wound through quiet farmland and past a small lake where two swans were preening on the bank. We stopped to stretch our legs and ended up chatting with an elderly couple who were picking wild blueberries; they pointed us towards a barely marked footpath that led to a hidden viewpoint over rolling fields.

That afternoon we tried again to reach the nearest village shop but took another wrong turn and found ourselves at a tiny roadside stall selling fresh raspberries and homemade cinnamon buns. The woman running it told us about a disused railway cutting nearby that had been turned into a gentle walking trail. We spent the rest of the day wandering along it, stopping every few metres to watch dragonflies dart over the old sleepers and to listen to the woodpeckers in the surrounding birch woods.

By evening we were back at the cottage, feet up on the veranda, watching the light fade over the meadow. I realised that if we had followed the satnav perfectly we would have missed all of this. Getting lost had forced us to slow down and notice the small, ordinary places that never appear in guidebooks. The mishap on arrival had set the tone for the whole stay, reminding me that sometimes the best parts of a holiday are the ones you never planned.