I had been looking forward to our little break at the cottage in Eldsberga near Halmstad, but the drive from the ferry had already taken a few wrong turns before we even arrived. My satnav decided the shortest route was through a series of tiny lanes that got narrower and narrower until we were inching past a tractor that clearly belonged to someone who had lived there since the dawn of time. When we finally pulled up at the house I managed to reverse straight into a low hedge, scattering a few startled birds and earning a look from my partner that said this holiday might test our patience before it had even begun.

Once we had unpacked and stopped laughing at my parking skills, we decided to stretch our legs with what was meant to be a short stroll around the nearby lanes. The map on my phone showed a promising footpath that led past quiet fields and small clusters of red wooden houses, but after about ten minutes the path simply petered out into long grass and we found ourselves following a tractor track instead. The countryside here is gentle and green, with the sort of soft light that makes everything look a little softer than it really is, and before long we had completely lost our bearings.

That accidental detour turned out to be the best part of the day. We wandered past an old stone wall half hidden by brambles and came across a tiny clearing where someone had left a simple bench overlooking a small pond. A couple of ducks were pottering about and the only sound was the breeze moving through the trees. Further along we spotted a narrow trail that seemed to lead nowhere in particular, so of course we took it. It brought us to a quiet stretch of woodland where the path split into three and we chose the middle one on a whim. It opened out onto a small meadow dotted with wildflowers and an old gate that looked as though it had not been used in years.

We spent the rest of the afternoon following whichever track looked least official, stopping whenever something caught our eye. A fallen log became an impromptu seat for a quick snack, and we watched a hare bound across the grass before disappearing into the undergrowth. Every so often we would catch a glimpse of the cottage roof through the trees and realise we were not quite as lost as we thought, but it never felt like we needed to rush back.

By the time we found our way home again the sun was low and the air had that cool edge that makes you grateful for a warm jumper. Sitting on the little veranda with a cup of tea, I could not help thinking how often we plan every minute of a holiday and then end up enjoying the bits we never meant to find. Getting lost had given us a handful of quiet corners that felt like our own small discoveries, and I was already looking forward to seeing where the next wrong turn might lead.