We set off from the ferry terminal with the sat nav confidently promising just under an hour, but somewhere near Kungsbacka the road signs seemed to switch sides and we ended up doing a neat three-point turn in a lay-by while the children sang the same line of a song on repeat. By the time we bumped down the gravel track to the Fjaeras cottage the light was already soft and the air smelled faintly of pine and salt.

The house sat in a clearing edged by tall trees, its red wooden walls glowing against the green. We parked beside a low stone wall and the children tumbled out before the engine had properly cooled, racing straight for the swing that hung from an old oak. I stayed back for a moment, stretching my legs and noticing how quiet everything felt compared with the ferry queues we had left behind.

Inside, the rooms were simple and welcoming. Pale wooden floors, a wood burner already laid with kindling, and a kitchen that looked as though someone had actually cooked proper meals in it rather than just heated up ready meals. We unpacked the basics, milk, bread, coffee, and I caught myself pausing at the window to watch the children chase a ball across the grass. It struck me that we had driven all this way for exactly this, not a list of sights, just space to slow down.

Later we wandered the short path behind the cottage that leads to a small lake. The water was calm enough to see our reflections, and the boys spent ten minutes trying to skim stones while I sat on a log and realised my shoulders had dropped for the first time in weeks. A neighbour waved from their own garden and called something friendly in Swedish that I answered with an apologetic smile and a wave back.

That first evening we lit the wood burner, even though it was barely cool enough to need it, and ate sausages bought from the little shop five minutes down the road. The children fell asleep quickly, tired from fresh air and the novelty of a different bed. I sat up a little longer, listening to the quiet creaks of the wooden house and thinking how easy it is to forget that holidays do not always need to be packed with plans. Sometimes it is enough to arrive, unpack the essentials, and let the next day arrive in its own time.