We set off from the ferry port with high hopes and a boot full of snacks, convinced the last leg to Jaellunda would be plain sailing. Three wrong turns later we found ourselves on a gravel track that narrowed alarmingly between tall pines, and just as I declared we must be nearly there the satnav cheerfully announced we had reached our destination in the middle of a field. My partner laughed so hard she nearly spilt her coffee, and I had to reverse out while a curious cow watched from the fence.

Once we corrected our route the little red house appeared at the end of its own quiet lane, surrounded by a neat lawn that sloped gently down to the edge of a small lake. The air felt instantly fresher than anything we had breathed on the ferry, carrying the faint scent of pine needles and wood smoke. We parked on the gravel beside a stack of neatly split logs and stepped out to the sound of nothing but birdsong and the soft lap of water against the jetty.

Inside, the open-plan kitchen and living area welcomed us with pale wooden floors and big windows that framed the lake like a picture. A basket of local firewood sat ready beside the stove, and someone had left a handwritten note suggesting the best spot for morning coffee on the deck. We dropped our bags, opened the sliding doors, and let the cool breeze drift through while we unpacked the essentials, mainly more snacks and a bottle of wine we had been saving.

Later we wandered down to the water’s edge where a rowing boat bobbed invitingly. My partner insisted on testing it straight away, so we pushed off with a picnic blanket and a couple of apples. The surface was mirror-calm, reflecting the surrounding trees in perfect symmetry, and for a few minutes neither of us spoke, just listening to the gentle dip of the oars. It struck me how quickly the stress of the journey had melted away; one wrong turn and a field full of cows had somehow led us exactly where we needed to be.

Back on shore we lit the stove with the supplied matches and sat outside as the light faded. The first stars appeared above the treetops while the smell of burning pine drifted around us. We talked about nothing in particular, just the small, ordinary things that feel special when you are far from home and everything is new. By the time we went inside to make supper I realised I had already stopped checking my phone, and that felt like the best kind of arrival.