What Happens When You Travel Alone? My Off-Grid Cabin Stay in North Wales
I don’t mind my own company — in fact, I rather enjoy it. But, and it’s a big but, I rarely travel far alone. There’s always been a slight anxiety when it comes to straying too far beyond my comfort zone. Travel, for me, has always meant going away with my husband or friends. Solo travel might be everywhere right now — a buzzword that’s hard to ignore — but if I’m honest, it’s never really appealed to me. Not abroad, anyway.
So when I was invited to spend a weekend in a rather isolated cabin in the Welsh wilderness, my first instinct was to convince someone — anyone — to come with me. This time, though, the only companion available was my French bulldog. And, truthfully, I really wanted to experience this place. So I bit the bullet and booked a solo stay at Mira — an off-grid shack tucked beneath a waterfall near Bala, in North Wales.
The Journey In
It’s a glorious spring afternoon in March when I pack my pull-along suitcase (mistake number one) and my Frenchie, Ted, into the car and fire up Google Maps for directions to my weekend abode.
Except — slight issue — there is no postcode for Mira. Instead, I’m told I’ll need to use the what3words app.
I’m already stressed.
Fortunately, the Shacks team are on hand via WhatsApp and quickly send over a pin with precise directions to the parking spot for Mira — which, at this point, feels like more than enough to deal with.
I had around three hours in the car to contemplate exactly what Ted and I were actually going to do when we arrived at our weekend home. The drive itself was easy, peeling off the motorway for the final hour and winding through the rolling hills of rural North Wales.
Eventually, we turned onto a narrow, steep track, navigating a couple of farm gates along the way. The views were incredible — forests, valleys, and that kind of vast, open landscape that makes you feel very small. We crept along (and I mean crept — barely five miles an hour) until we finally reached a small gravel patch.
The car park.
I’d made it. First challenge complete — navigate and arrive safely at the shack: tick.
From where the car is parked, I can just about make out a tiny dot in the distance — across a weathered field, my home for the weekend.
This is where the pull-along suitcase becomes completely useless. Note to self: if I’m ever brave enough to attempt a Bear Grylls-style escape again, I need to invest in a proper rucksack. Because not only do I have to haul a suitcase that absolutely refuses to roll, I’ve also got three other bags, an unnecessary amount of snacks… and, of course, the dog.
FML.
I made it to the shack — and, after two cross-field trips, my luggage did too.
It was worth the extra steps, though. I still had one very important item to retrieve from the car: the champagne. At this point, I had every reason to raise a toast — my first ever completely solo trip into the wilderness.
(Dogs don’t count.)
First Impressions of Mira
So here I am at Mira — a self-contained shack set at the base of an incredibly beautiful waterfall, completely surrounded by… well, nothing but forest, hills and farmland stretching as far as the eye can see.
Stepping inside Mira, it quickly becomes clear that while this might be off-grid, it’s by no means basic. It’s compact — bijou, even — but everything has been thought through.
The sleeping area sits tucked up in the roof space, accessed by a ladder that requires a little confidence (and ideally, fewer glasses of champagne). Once you’re up there, though, it’s surprisingly comfortable — cosy, quiet, and the kind of sleep you only seem to get when there’s absolutely no noise around you.
Downstairs, the space is cleverly laid out. There’s a small but fully equipped kitchen with a two-ring gas hob, fridge, sink, and all the essentials you might need. Enough to cook properly, if you’re that way inclined — or at least heat something up between snacks.
A wood-burning stove sits in the corner, with logs and kindling provided, adding both warmth and a reassuring sense of self-sufficiency. It’s the kind of detail that makes you feel slightly smug, like you’ve got this whole off-grid thing under control.
The bathroom is surprisingly modern, with a compost toilet and a spacious, well-designed shower — far removed from anything you might expect in the middle of nowhere.
And then there are the windows. Huge, framing the landscape like artwork — rolling hills, woodland, and nothing else. You could quite happily sit and stare out of them for hours, and I often did.
Outside, there’s a sunken bath set into a decking platform, complete with hot running water. Taking a bath outdoors in March wasn’t exactly on my bingo card — and doing it with the dog hovering nearby felt slightly surreal — but I can’t say I was entirely against the idea.
Settling Into Solo
After attempting to FaceTime pretty much everyone in my phone book to show off where I was, I popped open the champagne and got stuck in like it was the last bottle on earth.
I think, if I’m honest, I was trying to decompress — to shake off the anxiety of actually facing my fears and doing this trip alone. But as the sun began to set and the temperature dipped, something shifted.
I lit the fire, put on a film I’d downloaded (no WiFi and very limited signal), and worked my way through an impressive selection of M&S snacks. And somewhere in that moment, I realised — this is alright.
I’m having fun.
I’m actually enjoying myself.
Slow Mornings and Small Adventures
The shacks aren’t exclusively designed for solo travel — I should probably point that out. I could quite easily have brought someone along. But as the weekend went on, I realised I was perfectly happy with my lot.
The dog and I slept incredibly well, the only soundtrack being the steady, melodic cascade of the waterfall feeding into the stream just outside. It’s the kind of silence you don’t notice until you have it — and then suddenly, it’s everything.
Morning came slowly. And I mean really slowly — almost static. I lit the fire, made coffee, mooched about, took a few photos… the usual, but without any urgency. No plans, no pressure, no need to be anywhere.
Eventually, we decided — mutually, of course — that a trip to Portmeirion would be our outing for the day. So we headed back to the car and set off through the hills towards the Italianate village.
I was quietly hoping they might have a champagne shop. I was, at this point, completely out.
Portmeirion feels slightly surreal when you arrive — like you’ve taken a wrong turn and ended up somewhere on the Italian coast rather than North Wales. All pastel buildings, ornate details and perfectly kept gardens, it’s a complete contrast to the rugged, untamed landscape I’d just come from.
We wandered slowly, as is now the theme of the weekend, drifting through quiet pathways, along the waterfront, and up towards viewpoints that look out across the estuary. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t require much from you — just a bit of time and the willingness to take it all in.
There’s a calmness to it, despite how visually striking it is. Maybe it was the pace I’d already slipped into, or maybe it’s just one of those places that encourages you to slow down without really realising it.
I didn’t find a champagne shop — disappointing, but not entirely surprising — but I did find a decent coffee, a bench in the sun, and a moment to sit and appreciate the fact that I’d made it here on my own.
The Realisation
After a thoroughly rock and roll Saturday night — getting to grips with the resident telescope (yes, I did some stargazing), another downloaded film, and of course more M&S picky bits — it was finally time to call it a night.
Morning came around far too quickly. As I packed up my ridiculous amount of luggage — along with the evidence of the weekend: empty champagne bottles, Easter egg boxes, the odd fruit core and lingering popcorn crumbs — it was time to say goodbye to Mira.
And, surprisingly, I felt a little melancholy about it.
This weekend had pushed me slightly out of my comfort zone, and somewhere along the way, I’d realised I was completely fine on my own. More than fine, actually — I’d genuinely enjoyed it.
Final Thoughts
Mira, and the team behind it, made the whole experience feel far less daunting than I’d imagined. The shack itself is incredibly well thought out — beautifully put together, impeccably clean, and equipped with everything you could possibly need without losing that off-grid charm. And while you might feel a world away from everything, you’re never really on your own; the team are just a WhatsApp message away, always on hand if you need them, which makes all the difference when you’re stepping outside your comfort zone. The location is faultless — peaceful, remote, and completely immersive in nature. It’s the kind of place that stays with you long after you’ve left.
And if you do decide to book… tell them I sent you.
Visit https://www.shacks.co.uk/ to book your mini adventure
Joanne Brook-Smith is a writer and editor with two decades of publishing experience. She launched Crave Magazine during the Covid period to create a fresh, inspiring space for food, travel and lifestyle content.