Winding through the springtime lanes of Carmarthenshire—past ancient oaks, over quaint stone arches, and alongside a patchwork of lush woods, boggy moors and flower-speckled pastures—I couldn’t help but recall the childhood maps I used to construct: whimsical sketches of fantasy islands with distinct, labeled zones—names like “Misty Hills” or “Barren Bog.” While those imagined wilds remain enchanting, I had a very real kind of hidden treasure in mind on this journey. Beyond its postcard-worthy