Machynlleth and Barmouth, Wales

Yes, I finally attained my dream. I made it to Wales! It was so exciting I wrote another journal entry and took way too many pictures that people might merely glance through. What I've decided to do is type up the journal entry here and put up the pictures on facebook as usual, but also to do something a little bit special and different (to come soon).

Without further ado, here's the journal I wrote (going from London to Machynlleth and after a day there):

Catching the train at Euston Street I was eager to realize my dreams, but afraid of disappointment. Finally, after 7 or 8 years of hoping, unabashedly rambling to others, and seriously doubting, I was on my way to Wales, Machynlleth to be more precise. Granted, I didn't know much about Mach (let alone how to pronounce the name properly) other than that it was a market town near Snowdonia. I'd read it was a town of no more than 2000 people and even the hostel webpages whose job it is to make you want to visit didn't seem overly enthusiastic about the place. Nearing Birmingham



(where I had to switch trains) my nervousness was on the rise. Everything had been so flat and...not watery that I was scared when I'd return to Rome I'd have no good stories to tell and I'd feel embarrassed about and have to give up my interest in...er, my obsession with Wales and the Welsh (and not to mention wanting to both honeymoon and eventually live there for a few years). I figured my tour of Europe had started with literally and figuratively the highest point when I stood atop Mont Blanc and enjoyed the splendor of the Alps and small-alpine-village and hyphenated charms of Chamonix-Mont-Blanc, France. Everything there was so beyond spectacular that I wasn't sure if anywhere else I went could possibly match up. Anyone that's ever talked to me for more than a couple of minutes has heard about how much I love Wales, or at least the unrealistic screensaver-like images of it I'd seen on the computer. We zoomed past a personal favorite city of mine, Wolverhampton,



and still we hadn't seen much awe inspiring landscape. As we drew nearer to Mach things started to change, though. I began to realize that those screensavers weren't just a handpicked, select few images out of a bunch of pictures someone had taken. All of those places were real and not even all that difficult to find.



My eyes were glued to the window like a little kid his first time time in an airplane or like a dog during a car trip or something else that might be more relevant. The mountains, although not as high as the Alps, were still just as majestic, but in a medieval, fog shrouded peak sort of way. They looked as magical and mysterious as I'd thought they would and the sheep, bovines, and slate-roofed stone houses that dotted their softer, rolling sides added to the feelings of serenity, hope (oddly enough), excitement, and correctness I had started to feel. The sun was barely peeking through the low, dark clouds as the train pulled into Machynlleth Station at quarter till 3. I nearly leapt off the train and instead of going straight to my hostel decided to set a course for a neat looking bridge I'd seen not far outside of "town".



Making my way down the street that led to the footpath I was absolutely astounded by the landscape spread out before me. Everything was different. The colors were different; I'd never seen grass or trees so thoroughly green.



It was a lot like going to the Bahamas or somewhere like that and not being able to stop marveling at how blue and clear the water is. Brown was significantly more dead and brown feeling, probably because of how vibrant the green was. The sounds were so totally different. There weren't human sounds anymore. All I could hear were sheep (they were as far as the eye could see, even up on the craggy peaks and through the valley), the River Dyfi trickling over mossy stones and fallen trees, birds chirping and playing about, the occasional bark of a dog, and the wind. The smells were different. It smelled moist, like going for a walk in the woods after a rain shower (which, I guess is essentially what it was, really). Really, everything felt, looked, and smelled exactly as I'd imagined. I smiled. I walked over near a bridge with a sign next to it that read "Snowdonia National Park (see last post for this picture)" and turned just before it to follow the path along the bank of the River Dyfi.



The water was so peaceful and calm. The wind wasn't so strong and the utterly pastoral nature of where I was took me over. It enveloped me. I got to the bridge I'd seen from the train and walked on the stones underneath it instead of over it at first. Everything was so harmonious. I just sat on a stone for a while and relaxed. A family with a mother and 3 blonde, curly-haired sons walked by, which made me smile.



Naturally, it reminded me of Katie. After a short spell next to the river I thought it worthwhile to pick out the biggest hill I could find and climb it. I had one in mind and it took me across the bridge and up this narrow, windy mountain road. I looked for an access point to start my ascent, but everything was sheep pasture guarded by barbed wire. I made a decision to leap one such fence and start climbing. The trip was arduous to say the least, as the peak appeared much higher than I'd reckoned and up a steeper way. Happily, it had begun to rain a bit, so I wasn't too upset, and each time I turned around to glance down through the valley the climb felt more and more worth it. I reached the top and nearly let out a Bear Grylls scream. The valley and surrounding mountains (some shrouded and dark with rain, others highlighted by the glorious, golden sun) were so gorgeous



and the entire journey sort of symbolized my having climbed a mountain of dreams to reach the summit, the peak of natural joy. I'd never been anywhere so beautiful in my life. I started back down the way I came with a confident step and a smile, so ready to take on all of the challenges, triumphs, pain, sorrows, and joys of the life ahead of me. And thus ended my first in Wales.



Also, I went on a train ride up the Cambrian coast to a beautiful town called Barmouth. It was a coastal village (obviously) nestled into the outcroppings of some mountains. The entirety of it was so picturesque that it was hard to believe. The beach was so soft and I had the entire place to myself aside from the occasional dog owner and best friend. I walked around there for a bit and then found some more hills to climb/trespass on so I could get a better view of the city. I found myself in the company of no one, except for the periodic curious sheep. Once at the top of the hills, the views were fantastic. The vistas along the coast melted away into the battering sea. As usual, words won't do it much justice and I've already put up one journal in this post, so I'll stick to letting the pictures speak for themselves.

Pictures from Machynlleth can be found here: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=295984&id=658221001&l=f568526f0c
Pictures from Barmouth can be found here: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=296006&id=658221001&l=b49978b29a