Wild Atlantic Way Meditation

This is the story of how I first discovered what I call my Wild Atlantic Way Meditation using The Paris Method. I hope that by sharing it, I can help at least one other person to experience a little bit of peace. I would love to tell you that I made this discovery out of some deep experimentation with spirituality involving soft music and candles, but I did not. I discovered it out out of pain, loneliness and desperation. Maybe it was better that way.

Sometimes life gets us down. There are times when we feel the need to just get away from it all. I am no different. Having discovered meditation by chance, while on a trip to Port and Glenlough in County Donegal, I now believe that there is no better place for soothing the soul, than Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way. I recorded the video below at St John’s Point on a winters evening. I think it epitomizes the soothing influence of the ocean on the Wild Atlantic Way, under a sky that is very specific to Donegal at sunset.

I am not too sure what it is about the ocean that captivates me. I am almost hypnotized by the movement, size, depth, power and beauty of the Atlantic ocean. I love the smell of the seaweed and the salt water, and if in Donegal, the feeling of being deeply cleansed by some of the freshest air imaginable. I love the dynamic coloring of the water, from aqua to white, and blue to grey, sometimes all within a single seascape. I am as content sitting watching the ocean as I am being in it or on it. This stimulation of my senses forms a mystical attraction which pacifies me, cajoling my mind towards complete relaxation.

The calmness and serenity I feel from Wild Atlantic Way meditation on Donegal’s rugged coast, has brought me to a beautiful place emotionally – a place that I did not know existed. Maybe because so much of our body consists of water, we find identification by embracing such volumes of it. Maybe the ocean speaks to us on some higher level of serenity, far beyond our comprehension. We may not be able to understand it, but we can certainly feel it. This gives the ocean a mystical characteristic which is really alluring. The Wild Atlantic Way meditation which I discovered and will describe in this article, gave me one of the most profoundly beautiful experiences of my life.

One of the many different types of sunset over the Atlantic ocean, seen from the Wild Atlantic Way in Donegal

At different times in my past I had been open to the notion of meditation. For one reason or another, be it a busy work schedule, pressures of taking a masters degree, drinking too much, or just from burning the candle at both ends, I had felt down and on edge. Although I was open to meditation, I always thought that it wasn’t for me because my head was too busy. Isn’t it ironic that the very reason that I needed to meditate was the very reasons why I did not.

So, I just stumbled through life, from from dark patch to the next, always with racing thoughts. If I was being creative or when I would be in a happy place, racing thoughts were fine – maybe even beneficial. But when I would suffer lows, my thoughts would continue racing, only this time in a negative manner. So I would just wallow there, and the subsequent self pity would lead to negative and festering emotions.

Maybe I just didn’t want to face myself; preferring to conceal my inner feelings in the shadows cast by anxiety and unhappiness. I am a man after all, and I always understood that a requirement for membership of the masculine club was to appear to be too tough to consider my own feelings. Big boys don’t cry and all that. I think I presumed that everyone felt the same way i did. My life just seemed to rumble along without much awareness. And then I had a biking accident. Absolutely everything changed – and everything changed absolutely.

I came off an electric bike, hitting my head and face off the road at approximately 35mph. I wasn’t wearing a helmet. I suffered a lot of cuts and injuries over most of my body and was also badly concussed. I was, in the words of the surgeon who treated me, ‘lucky to be alive’.

Unable to work, drive or do much at all for two months, I was laid up on a recliner chair in a stupor. A nasty cut to the back of my hand had damaged a nerve, so I was given morphine to relieve pain. Weeks later, when the concussion had cleared, I realized how low I was feeling. My social interaction had evaporated. I was probably suffering from cabin fever and mild circumstantial depression. I remember thinking that I had hit rock bottom. Funnily enough, since then, I have looked back and thought that rock is actually a great foundation on which to build something!

Being injured and off work had created financial problems. The accident had left me experiencing a lot of anxiety and negative thoughts. I felt vulnerable. I suppose it is only when we are forced to stop, that we really take a look at ourselves. I didn’t particularly like what I saw.

I planned a drive to the coast in the hope that a walk would clear my head. So on November 8th 2014, I got into my car and drove. About 45 minutes into the journey I saw a sign post for a place that I had heard of just once before, but had never been. On the spur of the moment, I made the turn. Port is probably one of the remotest places in Ireland, and it would be here, in this most desolate and lonely outpost, that I would find myself.

Panoramic picture at Port, Donegal, on Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way

The long and lonely road simply comes to an end at a little cove, which is surrounded by dramatic cliffs. The nearest other human being is probably 4 or 5 miles away. I parked up and climbed up on a hillside, eventually arriving at the cliffs. The scenery is absolutely amazing; there is nothing but ocean, sky and the coastline. Man’s footprint has not been visibly left here.

Rainbow over Tormore Island, at Port, Donegal, Ireland

I did not fully appreciate the beautiful scenery at the time. I was distracted. The drive had done little to lift my spirits. I was probably also suffering from self-pity. I walked along the cliff face and repeatedly ran my problems over and over in in my head. I was thinking about the mounting bills, struggles with finding the right medical treatment and how to pay for it. I was worried that my career was coming under threat. And ironically, I was mostly worried about how worried I was.

The walk which was intended as a way of clearing my head, was actually making me feel worse. My negative thoughts were racing, and on each rerun my problems seemed to magnify. I felt at one with this place in terms of isolation. How I was feeling at that time was pretty close to self-inflicted mental torture. Finally, almost out of desperation, I just stopped walking. All of the stress and negative emotions had left me feeling completely exhausted. My rational and logical thinking had been completely browbeaten by worry, negativity and self-pitying emotions. From my vantage point, four hundred feet up on the cliffs of Port, I stood gazing aimlessly out over the Atlantic ocean. Out of sheer desperation I completely surrendered to all of the emotional pain. My thinking was: I am so tired of feeling this way – and I just want to give up.

Time passed. Eventually I sat down on some heather, continuing to stare out over the ocean. A breeze was blowing onshore, and my senses were filled with the sights and sounds of the Atlantic. I noticed the patchwork or colors on the water, where in places the faint sunlight was breaking through the clouds, sending sunbeams down onto the ocean. Other patches were darkened by the passing of a heavy isolated shower. There was an average swell, and I watched as the waves made their way towards the base of the cliffs, where they would smash against the rock, sending spray high up onto the cliff face. A few hardy sea birds hovered in the wind, no doubt searching for an evening meal. I didn’t really notice it happening, but I began to relax. (If i had have noticed, it might not have happened!)

The view over the Atlantic ocean, from the remote cliffs at Port, County Donegal, Ireland

In the past, when I had tried to meditate, I had merely ended up getting more frustrated and stressed. I read once that when trying to meditate, that I should concentrate on emptying my head of all thoughts. How on earth could I both concentrate and have no thoughts at the same time?! That contradiction always bothered me. But by simply taking in the phenomenal natural beauty of my surroundings on the Wild Atlantic Way, I had finally arrived at the point where my frenzied thoughts were quieted by more conscious thought. And that is when I inadvertently practiced The Paris Method for the first time. That method finally afforded me the chance to harness and relax my rollercoaster thoughts enough so that I could meditate – and it was beautiful.

It had started when I had surrendered my quest to find immediate solutions to my problems, and became aware of my surroundings. I came to realize that my perspective at that very moment was pretty good. I was under no immediate pressure, and the panoramic view in front of me was pretty spectacular. So right at that moment, I realized that all of my worries were either in the past, where I could not change them, or were so far off in the future that they did not require a solution right there and then – if at all. I discovered that all I really needed to focus on at that very moment, was that very moment. That was a really nice and welcomed thought, and it completely grounded and pacified me.

400 feet above the Atlantic waves. Port Cliffs, Donegal, Ireland

I then made a decision that regardless of how dire my financial, medical or career situations actually were, I would face them with a positive attitude. I realized that I was completely on my own, and that the only ally that I could call upon was myself. If I was to rely on myself alone, then I needed to make sure that my attitude was positive, otherwise I would be working against myself which would only serve to restart the emotional turmoil.

Upon reflection of how I could adjust my attitude, I realized that much of my worry was actually brought about by procrastination regarding medical appointments, paperwork, and communication with my employers. I made a decision right there and then to deal with those outstanding matters at the first available opportunity. And guess what? Once I made the decision, my problems suddenly seemed more manageable, and my worry towards them began decreasing. I had done nothing but make a decision, and my problems had eased to the extent that they faded from my present thought.

This brought me to realize that life can sometimes be difficult for a reason. I thought on one of my favorite movie quotes: ‘without the bitter, the sweet aint as sweet.‘ By becoming aware that these tough times may actually serve the purpose of enhancing the good times, I had given myself the inspiration to fight my way out of this low ebb.

The peace that I was starting to find led to the final step, which is spirituality. I was so grateful to have the opportunity to enjoy such a beautiful location, with a thought process which wasn’t racing uncontrollably like a neurotic roller-coaster. This awareness and gratitude made me very much aware of the growing sense of spirituality which I was feeling. The more I focused on it, the more beautiful and enjoyable it became. And that, is how I arrived in a meditative state for the first time in my life. It was peacefully euphoric.

Maybe men don’t openly talk about these sorts of emotions regularly, but I am not ashamed to say it: I had found the most serenely beautiful moment of my life. Given that just a short time earlier I had been pacing with worry and anxiety, it seemed incredible that I had found such a peaceful feeling. Maybe it is true what they say: the darkest hour is just before dawn. I began to realize that the more I had surrendered the more I enjoyed it. I had started to learn about the importance of nothing.

As I made my way back down the hillside to the little cove, it felt as though I was walking on air. My head was clear, and my outlook was greatly improved. On the road home though the wilds of central Donegal, I replayed the experience. I wanted to bottle this peacefulness, and to do that, I had to understand how I had arrived at the feeling. I labelled the steps I had gone through up on the cliff top. Perspective, Attitude, Reflection, Inspiration and Spirituality. I would later abbreviate these steps, creating the PARIS acronym. Paris was a very poignant term, because I had also had an experience in the French capital over 10 years previously. But on that occasion I had not stayed with the feeling long enough to have understood it.

Since that day of revelation at Port, Wild Atlantic Way meditation has continued to bring much peace and joy. Even when I am unable to get to the ocean, I imagine that I am there, and repeat those 5 simple steps of The Paris Method. I imagine the sounds of the waves; the wind and the sea birds. And I imagine the entire Wild Atlantic Way seascape under the amazing twilight of a Donegal sunset. The experiences are just too profound to keep to myself. I know that I have to share them.

Sunset over the Wild Atlantic Way, at Port, Donegal

There is something magically transformative about the ocean. Just as the salt water can help to heal our broken skin, the clean air and the vast expansive ocean can somehow also heal our minds, and soothe our soul. I know without doubt that the rugged Atlantic coastline of county Donegal has given me a remarkable awareness of how to be myself, and how to like what I see when I meditate.

This Wild Atlantic Way meditation has turned my entire thinking around, allowing me to appreciate life on a whole different level. I am a long way from perfect (I have no wish to be perfect!), but my wild atlantic way meditation has given me a framework onto which I can build some positive direction in my life. Up until today, that direction has taken me on a journey which is so beautiful that I cannot even start to put it into words. But I will, eventually.

The fact is, that back on that November day in 2014, I had not yet encountered the worst effects of my biking accident. I am still working through those. It is a long, arduous, and sometimes very unpleasant process, but my Wild Atlantic Way meditation is helping me to get through it.

Maybe, just maybe, if you try The Paris Method for yourself, you will discover some of the peace that I am referring to. I really hope you do.

New Years Resolutions

Early January is a time for change. After holiday indulgences, many of us plan a fresh start to herald the arrival of a new year. Millions of people make new years resolutions every year, but despite our best intentions, as few as 8% actually follow through with those promises for more than a few months. According to Time Magazine, the top 10 new years resolutions are:

1. Lose weight
2. Quit Smoking
3. Eat Healthier
4. Get out of Debt/Save Money
5. Be Less Stressed
6. Drink Less
7. Volunteer
8. More Friend/Family Time
9. Learn Something New
10. Travel to New Places

Making new years resolutions such as those on the list above, is relatively easy. Keeping them is a little less so. As time moves along, we seem to forget the promises that we made to ourselves, and the reasons we made them. We might even want to forget that we made the commitment at all, as a means of guilt avoidance when we fail.

Fortunately, I know a little bit about having to sit myself down and make a life-changing decision. And more importantly, I know a little bit about having little choice but to stick to it. At the time that I stopped drinking alcohol, I wouldn’t have looked at it as being a fortunate event, instead probably seeing it as a frightening cliff face that my relationship with alcohol had walked me towards. There was no going back. I could either fall, or build some wings to support myself as I was forced to take a leap of faith and leave my mountainous problems behind.

Until today at least, I am still airborne and very much enjoying the flight. Whether it is ongoing recovery from addition, or a simple lifestyle improvement by making new years resolutions, I believe the basic principles are the same. I also believe that if we really want to achieve something (that we are realistically capable of), then there is nothing in this world to stop us.

Understand

Keeping new years resolutions is difficult for a very simple reason – we so desperately want to make lifestyle changes, because the particular thing we want to address has been taken to excess. This means that we really like doing it, not doing it, smoking it, drinking it or whatever the case may be. So going from excess to abstinence is difficult if not impossible, until such time as we understand why we excessed.

Regardless of whether it is alcohol use, dieting, exercise, being less stressed, making more time for family or whatever resolution we chose, instead of aspiring to something new, maybe we can look at why the issue requires such a dramatic change in the first place. This will help us to understand what we are trying to change, and help us to be grateful for every moment in which we keep our new years resolutions. Understanding the need for our new years resolutions on an ongoing basis will dramatically increase our chances of succeeding. Remembering the emotions that drove us to make the decision to change, will help us every day. It is not so much about a new fight every day to keep your new years resolutions, it is about understanding what drove you to making that promise to yourself in the first place.

Change

Change requires just that; change. Hoping you keep your new years resolutions to be healthier, skinnier, fitter, less stressed is not enough in itself. WE need to actually change. After I stopped drinking alcohol, I changed much more than just what I chose to put in my glass. I broke ‘friendships’, changed habits, formed new relationships, avoided certain places, frequented others, took up new interests, read new things, looked at life with a more open mind and did just about anything it took to give myself the best possible shot at staying true to my decision on a daily basis. If we want to diet by avoiding convenience food, then maybe we also need to change where we pick up our food, change our routine, eat at different times, spend less time in the company of others who eat convenience food, etc. An isolated decision alone, regardless how much we promise ourselves that we will keep it, is susceptible to failure unless we make other changes to accommodate it. So, to change, do just that – make changes.

Ignore the Negativity

While kicking the habit, or starting on a better path is an admirable thing to do, it can actually make us feel worse unless we actually stick to it. Breaking promises to others is one thing, but breaking a promise to ourselves completely destroys our self esteem. Sometimes we are so disgusted with ourselves for breaking our new years resolutions that we actually revert to even more excess afterwards, making the desperate promises of next January even more difficult, and mapping out a year filled with guilt until we try again. We need to ignore this negativity. Our subconscious, or ego, will do its very best to drag us down. Who can identify with the voice that says ‘but you deserve it’, ‘its only one’, ‘I can start over tomorrow’, ‘this is too hard’ etc? We really need to ignore that voice. It will go away if we ignore it and stay strong by sticking to our convictions. This voice is trying to make us unhappy, so why should we obey it?

Believe

As new years resolutions get broken, we subconsciously tell ourselves that we are incapable, that we are stuck, unable to follow through with our dreams and plans. So not only do we revert to the excesses of our worst habits, but we also damage our ambition in general. We need to believe in our own convictions, regardless of how much or how little progress we seem to be making. If you fall – get up. If you fall and get up and fall again – then get up yet again. Always get up once more than the number of times you fall. You have got to believe in your convictions and your ability to do this, regardless of what happens. If there is one person or thing in this world that you can believe in, it is yourself. Because you yourself have the ability to control what you believe in.

Here is a good reason to continue believing in yourself, even if you have slipped up along the way. Even in failure we can find positivity. According to Mark Griffiths, Professor of Behavioral Addiction at Nottingham Trent University, people who make new years resolutions are ten times more likely to achieve their goals than those who don’t. So you see, even in yesterday’s failure, there is an echo of today’s success.

Live in the Now

To give ourselves a better chance of keeping our new years resolutions, we should forget about the new year. Yes you may already have lasted for two days, or a week already. But guess what? That counts for nothing when it comes to your chances of keeping your promise to yourself. Every moment is a standalone moment. Yes, certain abstinences will give us benefits the longer we refrain, and yes we will garner more self belief the longer we stick to our resolutions, but why on earth should we be measuring our future based on a date in the past? Be happy with yourself right now, not happy for yourself in the past. The new year is gone. Yesterday is gone. What we did yesterday is also gone. The ironic truth is that in many cases, the longer we abstain, the harder we hit the old habit if we take it up again. (Smokers tend to smoke more heavily after a failed attempt to quit, dieters tend to put on even more weight after a failed regime and tee-totalers often go on a huge bender after falling off the wagon). So, forget what you have done so far, or how long you have ‘been good’.

Any resolution is only applicable today, or even right at this very moment. You cannot change the fact that you either kept your new years resolution or broke it yesterday. You have no way of knowing or controlling what will happen tomorrow. So, to give ourselves the best chance of keeping our new years resolutions, we should look on them as ‘this moment resolutions’, rather than new years resolutions. Forget the past. Ignore the future. Just concentrate on the now – for now is all we can control.

Reward Yourself

We all like a pat on the back. If it comes from others it can make us feel uncomfortable. But if we are able to genuinely pat ourselves on the back, it will feel amazing, and keeps our ego in check too, because suddenly this new regime is rewarding as opposed to being arduous. After stopping drinking, I ‘rewarded’ myself by taking up new activities and being able to afford the cost of the best equipment, for example surf boards, surf holidays, cameras, gym membership, a cool phone, a car etc. Just be careful not to replace one habit with another. Many addicts suffer cross-addiction when they attempt recovery. The void left by one addiction is often filled by a new addiction. This is also true for habits, even if they are not problematic habits.

Reward yourself, but just don’t overdo it. Most of all, enjoy the benefits you are now experiencing because you are are keeping your new years right now resolution. If you haven’t made a resolution, fear not. You can start anytime you like – new year or not. Because, to quote from one of my favorite movies: ‘Every waking moment is another chance to turn it all around’.

The Paris Method can help you to ask yourself what you would like to change, and help you to achieve it. Change is beautiful. Make it. Keep it. Enjoy it.

As one year draws to a close and a new beginning dawns, many people make health and lifestyle pledges. Surprisingly, despite strong convictions, only 8% of those who make new year’s resolutions, actually keep them. Meditation can help us focus on our convictions, helping us to follow through with our best laid plans. Why do those who meditate feel that it is such an important part of their life? Here we look at 5 reasons to meditate and examine why they have become so popular.

5 Reasons to meditate

Increase Productivity/Creativity

This is one of the more interesting reasons to meditate. Some of the most successful people attribute their success to meditation. The late Steve Jobs, Apple CEO, talked talked shortly before his death about how he had meditated during his career. Here’s a quote from Jobs, via inc.com

If you just sit and observe, you will see how restless your mind is. If you try to calm it, it only makes it worse, but over time it does calm, and when it does, there’s room to hear more subtle things–that’s when your intuition starts to blossom and you start to see things more clearly and be in the present more. Your mind just slows down, and you see a tremendous expanse in the moment. You see so much more than you could see before. – Steve Jobs.

Jobs may have been a little ahead of his time in more than electronics. Today, many global businesses encourage their workers to spend a little time focusing their minds. Companies who encourage meditation of some sort include:

• Apple
• Prentice Hall Publishing
• Google
• HBO
• Nike
• AOL Time Warner
• Yahoo
• Deutsche Bank
• Proctor & Gamble

Meditation increases innovation and motivation, by reducing cluttered thinking and procrastination. If ever we needed good reasons to meditate, this is surely one of them.

Healthy Mind, Healthy Body

Meditation is like a health tonic for the mind. But now science is suggesting there are benefits for our bodies too. Deepak Chopra and others believe in a strong mind-body relationship, which can be harnessed as a viable form of healthcare.

Think about it, if we have to walk around a town or an office building we don’t really feel any differently afterwards. But if we walk on a beach, where we are in a wide open space, which allows our minds to relax, we feel calm and reinvigorated. Why is this? It might not be all about the fresh air. Walking in places where we have the freedom to switch off is a great form of meditation, and helps us boost that mind-body relationship.

Stress Relief

One of the main reasons to meditate for many people is to relieve stress, or to prevent stress building up in the first place. If we have a busy schedule, we may not even notice that we are stressed. Some people like to be ‘on the go’ all the time, which is great. But using meditation could mean that our busy lifestyles are a little more enjoyable while we are ‘on the go’. Who wouldn’t want that?

While the benefits of meditation have been commonly known for some time, neuroscience developments have now proven that meditation lowers stress.

Relationships

Making time to relax through meditation, is a great way of making ourselves more available to those closest to us. There is a difference between actually hearing and understanding the feelings that are being conveyed to us, and simply hearing words while our focus and concentration are elsewhere.

Many relationships break down due to a lack of communication. Not due a lack of words, but a lack of understanding and processing of communication. Better relationships can be forged if we are focused on each other, meaning we are fully available.

The art of listening will make you a great friend to have. Busy minds, where constant internal chatter and stress are rife, generally don’t have much time or space for others. So meditation not only benefits us; but it also has a positive impact on those around us, via our relationships with them.

Enjoy the Silence

Have you ever had a song ‘stuck in your head’? Or maybe it is a word, phrase or simply an annoying thought or opinion that crops up too often. Do simple things cause you to become frustrated? Everybody in one way or another experiences this (although most people won’t admit to it).

Learning that we can take control and chose the thoughts that we have is a revelation. Simple meditation can eradicate the silly thoughts which take up our head space. This head space can then be repopulated with more enjoyable/relevant/positive thoughts. Meditation brings peace to the mind, making this one of the best reasons to meditate.

If you find it difficult to start meditating, have a look at The Paris Method, a simple 5 step practice which makes it easier to get to the place where you can enjoy the benefits of meditation.

And now for something completely different. How I escaped the roar of The Celtic Tiger, and became an Irishman in France!

Ireland, 2007. Celtic Tiger. Boom boom boom. A time when 50s were considered loose change, houses were sold while oblivious cows still grazed the grass where the foundations would be, and the country swayed to the soundtrack of reversing tele-porters, cash registers and credit card advertisements. (”Blah blah blah is a trading partner of Blah Blah Blah and regulated by the Central Bank of Ireland – Terms and conditions apply). Indeed.

La Fournil (The Bread Oven) in south west France. Escaping the Celtic Tiger, 2007

It seemed as though half the country was a giant building site, and the other half was in a rush to get there. Yellow fleurescent-vested, transit van-driving, breakfast-bap eating ‘developers’ (known to all other civilizations as builders) were two a penny, and were highly paid and popular men. These were the times when a man went to the bank to get a loan to fix a van, and came back with a new jeep and Hitachi digger. You were nobody if you weren’t getting on ‘the ladder’. Even getting on wasn’t enough; you had to be climbing. The staple conversation was of rezoning, house prices and 100% mortgages. It was (in)famously called ‘showtime’. Those who were on the outside looking in at this Celtic Tiger frenzy watched as Ireland did it’s very best to eat itself. I HAD to escape.

Ireland during the chaotic Celtic Tiger years. Image: www.irishtimes.com

While not everything in the Celtic Tiger was bad, and I admire those who did well, it just wasn’t for me. At that time I was mid-way through a masters, and had hit a brick wall. I needed to escape the hustle and bustle and find space, but rent prices were extremely high, even in rural areas. I did some research, and immediately picked France – a country I love. I also chose a part of France which is both beautiful and off the beaten track – Le Lot. The few people I told about my trip beforehand, decided that I was on a property-buying mission. I smiled and let them have their ideas without telling them otherwise.

I packed up Blinky* with as much as I could cram in, and headed for the peace of rural France, where there were no breakfast baps, no magnolia developments, and most thankfully of all thankfulnesses, no teleporter bleepers.

* Blinky was my old car at the time. A sort of aqua green color. ‘Blinky’ because it was the same color as one of the ghosts in Pac-Man according to my nieces Rowan and Fiona!)

I drove from my Donegal home in the northwest, to Rosslare, in the far south-western corner of Ireland. Taking a final look around, I found it ironic that there was a construction crane right near the dock! Smiling, I secretly hoped the construction frenzy wouldn’t follow me over the Celtic Sea! And so, on a cold and overcast March evening, I boarded the ferry for the 19-hour night sailing to Cherbourg, France.

On my rambles through south west France. Villeneuve sur Lot, 2007

After having dinner and watching some football, I went to my cabin. Hanging my jacket on a hook on the back of the cabin door,  I got undressed and climbed into the surprisingly comfortable bed. I was asleep quicker than you could say ‘full planning permission granted for forty more magnolia houses’.

What wasn’t in the script, was that I awoke suddenly around two hours later. Turning on the light, I saw my jacket now hanging almost horizontally. And then it fell back against the door. Just when I thought I had been dreaming or hallucinating, it rose again.

Curiosity got the better of me, so I dressed quickly and went out on deck. The first (and only) thing I saw was the light of another ship or a town. Im not sure, but it was a light. And then, it fell from sight! It disappeared right into the ocean! Then it reappeared. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I realized we were in the middle of a huge silent swell. The waves were so perfectly ribbed and large, that the ferry was sideways surfing up and down along the peaks and troughs. Holding onto the rail, I stayed out on deck watching, figuring it was better to see what was happening, as opposed to guessing from my cabin.

There was little wind, it was very dark, and apart from the yo-yo light, the only parameter I had was gravity. Guessing wave height was pointless, but all I know is that when we were in a trough I couldn’t see the light – just a wall of water partly lit by the lights of our ferry. Then the wall would give way and the other light would reappear.

One of the few reasons that I was sorry to be leaving Donegal was the fact that I was leaving the famous Atlantic coastline behind. Donegal is a surfers paradise. Ive never been much good, but I love it. I have always had some sort of weird fascination with the ocean, and the movement of water. A few years later, back in Ireland, I would be inspired by the seascapes along the Wild Atlantic Way to create The Paris Method. But on that ferry crossing at the spring equinox of 2007, I stared at the rolling waves in a sort of a trance. It was slightly frightening, but I was somehow calmed by the force of the ocean.

I later learned that our crossing had been made during a perigean spring tide, combined with a big swell. I walked (staggered) around the boat for almost 2 hours. It was eerily quiet out on deck. Watching as the ferry got rolled by the huge waves in the dark of night was a strangely hypnotic experience. I eventually rolled to sleep in my cabin at around 4am.

When I woke the next morning, the waters had calmed. After showering and going out on deck, I discovered that I was not the only one who had been shaken from my sleep the previous night. Everyone was in post-mortem mode, comparing stories, discussing what time of night the biggest roll had happened, and how sick they had all been. While on deck the previous night, I had presumed everyone else had been asleep. It urned out they were all huddled in their cabins, either afraid, sick, or both. I told a few people about the light rising up and down out of the sea. They stared at me as if I were crazy for going on on deck. Maybe I was a little crazy. The thing is, when you are on your own, you don’t really have anyone who can either confirm or deny how good or bad something is. You just sort of have to make your own mind up. For the last hour on board I thought about the fact that I was on my own, and realized that I had taken on something of an adventure by going away alone to a country where I could not speak the language.

Sunshine on the quiet roads of rural France.

After docking, I got into Blinky, rolled off onto French soil and hit the juice. The sun was shining, Blinky was in decent shape, I had a full tank of fuel and a Red Hot Chilli Peppers CD. What more could a man ask for?! I remember thinking that the downbeat thoughts that I had about travelling alone were silly. This was freedom! I had nobody to answer to, nothing to worry me, and 30 hours to get to my destination. So I rolled up the volume, opened the sun roof and let rip. Blinky and I never had it so good. Sometimes I travelled by motorway, and sometimes driving cross-country if I thought the scenery looked nice. And it almost always looks nice.

Rambling through the French countryside, March 2007

I stopped at a few village cafes. I love coffee and love cafes, and in my humble opinion, authentic little coffee houses in the villages of the French countryside are among the best. One particular cafe, right in the heart of the agricultural lands of Normandy, served the best butter croissants I have ever tasted. I ate four and took another four with me to eat along the road. Blinky’s carpet got covered with crumbs and flakes – something it would have to get used to. I met a few English speakers on my first couple stops, but the further south I travelled, the less English I heard. Linguisticly at least, I was venturing into the unknown, and it was bliss.

That day was the best day I had experienced in the two and a half years since I had given up ‘the drink’. I was on the move, and had the freedom to stop randomly and explore this amazing countryside at my leisure. I had been captivated by the allure of the open road and was hooked. After skirting Le Mans, I studied a roadmap at a service station, and decided to detour towards the town of Blois.

Chateau de Blois, Loire Valley, France

Visiting the Château Royal de Blois, with its abundant history, is an experience that will stay with me forever. This beautiful old Chateau which was a former residence of seven French kings and ten Queens, today houses thousands of noteworthy paintings, and items of historical interest. It was also here in 1429, that the Archbishop of Reims blessed Joan of Arc before she marched her army to liberate Orléans, by driving the English out. It really is one of the gems of the Loire Valley.

Daylight was beating me, and as I didn’t want to miss any scenery by driving through the night, I stopped off for the night somewhere near Tours. Although this had been a very special day, which I didn’t want to end, shortly after I had checked in, I was sleeping like a baby.

The following day I continued my journey southwards, regularly leaving the motorway to drive through the picturesque countryside. This was only my second full day in France, but it already felt as though I had been chilling out for weeks. The pace of life was just so different to what I had left behind in Ireland. At two in the afternoon, Blinky and I rolled into the town of Cahors. I was due to meet the owners of the Gite I had rented at four, so I wandered around ‘Centre Ville’ for a while, taking in the marvelous ancient architecture. Following an espresso to snap me back into the 21st century, I made my way through the countryside to the village of Catus, and eventually to my new home from home.

The entrance to Begot, in Le Lot. My home from home in 2007

La Fournil (The Bread Oven) at Begot, Le Lot, France 2007.

My landlords gave me a great welcome, and then showed me to my bread oven. Yes, bread oven! I had rented a little Hansel and Gretel styled holiday home called La Fournal (The Bread Oven) which had been used to bake bread for the troops during the 100 years war. It is part of a tiny hamlet, perched atop a little hill in the Lot river valley. Lot is one of France’s best kept secrets. Not as busy as the Loire valley, less expensive than the Dordogne, the Lot river meanders westwards through miles and miles of rolling hillside which is sparsely populated and mostly oak covered. This department has a reputation for being among the most traditional and old fashioned in all of France. With the exception of cars and electricity, Lot looks and feels as it always has. There are no new buildings as such, and people are laid back and are as self-sufficient as possible, with their own mini-vineyards and vegetable patches. Life in ‘The Lot’ is simple and very peaceful. I was really happy with my selection.

Having surveyed my new surroundings, I took a seat and picked up the book that I had been reading prior to setting out on the journey. What exactly Scar Tissue by Anthony Kiedis has to do with my dissertation and human computer interaction I don’t know! I liked the band, and liked reading about how the singer had struggled with addiction. He could have been doing with some time in the Lot.

Sometime around eight o’clock I realized that I was hungry. Croissants are tasty, but they don’t really pack much punch. Partly out of curiosity and mostly because I didn’t want to cook on the first night, I got into Blinky and headed back to Cahors. Maybe I just wanted to see what the nightlife was like. I would be disappointed on that front. The french retire early, and although it was not yet 9pm, the streets were empty. I stopped at the only restaurant which still had a light on, walked in and took a seat.

”Bon Soir”

”Em, ah…Bon Swar?”

With that, the waiter handed me a menu. Over and over I studied it. I think the waiter was as unsure how to proceed as I was, so he went off to wipe tables or something. Eventually he came back, and asked me something in French, which I deciphered as a diplomatic version of ‘make up your mind – you are keeping us opened late here’! In desperation (hunger had escalated by now), I scanned the page one last time, and pointed to ‘steak’.

”Steak”, I ventured, with raised eyebrows that begged for confirmation.

”Ah oui, steak”

”Frites”, I elaborated, again with raised eyebrows. ”Et coke”.

After a few scribbles and a very unconvincing ”merci”, he was gone.

I sat in silence for around 20 minutes. No music. No customers. Just me; An Irishman in France. And my rumbling stomach.

Out of the blue, the waiter reappeared and in an instant he had everything laid out on the table and was gone again, obviously trying to stave off any awkward hand-gestering requests I might have.

I tucked in. Believe it or not, I was actually very proud of myself for being able to order in a French restaurant. I got to the stage where I had silenced my stomach, and after taking a long drink of coke, sat back waiting for space to be made so I could finish the meal. I surveyed the room. Off to my left, the menu was also printed on a wall sign. I looked at it to reaffirm how cool my ordering skills had been. There it was: Steak, with another word after it. ‘Steak Cheval’. Cheval I thought; I wonder what that means? Maybe the cut? Or the way it is cooked? I was actually mid chew when it hit me! Cheval is horse! My French adventure suddenly seemed a little more daunting. Being an Irishman in France was going to be interesting!

Bed-time in ‘the bread oven’ loft. 2007

As I drove the 20 miles or so back through the dark and silent French countryside to my little bread oven, I smiled to myself as I remembered the steak and the awkward exchanges with the waiter. I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel a bit lonely, especially when I got back to the dark bread oven in the middle of this oak-forrested rural setting. Mostly though, I felt a sense of adventure, freedom and independence that I had not known before. France was going to be a challenge, and it was was already an adventure. I climbed up into the loft and got into bed. I read another bit from my book, while listening to the hooting of a pair of owls. As I closed my eyes, I was thankful that I hadn’t heard the sounds of a construction site nor talk of tracker mortgages in over 48 hours. I was, an Irishman in France, and it was complete tranquility.

Tranquility in the oak woods of Le Lot, France, 2007.

Aguas Calientes is the last stop on the long road to Machu Picchu. Only a near-vertical hairpin dust road stands between the town and the Inca ruin, which is towering somewhere overhead, high above the clouds. Recently renamed Machu Picchu Pueblo, it is a very picturesque town with character and Inca tradition in abundance.

Incan fridge magnets in the craft market at Aguas Calientes, Peru

We had arrived into the station aboard an Inca Rail service, which had taken us on a scenic journey through the Urubamba River Valley. The first five minutes in Aguas Calientes are a bit of a fluster. Transitioning from dreamily weaving through dramatic scenery, to the crowded platforms of the little train station comes as a shock. You arrive along with several hundred other travelers, and immediately meet the same numbers standing in line, waiting to make the return journey. Add to this the unloading of all of the towns supplies, a few dozen canvassing travel reps and a maze of stalls selling crafts and souvenirs, and the result is quite the bottle-necked bazar.  Thankfully it wasn’t long until we saw a young woman holding up a card with our names on it, and so we happily trudged off, tracing her steps through the crowd.

Hand made jewelry in the craft market at Aguas Calientes, Peru

After walking through what seemed like the worlds largest, and most tightly packed craft market, we emerged onto the streets of the little town. We crossed a metal foot bridge, which spans a ravine, containing a crystal clear stream which was in full flood. We would later discover that a great secret lay further up the ravine. A rain shower passed over. The locals popped up umbrellas; obviously as accustomed to regular showers as this visiting Irishman. Turning right at the other side of the bridge, we joined a narrow street, and started climbing. There are no gentle gradients here. If you are going uphill, then it will be steep!

Shelter from the rain at Aguas Calientes

It came as a great relief when we checked in to our hotel and got to leave our bags down and go freshen up. And then, it was off to explore. Our first port of call was The Rasta Bar, where the upstairs floor did its best to convince us that it was actually a slide and not a restaurant floor. Maybe the earth moves here, Im not sure. Anyway, it was great preparation for getting around this quaint and sloping town. A quick lunch and several games of Jenga later (the town seems to have a fascination with Jenga), we were rolling downhill once again to the hotel.

On the hotel manager’s recommendation, we made a visit to to the town’s famous thermal spa, which is a short walk up into the ravine. I would imagine that Aguas Calientes may not be very pleasant for those with restricted mobility. The streets are very steep and narrow, and there are no taxi’s that I saw. We walked uphill, until the street gave way to a lovely path which followed the course of the ravine. After a couple of hundred yards, we arrived at the thermal spas which give the town its name (Aguas Calientes – ‘Hot Waters’ in Spanish).

The mountain stream at Aguas Clients

Thermal Spa high in the Andes

It is a magnificent experience to step into one of 3 hot outdoor pools, in a jungle ravine, high up in the Andes. There are people from all over the world here, just chilling out. You can order cocktails from the spa. This was exactly what I needed after 2 long days on the road from Arequipa! I laid back, and watched through the verdant overhead jungle vegetation, as the sky darkened towards nightfall. It was bliss. After being a little stressed with the busy train station and the crowded fuss on the platform, I was happy to have had this opportunity to relax and get back to myself. Something as simple as a busy train station may have been enough to trigger a lowering of tolerance, a lack of patience or a lack of awareness. That is all it can take. I was really happy to have this spa experience, which I used to get myself back on track.

Central plaza at Aguas Calientes, Peru

The spa had perked me up, restoring my energy, so afterwards we walked down towards the little central plaza near the train station. By chance we hooked up with other members of the wedding party who we had last seen on the snow-bound bus trip from Arequipa, and they led us to a bar where the remainder of the party were having drinks. We then had an impromptu group dinner which was an unexpected treat. Someone suggested having Cuy. I had read about this with both curiosity and trepidation. Pronounced ‘kwee’ it is essentially what we know in Europe as Guinea Pig. I played safe by ordering steak.

Architect-standard Jenga!

I had agreed with fellow traveller Tino, that I would share his Cuy. When it arrived, I had other ideas. The plate was set down and had the animals head and 4 legs dangling over the edges. I am normally open to trying new foods when I travel, but it took me around 20 minutes to accept a fork full. I chewed. But I could not bring myself to swallow. I just couldn’t get the idea of rodents out of my mind. I ran out onto the street and spat it out. A local having a smoke at a bar door laughed and asked: ‘Cuy?’ After I had emptied my mouth I said ‘si’. It probably tastes ok, but it just looks wrong.

Among the wedding after-party were 4 or 5 friends of the bride who had all met at Architecture college. The Jenga started again, this time on a whole different level! It occurred to me that maybe the reason Jenga is so popular here is that everyone is so enthralled by the construction of the ancient city up above us. Tino and another guy from Hawaii, were thankful that I wasn’t going to share the Cuy, and so they proceeded to devour the whole serving. To my horror, the piece de resistence was the animals head, which they shared. Apparently it is a great custom in this part of South America. Architect-standard Jenga kept me distracted, otherwise I may have been sick.

Yes, thats the Cuy head :/

We said our goodbyes and made our way back to our hotels. The others had arrived the previous night, and had therefore seen Machu Picchu already. But I was buzzing with anticipation for the trip the next morning. I found it hard to sleep. The alarm was set for 5am, and I got into that situation where when you think about how little time you have to sleep, you reduce your chances of sleeping. To solve this, I brought myself back to a Wild Atlantic Way experience I had back in Donegal the previous January. Visiting the ocean, or even thinking about a visit, always calms me, and I soon fell asleep, under about 6 Incan blankets. Thankfully, the Cuy did not visit me in my dreams.

At 6am we left our hotel and strolled down the streets towards the station. Busses commence at 6.30am, and I was shocked to see that there was already a long line. As Aguas Calientes began to start its day, we boarded a bus and took what is without doubt the most hair-raising road trip I have ever been on. The distance traveled, as the crow flies, is not far. Probably 2 miles at most. You are basically driving up into the sky, turning around hairpin after hairpin on a bumpy, narrow dust road. The Urubamba river looks smaller and smaller with every turn. I closed my eyes when we met a bus coming down the mountain. It just didn’t look possible to pass by each other on this narrow ledge. We took the inside and the rear view mirror clipped an overhanging branch. My eyes popped open to see the other bus whizzing past ours – both drivers smiling and waving at each other. I was seriously looking forward to getting off this bus. I would advise anyone with a fear of heights, to avoid the window seat while traveling up to Machu Picchu. As nervous as I was, I was still very excited. We rounded one final hairpin, and came to a stop in a tiny bus park. At last! After traveling the long but scenic road from Arequipa, we had finally arrived at Machu Picchu!

The almost vertical hairpin road to Machu Picchu

It was still not yet 7am and already there was a line at the ticket office/security check. But we had arrived! I took a deep breath and took a moment to myself, to ensure that I would enjoy every minute of this visit. I knew that a great adventure lay ahead. Passing through the entrance, the first sunbeams of the rising sun lit up the world famous ruins. It was a sight that made ever mile of the arduous journey worthwhile. Yes, even the hairpin road part. The peace and beauty is almost tangible up here in the Andes. The picture cover of my childhood South America encyclopedia had come to life.

Cnoc Fola, or Bloody Foreland as it is more commonly known, has a real edge of the world feel to it. Located as it is, right up in the very north west tip of Donegal, Ireland, it is one of Europe’s great outposts. This broad headland stretching from Ballyness Bay to Gweedore, is famous for spectacular scenery, friendly people, magnificent sunsets, and the ferocious atlantic swells which batter its coast. It is places like Cnoc Fola which epitomize everything that is so alluring about the Wild Atlantic Way.

To get a good ocean experience in the depths of winter, you need to either plan well or just get lucky. On January 2nd 2015, I probably did both. A strong weather front had been slowly moving across Ireland for a couple of days, bringing heavy rain and high winds. I picked my moment, got on the road early, and was lucky enough to arrive at the coast when the storm’s vortex was right over Donegal, meaning I got to see big waves, in high wind, but also got the blue skies and sunshine. Perfect! When I started comprehending The Paris Method, that is exactly what I had imagined – finding a way to get to, the eye of the storm. Bright, peaceful clarity, in the midst of the maelstrom that life can sometimes throw at us.

The winter sun lighting up the Atlantic horizon off Bloody Foreland and Gweedore, Donegal, Ireland

Light is such a precious commodity in winter, especially over the holidays, when the temptation is to stay indoors more. The days are short and the weather can make it difficult to get outside for exercise and fresh air. Thankfully I was given this chance, and I took it. The bright sun light, enhancing the white foam on the breaking waves, was just beautiful. Once you have been to Cnoc Fola, you will realize the significance of light. This area is famous for it. The hills (Cnoc) turn a blood (Fola) red, when the sun is near the horizon. Sunbeams reflect off the underside of any evening clouds, illuminating the coast during the long Donegal twilight. It is a sight well worth seeing.

I drove around the headland, marveling at the ocean views, and at Cnoc Fola Lower, I parked up, and climbed down the cliffside into a semi-circular cove. I spent around an hour enjoying one of natures winter shows in this remote Atlantic amphitheater. I had worn several layers of old clothes, so was able to lay back against the grassy bank and completely relax. From down here, there is only cliffs, beach, the ocean and sky. I did however, rather unexpectedly, meet a new friend! He stayed with me as we watched the powerful Atlantic storm batter the coast in front of us. It was strangely relaxing.

Stories I had read about the harsh realities of life in this Gaeltacht region of Donegal, came to mind. Caisleáin Óir by Séamus Ó Grianna, who hailed from Rann na Feirste, tells the heartbreaking story of Séimí Phádraig Dubh and his sweetheart Babaí Mháirtí. As children they played together on the rocky Donegal coastline, and just like you might experience for yourself, they stood spellbound by the sight of one of the famous sunsets. The sunbeams cast on the approaching clouds over the horizon had painted such a remarkable sight, that Babaí had asked what it was. Séimí, with all the charm of a young man serenading his love, told her that they were Caisleáin Óir (golden castles), and that he would give them to her when they were older. Sadly, Babaí and Séimí succumbed to the same plight that met so many other young couples from the area during the 19th and early 20th century. Séimí would be forced to leave his love and their dreams, traveling overseas in an attempt to make a living. Their golden castle dream never did become a reality.

The north west coast of Donegal, Ireland. A beautiful, but at times in the past, very harsh place

The factual story I had read, was an even harsher account of life for many of the local people. The Hard Road to Klondike is the post-humous biography of Mícheál MacGowan, based on the memoirs from his travels in search of a livelihood. MacGowan first left his native Cloughaneely parish when he was just a child, sent to ‘The Lagan’ via the hiring fair in Letterkenny. Later, he would travel to Scotland on the infamous Derry Boat, where barefoot young travelers from Donegal shared passage with cattle, on their voyage to find work in Glasgow and beyond. Eventually moving onwards to America, MacGowan worked his way across the country, from the steel works in Pennsylvania, via the Montana mines, to the wilds of Alaska. Like many others, he joined in on The Gold Rush, which brought him to the harsh climate and terrain of the Yukon.

MacGowan suffered many hardships that are almost impossible to imagine today, yet despite some near death experiences, and a variety of setbacks, he was one of only 4000 people from the 100,000 who set out, who actually made it back alive with gold. This fortune was enough to take him home to Donegal, enabling him to set up home and raise a family. Many people from the west of Donegal faced the same adversity in their constant struggle to survive. Some of them never made their fortune. Others did well for themselves, but settled overseas. Today their descendants visit Donegal on their summer holidays. These recollections had taught me to be very grateful for what I have today. Life can sometimes seem tough, but sparing a thought for the poor souls of the past puts things in perspective, brings humility and gratitude.

A bright and stormy day at Cnoc Fola, Donegal, on Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way

The winter days are short here, and evening was on its way. As the wind blew white foam out of the powerful Atlantic waves onto the beach before me, I consciously took in the magnificent setting, scanning it into my mind, knowing that I would recall it in the future. I closed my eyes and faced into the wind, feeling the full force of natures powerful elements blowing away my Christmas cobwebs, freshening me up for a new year ahead. Although it was really cold and noisy, I found great peace and perspective out there. Something about the force of the Atlantic along Donegal’s amazing coastline, helps me to become aware, focused, grateful, and calm.

The day was changing, so I said goodbye to the friendly dog, and climbed up the cliff, stopping every so often to admire the scene. This little cove on Bloody Foreland is just one of many outstandingly beautiful places on this largely unexplored part of the Wild Atlantic Way. Perhaps the best way to see it in all its glory is to fly into Donegal Airport at Carrickfinn, which is about 10 miles south of Cnoc Fola. There are a lot of things to see and do in the area, and with a flight time of only an hour from Dublin and Glasgow, the airport serves as the gateway to north west Donegal, and this very scenic coastline.

As the eye of the storm moved inland, the winds picked up, heavy clouds appeared over the horizon and the short winter day was drawing to a close. My trip to Cnoc Fola had fully refreshed my body and mind, and given me such a feeling of gratitude. I was thankful for the life that I have, and the for the beautiful county that I call home. Thankful for better times than what the people around these parts had experienced in the past.

As I drove back to Letterkenny through the Derryveagh Mountains, I paused for reflection at An Droichead an nDeor (The Bridge of Tears), where so many emigrants had left their friends and family behind. The locals walked with their departing loved ones to this remote spot between Muchish and Errigal mountains. The goodbyes, and the tears, lasted through the night until it was time to depart. For many of these families, this would be the last they would ever see of the emigrants. I was happy in so many ways that I had made the trip to Bloody Foreland. Recalling the harsh realities of past life in north west Donegal had been a thought provoking experience. I returned home full of hope, confidence and positivity for what lay ahead for me in 2015. My trip to the edge of the world had been very productive.

A journey through Donegal, on Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way, brings an eclectic mix of experiences. A land of outstanding natural beauty collides with the might of the north Atlantic Ocean, and the result is a spectacular coastline which is ideal for many types of activities and vacations. Among the many spellbinding visual wonders, Donegal also has a mystical, thought provoking and inspiring allure.

Donegal Bay, Ireland. At peace in the late evening sunlight. Mid-December 2014

The experience I will recount, happened during the busy shopping days in the lead up to the Christmas holidays of 2014. I was feeling a little bereft of Christmas spirit. As mentioned in my bio, at that time I was still finding my feet after an accident, and was therefore a long way from where I had been the previous year. Being off work and recovering from an accident, meant that money was tight, and so, I was beginning to feel a bit like The Grinch. Self-pity mode had been activated, therefore some ‘me’ time was needed, to ensure that this feeling would not spoil the holidays.

Back then, I was still in the process of forming (or becoming aware of) the meditation technique which is today The Paris Method. Now, when I use the method, I could be on a crowded train and still manage to have a quiet moment to myself. But back then, I relied heavily on the tangible conduit of the wild Atlantic coastline in Donegal.

So, in mid-afternoon on that busy December day, I took off, leaving the crowded streets of the market town behind. As it was already well into the short December day, I needed to go south. I wasn’t sure where, but I was going south.

Following the mid-winter sun, hoping to catch a glimpse before it disappeared, I arrived on the shores of Donegal Bay. And then, I remembered someone had mentioned that they had visited a lighthouse at the end of a peninsula in this area, so I decided to find it. I’m now very grateful that I did.

Midway between Donegal Town and the cliffs at Sliabh Liag, the road weaves and dips through the village of Dunkineely, which almost stands as a gate lodge for the road to St John’s Point – a long and narrow headland sticking straight out into Donegal Bay. The road passes by the haunting ruin of McSwynes Castle, a 15th century stronghold which passed through many owners, before falling into disrepair. Marguerite at Castlemurray House across the road, will be happy to tell you the history of the area, in her beautiful boutique hotel.

Donegal Bay, Ireland, on a clear December evening in 2014. Looking towards Sliabh Liag

I stopped briefly to admire the evening views over Coral Beach, a lovely little cove on the sheltered side of the headland, which has blue flag status, meaning it is safe for swimming. These waters are also very popular for snorkeling, diving and fishing. The photo below shows Coral Beach in summer. It is a lovely place for a quiet day out on the beach.

Coral Beach, St Johns Pt, Donegal, Ireland on the Wild Atlantic Way. Image: welovedonegal.com

Onwards I went, further out into the bay, venturing over the stretch of moorland which rises up to screen the tip of the peninsula from the mainland. It was then that I saw the lighthouse sitting proudly in all of it’s glory, looking out over Donegal Bay towards the setting winter sun. It is a view that has stayed with me, and I recall it often.

St John’s Point Lighthouse, looking out over Donegal Bay, Ireland.

I walked around for a while, taking pictures, enjoying the fresh air, and admiring this very special place. As the sun neared the horizon, I ventured past the lighthouse, down onto he rocks near a small jetty. I sat down there for a period of time, and was given one of the most serene experiences that anyone could ever wish for.

The ocean was calm. There was little or no wind. Considering it was close to the winter solstice, the sky was unusually bright and clear. The reflecting light coming off the smooth waters of the bay was amazing. I closed my eyes and listened to the gentle lapping of the water against the jetty. It was just such a peaceful scene.

I practiced The Paris Method, and sat in silence, fully aware of the beauty around me at that very moment. I was completely at ease. I had moved from Grinch to gratitude. From cranky to content, and from self-pity to serenity. Time stood still. The entire world right then seemed to be at peace.

As I again slowly started to walk around the tip of the peninsula, taking pictures and videos, I reminded myself just how lucky I am to have such an amazing place to call home. I was also gratefully aware that the motivational powers of the Wild Atlantic Way in Donegal, had once again given me such peace and contentment.

The location of St John’s Point Lighthouse, sitting proudly over 7 miles out into Donegal Bay, offers many beautiful views, and symbolic perspectives. From Donegal Town to Bundoran in the east, Sligo and Mayo to the south, and beyond Killybegs, Kilcar and Teelin to Sliabh Liag and Rathlin O’Birne Island in the west, the seascapes are breathtaking. As the sun gradually disappeared over Mayo, sea fog began to creep up on Sliabh Liag. To the north, the magnificent wilderness of the Bluestack Mountains began to slowly drift out of sight.

In the cold twilight, I once again sat, looking towards south Donegal and Sligo. Benbulben, the majestic and iconic mountain which presides over that stretch of coastline was silhouetted on the last of the amber evening sky. I thought about her most famous son, Ireland’s first Nobel laureate, Sligo poet William Butler Yeats. What is probably his most celebrated poem came to mind:

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

 

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

 

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,

I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

In The Lake Isle of Innisfree , WB Yeats is apparently using the romantic dream of escaping to a peaceful and remote place, to lift his spirits as he makes his way through the busy streets of a 19th century city. The Atlantic on that December evening was as peaceful as the Lough Gill waters, where in Yeats dream he would build his wattle cabin. I realized that Yeats romantic dream from 1890, which he kept with him in his heart everywhere he went, could also apply to my use of The Paris Method.

I cannot always rely on having the time or means to take off and chase the sunset to beautiful locations in search of peace. As much as I love the Donegal shore, I cannot always be here. I need to be able to recreate the images and the peace they give me while I walk the busy streets of life. As I turned to leave, I wondered if Yeats had been to St John’s Point on an evening such as this. I’m sure he had.

As I started the car, the radio turned on. An Irish evening talk-show host and his guest were discussing the issue of men being less willing to discuss their emotions and feelings. It occurred to me that perhaps many men would indeed be willing to discuss their feelings, but are probably not overly comfortable with the response it would receive. Asking for full disclosure is all very well and good, but understanding and accepting it is another matter entirely.

Turning the radio off, I smiled and became busy with my own positive thoughts and plans concerning this blog, and the things that I will write about. As the last of the light faded, I began my northward journey home. Another Yeats poem came to mind in this ”night and light and the half light”.

I hope The Paris Method can give you as much as it has given me. I am doing this for the silent men. On their behalf, I remember Yeats lines …

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Donegal Bay, Ireland, in the ”Night and light, and the half light”

It is the stuff that dreams are made of. Literally! Donegal, on Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way, now offers visitors the chance to sleep in a world famous, 200 year old lighthouse. ‘Land Ahoy!! – Fanad is open for business.’

The iconic Fanad Lighthouse in Donegal, Ireland. Sleep in a 200 year old lighthouse on the Wild Atlantic Way!

When it was completed in 1817, the sole purpose of Fanad Lighthouse was to keep people away from the trecherous rocks at the mouth of Lough Swilly. Now the iconic tower is inverting that purpose; luring visitors from all over the world. Having been handed back to the local community by Irish Lights, Inter-Reg funding was secured and Fanad Lighthouse is now well on it’s way to becoming the shining light on the Wild Atlantic Way.

Three homely accommodations are available; ranging from the cozy and romantic Dunree View, with it’s wood burning stove, to the country-styled Tory Island View which includes a queen-sized bed. A stone-flagged patio offers a fantastic location for summer sunset barbecues or panoramic coffee mornings.

Fanad Lighthouse, Donegal, Ireland, on a stormy day on the Wild Atlantic Way.

Just picture the scene. You could spend your days strolling along Ballymastocker beach (which was once voted the 2nd most beautiful beach in the world). Or playing a round at the majestic Portsalon Golf Club. Or marveling at Great Pollet Sea Arch, taking surf lessons or a fishing trip, or generally exploring the many beaches and attractions on the Fanad Peninsula. As the evening closes in, you get drawn back to your dream cottage by the sea, like a moth to a streetlamp. After dinner and a nightcap its lights out – and lights on.

In the afterglow of what can often be a spectacular sunset over the Atlantic, you can cast your gaze northwards, watching out for an Aurora Borealis display. They have been known to be quite impressive up in these parts. North Donegal is a great place to star-gaze. The Milky Way is often in clear view too, as shown in the image below, taken by Joe Langan in August 2015. But now, it is the moment that you have been waiting for – it is bed time in 200 year old Fanad Lighthouse, on the Wild Atlantic Way.

All The Way! Bedtime under the Milky Way, on the Wild Atlantic Way. Fanad Lighthouse, Donegal, Ireland. Image Credit: Joe Langan

After you have stoked the open fire to bring a warming flicker to the room, imagine drifting off to sleep, soothed by the sound of the Atlantic waves breaking on the rocks at the lighthouse foundations. All under the mesmeric reflections of the rotating beam overhead. The fresh air and exercise from your daytime adventures, coupled with the hypnotic sights and sounds, will send you into a deep peaceful sleep. It is time to live that dream.

Allow yourself to drift off aboard your pirate ship, sailing two miles due north in search of lost treasure at The Laurentic site. En route from Liverpool to Halifax Nova Scotia during World War 1, the armed merchant cruiser was hit by 2 German mines and went down with the loss of 354 men. The Laurentic had been carrying a secret cargo of 3,211 gold bars, worth a cool $450 million in todays money. By the mid 1930’s most of the bullion had been recovered. All with the exception of 22 gold bars, which are said to be awaiting discovery on the sea bed, within sight of Fanad Lighthouse. A dream payday of $3m should help you sleep easy.

The sound of the ocean lapping the lighthouse, may guide your dream towards that perfect wave you have always wanted to surf. Donegal is a fantastic surf location, and lessons are available at many of the great locations nearby. Or maybe a sea-kayaking adventure, as you search for local fairies or smugglers in the many coastal caves of this rugged coastline. Perhaps you will dream of rowing out to meet the killer whales, basking sharks and friendly dolphins, which have been spotted in this area.

Speaking of Jaws, horror movie fans may get subconsciously transported via their dreams to Point Reyes lighthouse in California, where many of the scenes for John Carpenter’s 1980 movie The Fog were shot. Or to Shutter Island where you join Leonardo di Caprio in hearing his fate at the lighthouse. The more romantically inclined may meet him in their Titanic dream. You might also spare a melancholic thought for the reliable lighthouse keeper of long ago, who was here on his own, on stormy nights, with his supply of paraffin and an eagle eye. He and other heroes like him had many lives in their hands.

The more adventurous visitor could try to time their stay to coincide with one of the many Atlantic storms which batter the Donegal coast every winter. The big waves just off the lighthouse can hit some dizzying heights, and in the right (or wrong) storm, send spray against the panes of glass in your bedroom window.

More likely, given this idyllic location, your dreams will be tranquil, consisting of happy beach days spent walking barefoot by the waters edge, gathering shells and star fish, of picnics and sandcastles. Poetic license may even allow you to meet a Donegal seahorse or mermaid. Whatever it is that you dream of, you can now dream it in Fanad Lighthouse.

Awakening fully refreshed  and motivated, you might take up the opportunity of climbing the 79 steps to edge yourself out onto the suspended platform which surrounds the base of the light – 150 feet above the ocean. From up here, the views over the North Donegal coastline and the Atlantic Ocean beyond, will leave you spell-bound. Selfie sticks at the ready!

The Fanad Lighthouse renaissance, when complete, will include accommodation, access to the tower, guided tours, tea-rooms, a visitor’s center and increased car parking space. There will also of course be an abundance of information available relating to this richly historic and naturally beautiful area.

For 200 years, Fanad Lighthouse has been an iconic image in North Donegal, and for miles out to sea. Now it’s powerful beam is reaching the 4 corners of the world, penetrating dreams, luring visitors to the North Atlantic, where the wild gets put in the way. Fanad is now also a quirkily outstanding new attraction on the Wild Atlantic Way. For many it will be a dream come true. Sleeping in a 200 year old Irish lighthouse will be high up on a lot of bucket lists. What was once a danger averting tower, is now a dreamy lullaby projector. This, is the world’s first dream-inspiring lighthouse.

Sweet dreams!

The Wild Atlantic Way on Ireland’s western sea-board is the longest defined and most dramatic ocean drive in the world. From Donegal’s Malin Head at Ireland’s most northerly point, to Mizen Head in County Cork, the 1,500 mile tourist trail is a must see for ocean lovers with a sense of adventure. The secret to an amazing Wild Atlantic Way experience is to get off the beaten track, and go ‘Far From the Madding Crowds’ to places like Port and Glenlough.

Rainbow over Tormore Island, near Port and Glenlough, County Donegal, Ireland

Port and Glenlough

If you love the raw forces of the ocean, dramatic coastal scenery, and remote barren landscapes, then Port and Glenlough on the Wild Atlantic Way is definitely for you. This beautiful outpost is so remote, that more often than not, you will have only the sheep, sea birds and seals to keep you company. Forgive their suspicions; they don’t often see people out around these parts. Only the most inquisitive of adventurers have headed Port-bound.

The whole area is not for the faint hearted. Out here, there is no passing traffic, intermittent phone signal, and often, not another human being within a 5 mile radius. Two memorials commemorate the 19 souls who lost their lives when the merchant ship Sydney was shipwrecked here in a huge storm on October 16th 1870. This can be an eerie place; beautiful but beastly. Agoraphobiacs beware, for there is little here but dangerous cliffs, a single holiday cottage, small jetty, a few broken down wall-steads and nature. Lots of unbridled nature. All things considered, it is the quintessential secret gem of the Wild Atlantic Way.

Approaching from the lively and traditional town of Ardara, glacial Glengeash Pass signals departure into the wilderness. From here on, the road to Port could be considered one of the loneliest byways in Ireland. The Road to Glenlough is even more ghostly, for it does not even exist, except as the title of a traditional Irish fiddle tune. This is the place where reality meets fantasy.

The spectacular coastline at Port, Donegal, Ireland – one of the secrets gems of the Wild Atlantic Way

On the final approach, the single-laned road carves downwards through a lonely hidden valley and eventually terminates at the spectacular inlet of Port. The cove at the end of the inlet has a stone beach, where thousands of large dorlins clatter together under the strong wash of each Atlantic wave. The outer jaws of the inlet consist of unusually jagged cliffs and stacks – one of which looks like a huge pillar. Local legend has it that this is the devil’s tail; protruding from the watery grave to where he was banished by Saint Colmcille.

A mountain stream falls over the the nearby cliff face; pure spring water cascading into the ocean. The fresh air is fused with the marine aroma of salt and seaweed. You can feel the sharp freshness of the air in your chest. The roar of the ocean crashing against the cliffs, is pierced only by the call of the odd seagull, puffin or gannet. And those clattering dorlins. You have arrived face to face with the immense power of the Atlantic Ocean on Ireland’s most isolated coastal frontier.

Living on the edge – An abandoned cottage near the wild Atlantic Ocean at Port, Donegal, Ireland

After you have marveled at the remote and rugged beauty of Port, the final leg of your journey to Glenlough will seem even more elusive. And to many it is. You will need to climb the very steep hillside to the northeastern side of the cove. There is also a pathway on the southwestern side, which meanders along the cliffs tops, past the Napoleonic tower, and into the village of Glencolmcille. But Glenlough; you really need to see Glenlough.

One of the many beautiful Atlantic sunsets over Glenn Head, Port, Donegal, Ireland

Only the fit and mobile will make it to the top of the hill which signals the start of your 3km hike to Glenlough. From up here you really get a sense of the isolation, and of how much of a battering the coastline takes from the north Atlantic storms. On a decent day you will be able to see up to 35 miles of ocean stretched out in front of you to the horizon. Next stop America. It is fascinating to watch the varying weather patterns across such an expanse of open water. The clouds, sunbeams and rain showers give the panorama such a vibrant light and color spectrum.

The wonderfully dynamic seascapes at Port and Glenlough, Donegal, Ireland.

Extreme care is needed while walking along the clifftop. There is no clearly defined path, the cliffs of Port Hill drop 800 feet almost vertically into the ocean below and the bog ground cover sits on a gravel foundation, which can often become undermined due to the elements. Underfoot conditions, and the gradient of some of the slopes make for slow progress. You will also find it impossible to keep a constant pace, as the scenery (and your pumping heart) regularly demands your attention. But it is worth it. The scenery is amazing!

Tormore Island is particularly impressive. At 490 feet, Tormore is the highest sea stack in Ireland, and despite some tales of yore and possibly lore, it was scaled for the first time on August 10th 2008 by Iain Miller and his team. Miller, a former ships engineer, who had often admired Donegal from the seaward side, has since explored this coastline more than most. Although a highly skilled and courageous climber, he describes Tormore stack as being ‘very dangerous’. I wouldn’t disagree. Even from the top of Port Hill, simply looking over the cliff towards the stack is intimidating. From up here on a stormy day, it is impossible to hear the swells battering the base of the cliff. But you can see it, and feel it. Waves driven by the wind break upwards on collision with the rocks, and in storms I have witnessed the salty spray rise high over the cliff face and far inland, onto the barren hillside.

How is your head for heights? The fantastic 800 foot cliffs at Port and Glenlough, Donegal, Ireland

As you reach the top of the hill, you catch your first glimpse of the extended Donegal coastline to the north. Rossbeg, Aranmore Island and Loughros Peninsula come into view. Yet more stunning coastline. But there is an even greater spectacle laying in store, unseen as yet, for it is hundreds of feet below the cliffs in your foreground.

Glenlough Bay with it’s sea-stacks and storm beach – The secret gem of the Wild Atlantic Way

Glenlough Bay is probably Ireland’s most secret location, and one of the most beautiful. Unlike Port, which at least has a road, Glenough remains untouched by the modern world. There is nothing by which to time-stamp the bay or the valley above it. This is timeless, uninterrupted natural beauty. The otherworldly sea stacks catch your attention immediately. One such stack is almost too surreal, and you could easily imagine that some giant has left it there, carefully balanced, right on the shoreline. One of the stacks is aptly named ‘Ends of the Earth’. The raised beach system is also of great geological interest. While descending the cliffs to the shoreline here is very difficult, it is still possible. Iain Miller from Unique Ascent has written a guide to getting down onto the beach. Down here, you are far from everywhere. It really is such a magical treasure.

The amazing coastline of Port and Glenlough, from the summit of Tormore Island. Image credit: Iain Miller

It was from a clifftop above this secret paradise, on a brisk November day that I sat on a clump of heather, looked out over the wild atlantic ocean, and had the most profound experience of my life. The ocean raged. But in the maelstrom I found calm; the most beautiful calmness I have ever experienced. The recipe for recreating that peace and contentment is today called The Paris Method™. I am in no doubt that this was the only possible place where I could have been given such inspiration, and the conviction to make use of it.

Spectacular sea stacks and raised storm beach at Glenlough Bay, Donegal, Ireland. Image credit: Iain Miller

Why you will wonder, have you not seen images nor heard tales of this beautiful place until now? That little puzzle, is what makes Glenlough Bay all the more wildly beautiful. You have entered the realm of imagination: a place that captivates, revitalizes, inspires and slightly overwhelms.

Unbeknown to me at the time, inspiration had also been sought and granted here in the past. There are some unusual tales of people who have spent time here, seeking out the wild to inspire them and bring peace. While tales of Bonny Prince Charlie hanging out here while waiting for a boat to take him to France, deadly beasts rising from the deep, and sightings of the mythical island of Hy Brasil may be wildly exaggerated or fantastical, Glenlough’s past does reveal some characters.

Local man Dan Ward, AKA The New Zealander, returned from the southern hemisphere to Glenlough  with his wife Rose in the early twentieth century. Here, they fulfilled their dream of ‘buying a valley’ and living in peace by the Atlantic ocean. They set up home in a simple stone dwelling with detached cow byre and set about tending their huge hill farm. But in 1926, they were joined by an unlikely visitor. American artist Rockwell Kent (who illustrated the most popular edition of Moby Dick), had arrived at Port in his quest to escape mankind. Finding 3 cottages there, he was crestfallen to discover that even ”at the end of the earth there was man”. He craved yet more isolation, reportedly pleading ”if we could only find a little house beyond mankind!” There was only one place to send a man with those wishes. Having been pointed up onto the hillside by locals, Kent explored the area and eventually found Dan and Rose Ward’s cottage in Glenlough Valley.

After some negotiations, Dan’s cow was evicted from the stone byre, which was then fixed up by the American. It was a far cry from the roaring twenties in New York. Kent though, had found exactly what he was looking for. The wild scenery and the ever changing skies over the Atlantic, provided an abundance of creative inspiration. While here, he painted some of his most famous and critically acclaimed work, most notably Annie McGinley – depicting the woman laying on her stomach as she sunbathed on Port Hill, Dan Ward’s Stack, and Sturrall. Kent’s happy and productive stay in Glenlough meant that when the next creative visitor showed up in south west Donegal, Dan Ward’s cottage came highly recommended.

Annie McGinley by Rockwell Kent. Image source: port-donegal.com

Sturrall by Rockwell Kent. Image source: www.hermitageshop.org

Dylan Thomas, the brilliant but troubled Welsh poet/playwright, had been frogmarched to Ireland by his agent Geoffrey Grigson under doctors orders in 1935. Although a mere 20 years of age, the fledgling writer was already suffering from the effects of heavy alcohol consumption. Burned out, suffering from skin rashes, asthma and the excesses of his new found fame in the bright lights of London, he had been led to Donegal to recover from ‘the ravishes of drink’.

Dylan Thomas in 1946. The poet and playwright died seven years later, aged 39. Image: Francis Reiss/Getty Images via donegalnews.com

Grigson, stayed with Thomas for a short settling in period, before returning to London, leaving his client in peace (or so he thought) to produce some master works. Things did not go entirely to plan. Thomas was for a time content while staying alone in Dan Ward’s ad-hoc cottage studio, writing by morning and evening, and exploring the spectacular coastline in the afternoons by way of contemplative relaxation.

But the isolation, increasing boredom, and the temptation of the bottle soon got the better of him. By his own admission, as revealed in letters to trustee friends back home in Wales, his mood had quickly darkened to the extent that he was regularly haunted by twisted nightmares and self pity. He recounts a frightful night when he was haunted by ”Count Antigarlic . . . a strange Hungarian gentleman . . . coming down the hill in a cloak lined with spiders”.

Growing increasingly tormented, Dylan Thomas disappeared from Glenlough in late August 1935, leaving neither explanation nor payment for lodgings. Mr Grigson would later pick up the tab with Dan Ward, and retrace his client’s steps in a bid to determine what had come over the young poet in Donegal.

Rumor abounds regarding the time Dylan Thomas spent at Glenlough. It is thought that his regular nocturnal walks of many miles over the roadless hills to O’Donnells Pub in Meenaneary, were supplemented by a plentiful supply of local poitin. While the poems that he managed to write at Glenlough, including I, in my Intricate Image and the darkly twisted series of sonnets Altarwise by Owl Light had received moderate acclaim, they also served notice of his continued and ever more difficult battle with alcohol and ill health. Glenlough had not been as kind to Thomas as it had to Kent. The isolated cliffs and barren landscapes at Port and Glenlough had once again proven itself to be both beauty and beast.

The Wild Atlantic Way conjures images of land and sea colliding, nature as it’s most powerful, of rugged but beautiful coastlines, and peaceful remoteness. Port and Glenlough ticks all of those boxes, and much more. Better still, it is in Donegal, and as we all know, that makes it a wee bit extra special. Donegal puts the wild into the way, as evidenced by the description on Lonely Planet: ”Donegal is the wild child of Ireland’‘. Chronicles of Narnia novelist, CS Lewis, had his own word for it: ‘Donegality‘. Lewis created this word to describe the sense that there is something different about Donegal, that sets it apart from the rest of Ireland. Port and Glenlough is Donegality in the extreme. It is beautifully wild, and in local tongue: ”wild beautiful”. To discover which is wilder, you or Port and Glenlough, there is only one way to find out. Activate explorer mode.

There is a beautiful feeling of serenity at the spectacular former Incan city of Machu Picchu. The long road through the Andes to this remote paradise is not so well acclaimed, but is also very special. This is a journey unlike any you will ever have undertaken before, and it will stay with you forever. Getting to the jewel of the Sacred Valley can be costly and time consuming, but it is a journey which is to be enjoyed rather than endured. This is my 6-part travelogue, revealing the highlights of the road to Machu Picchu, including Ollantaytambo.

Ollantaytambo to Aguas Calientes

While the small but busy Sacred Valley town of Ollantaytambo is attractive on it’s own merits, with Inca ruins and riverside setting, one amenity above all others attracts many of the visitors who pass through here; the train station.

Unless you were to go off-grid and (attempt to) hike over the towering Andes mountains, there is but one way to get to Machu Picchu; by first making the journey from Ollantaytambo to Aquas Calientes by train. Considering that up to 5,000 visitors filter through Machu Picchu on a busy day, Ollantaytambo is a very busy little place. The entire town is like a cross between a mini Machu Picchu, a souvenir shop, a cargo hanger and a travel rep’s office. Everybody, and everything that goes to Machu Picchu, must pass through here – including all food and provisions for Aguas Calientes.

We had arrived into the Sacred Valley by taxi from Cusco with just over 20 minutes to spare before our pre-booked train departure time. The road to the station, the limited drop-off point and the platform were crowded with tourists, bags, craft stalls, travel guides, goods transportation and train workers. It was a huge relief to finally board the train and find a seat. Around two minutes later, the whistle blew, and we were off!

Onboard the Inca Rail train

We were on board a train operated by Inca Rail, which had large carriage windows supplemented by overhead skylights. We were soon to discover why the rail company had the foresight to include the additional glass. As soon as we moved from the platform, we were immediately in the middle of a scenic river valley, the likes of which I have never seen before. On one side of the train, the fast flowing waters of the Urubamba River race right by the tracks, and on the other side, the tiny patchwork of fields very quickly give way to the sometimes almost vertical walls of The Sacred Valley. The views are simply spectacular.

Train from Ollantaytambo to Aguas Calientes

The tree-lined Urubamba River Valley

Everyone in our carriage was mesmerized by the passing scenery. Everyone that is except for a Brazilian tourist who was sitting on the opposite side of the table from me. Having seen my Tottenham Hotspur shirt, he was determined to strike up a soccer centered conversation. So much so, that he proceeded to lay the shirt of his preferred team out on the table, and insist that I photograph it, with said Brazilian beaming in the background. I obliged, and quickly returned to admiring the views. I love Tottenham, and soccer, but these views were too amazing to miss!

My Brazilian soccer friend

The train ride takes approximately 90 minutes, with the return leg lasting a full 2 hours. The additional 30 minutes can be accounted for by the fact that this is the Andes, and even though the train line is on what you would think is a relatively flat bed, Peruvian logic still holds true: when you are traveling you are either going uphill or downhill. We were currently moving downhill, following the banks of the Urubamba River. I tried to imagine how powerful the force of this water must be when the river is in flood.

I get a lot of thought stimulation from water, which I think is a welcome byproduct of my love of the ocean, waves and rugged coastlines. I see symbolism in water, and it really helps me to become aware of the present moment. So it occurred to me, that this part of the river valley would often suddenly experience a raging torrent, even if it had not rained in this particular section. The flood would quickly arrive from upstream. I reasoned that in life, the same scenario can occur. In a butterfly effect, even if we are serene and calm ourselves, someone else’s actions can send a sudden and unexpected torrent our way. Just as the people in The Sacred Valley have strategically placed boulders by the banks while the water was low, preparing in advance of the flood, we too can brace ourselves by building strong defenses when there is calmness. Knowing ourselves, and understanding our reactions is one of the keys to wellbeing. Often, our troubles can come not from our own actions, but from our reaction to someone else’s action. At that moment, upon such a realization, I felt completely at peace. Somehow, the Urubamba River had shown me how to be focused and aware, how to enjoy this moment, yet to use this peaceful time to ensure that I would completely enjoy Machu Picchu.

Traveling by train deep into the wilderness

The sides of the valley are as fascinating as the river itself. Having approached from Cusco, we had traversed agricultural uplands. But now we had entered into a region of Peru which has more in common with the Amazonian jungle terrain on the other side of the Andes. The steep walls of the valley are almost completely covered with tress, resulting in the sharpest gradient of leafy canopy imaginable. Sporadic clouds hover overhead; high above the train, yet still a long way beneath the snow capped peaks of the surrounding mountain range.

Inca Rail en route to Machu Picchu

Down and around we went, steadily venturing deeper and deeper into the very heart of this timeless terrain, moving further away from the busy world. I pondered what this journey must have been like in previous centuries. It is little wonder that Machu Picchu remained unseen during the Spanish Conquistador’s foray into this region of South America. The valley walls are impossibly steep. In the days before planes and railways, even if for some reason the Spanish had decided to trek all the way along this bank, or raft down the river itself, Machu Picchu would not have revealed itself. The walls supporting the Inca city look just like the walls all along the entire journey. Furthermore, the terraced nature of Machu Picchu’s construction means that from up high, the river is clearly visible, but from the depths of the river valley looking upwards, Machu Picchu, blends into the wilderness like a chameleon.

Small potato field by the rail track

Even Hiram Bingham, the inquisitive American academic who finally discovered Machu Picchu and revealed it’s secret’s to the world in 1911, was apparently only able to do so having first being given guidance by indigenous farmers. The topography along the train road from Ollantaytambo to Aguas Calientes, gives a strong demonstration of just how well the Inca’s chose this now famous, but once hidden treasure.

Table service onboard Inca Rail

In a world apart from Bingham’s original travel experience, we meandered effortlessly down the valley while comfortably sitting on leather upholstered seats, availing of table service, affording us the opportunity to fully marvel at this unique adventure. The train ride perfectly sets the tone for a visit to Machu Picchu. You cannot help but dream of hidden worlds and lost treasures. The clickety-clack of the train passing over the sleeps and the amazing scenery seemed to cast a mystical spell over all on board.  Time seemed to both stand still, yet pass by too quickly.

There is little in the landscape to signal the approach to the end of the line at Aguas Calientes. The town clings tightly to steep ground which is much like the rest of the valley. As the train slowed on approach, I looked through the open window to survey what lay ahead. A simple but distinctive grass roofed cafe greeted our arrival at this quaint, busy, yet very welcoming station and town. As the train finally came to a stop, my emotions were happiness, excitement and relief. I had arrived!

Distinctive grass roofed cafe at the station

Much like my fellow European explorers several centuries before me, I still had no idea where Machu Picchu was. But I knew I was close. So close now in fact, that the list of possible yet unlikely events which could have derailed this amazing trip, had now shortened considerably.

Stepping from the train onto the Aguas Calientes platform, you do so in the knowledge that you are now only one night’s sleep and a short, but ultimately very steep, bus ride away from one of the most beautiful places in the whole world. Gratitude now prevailed.

Have you read the other posts in this series?

Part 1: Arequipa

Part 2: Arequipa to Cusco

Part 3: Cusco

Part 4: Cusco to Ollantaytambo

Part 6: Aguas Calientes (Machu Picchu Pueblo)