Celebrating Easter in Porthdinllaen: Fasting, Lambs, and Joy on the Welsh Coast

What do you call a day that begins with rain, rolls into sunshine, ends with a hilarious mountain of nachos, and somehow tucks in prayers, sheep, and a deep breath of grace along the way? Easter Monday in Porthdinllaen, that is what. Peace be with you and upon you. We are Mark and Maria, wandering the Llŷn Peninsula with sand in our shoes and a song in our mouths, soaking in this tender, bright holiday that feels like the heart of spring itself.

A Harbor Morning, a Pub Feast, and a Word for Cheese

Porthdinllaen sits like a secret, cupped by sea and sky, a tiny harbor that makes your shoulders drop the second you catch sight of it. It rained in the morning, a soft, steady chill that made the rocks shine, then the clouds lifted, and all that light came pouring back.

We found a friendly little pub, warm and a bit raucous, where the vegetarian chili called our names. Nachos too. There was sour cream, there was plenty of cheese, and there was that slightly stunned feeling of ending a fast with a full plate and a full laugh. We taught the young Welsh barman the German word for cheese, Käse. Rennet free cheese please, we chimed, smiling like we were ordering dessert on a Tuesday morning. He grinned and tried to say it back to us. Käse, Kaaay-zuh. Perfect.

We ate, we talked, we looked out at the water. You know how it goes when you break a fast. One bite, then everything tastes like gratitude. It felt like grace in a bowl. Like a hug from inside your ribs.

If you have not met this place yet, it is well worth a day or two. The headland holds layers of story, an old fort and the hush of fishing boats and the sense that the sea has seen everything already. The National Trust has a helpful overview for planning a visit, including the headland path and the harbor’s history. Start with this guide to Visiting Porthdinllaen. Or browse the local snapshot from Visit Snowdonia about Porthdinllaen’s beach, lifeboat station, and cove. If you enjoy the deeper stories of trade, herring, and how this cove almost became a major port, the history notes on Porthdinllaen harbour are a gem.

Why We Fast, and Why We Laugh About It Too

We fast for many reasons. Sometimes it is as simple as getting quiet inside, clearing a bit of clutter from body and mind, and feeling our prayers land. Sometimes it is about tenderness toward others, choosing a little hunger so we remember that some people do not have the choice. There is a humility in letting the belly speak for a while. A reminder that we are not the center of the table.

We also fast from habits, and words, and the little hooks we hang onto. This year we tried a new practice. Less cursing. Fewer filler words. Less um, uh, like, you know. It sounds small. It is not. Each word is a seed. We wanted our speech to hold more light, more intention, more kindness.

And we talk about spiritual hunger too, that sweet ache for the nectar of God, the wisdom that softens the mind and pours open the heart. Call it prasad, manna, divine love, bhakti, the Friend’s kiss on the crown. On days like Easter Monday, the whole world feels full of it, and every simple thing, even a goofy bowl of nachos, becomes a sign.

A Little Rescue on the Road

On the way toward the coast we saw them, two small lambs stuck in a fence. Tiny and unsure, bleating toward a field, the road busy behind them. We pulled over. Another woman stopped, and together we kept watch. We called the farmer, waited, sang low, chanted a bit, laughed at ourselves for chanting to sheep, then kept singing anyway.

The farmer came quick, gentle and brisk at once, scooped them by the scruff, and boosted them back into the field. They went racing toward their mother. All good. He thanked us, we waved, and the day felt brighter than before. We felt steadier too. Like you get to be part of the stitching, just for a minute, keeping the fabric from tearing.

Around the Mountain, Into the Light

We circled the mountain in rain, then sun, then rain again. The sky in Wales is a choir, always changing part by part. We love that. We could not stop smiling when we reached Porthdinllaen. People out with dogs and children, cheeks pink from the wind. On Easter Monday the joy has a different pitch. The grief of Good Friday is close behind, the quiet of Saturday too, then everything opens. The stone rolls back and you hear birds a little louder.

We thought about Doubting Thomas. Honest, thoughtful, even brave in his way. Let me touch, let me know, let me not pretend. A lot of us have a bit of Thomas in us. We like proof, and sometimes the proof arrives as warmth. A smile that comes from nowhere. Or a little rescue on the roadside. Or the taste of food after long days of simple tea and water. The proof shows up in the body. You know it by the way your shoulders settle.

What We Learned From This Short Fast

We kept it simple this time. A few days, some dizziness, a lot of stillness. We were on the road, so we listened to our limits and kept safety first. Not medical advice. Just our lived experience.

A few things we missed:

• A bathtub with Epsom salts: It is such a comfort for sore muscles and helps the body relax.
• A place to sweat: A little sauna or even a hot bath can help you feel the shift.
• The option for a saltwater flush: Only if you are near a bathroom you trust. Sometimes by day three there is still a bit of the body clinging to old food. Saltwater helps move it along. Peanut butter seemed to be the last hanger-on this time, which made us laugh. We think of it like preparing a cup to be filled. Clear the cup, then pour the tea.

The spiritual echo of all of this is simple. Emptiness makes room. When we come to the altar, the asana, the mat, the pew, the hill, we come with open palms. Thy will, not mine. Fill this vessel with what you wish to give. If there is a theme here, it is that release brings lightness. And lightness is joy.

On Beds, Backs, and Letting Go

Travel is beautiful, and travel is bumpy. Beds change. Sofas sag. Backs complain. If you have a tender back, you know the stakes. We had a few dramatic moments about mattresses. It happens. Then the tears pass, the breath comes back, the bags get lighter. She is smiling again. The joy returns. There is a little lesson here about stuff and attachment. It sticks to you, until it does not. A few days without the usual comforts, and the grip loosens. The body still matters. Pain matters. But the heart takes the lead again.

Language, Names, and the Music of Wales

A small apology to Welsh speakers for our attempts at pronunciation. We tried. We will keep trying. The names are long and lyrical, and we love how they feel in the mouth. Even the name for Snowdon in Welsh, Yr Wyddfa, has a kind of hush and lift to it. Porthdinllaen too. The letters feel like braided rope, strong and surprising, and old as tide pools.

If you are planning a visit, that harbor path and the curve of the bay will stay with you. The National Trust guide to Porthdinllaen walks you through access, parking, and the best bits to see on foot. And if you like to imagine how a small cove could have become the Dublin link in another timeline, the history of the harbour’s trading days is a good read for a seaside cup of tea.

Simple Practices We Carried With Us

Nothing fancy. Just little anchors to keep the day sweet.

• Quiet chanting: Even softly, even off key, it changes the air. We sang a little by the fence with the lambs. The sound steadied us.
• Gratitude before breaking fast: A small pause. A thank you. A moment to welcome food like an honored guest.
• Blessings for strangers: The barman, the farmer, the walkers on the path. Peace be upon you. It is easy to give, and it costs nothing.
• Naming the fast: Not only from food. From words that do not serve. From habits that dull the heart. From impatience and busyness. A simple, clear intention goes a long way.

Join the Circle

If you want to share your own practice, ask a sincere question, or just say hi, you are welcome in our little gathering place online. We keep a quiet, friendly spot where people can sign up, join discussions, and send blessings both ways. You can request an invite at the Juicy MagiK Agora registration page.

And if you feel moved to support our small projects, offerings, and pilgrim miles, you can send sats through the support page for Juicy MagiK projects. Thank you for every kind thought, every share, and every shoulder tap to keep going.

A Closing Blessing from the Harbor

We will remember this day. The way the rain rinsed the hills. The way the pub felt like a refuge. The way two lambs leapt back to their mother and the farmer gave us a grateful nod. The way fasting made food taste like mercy, and how that first spoonful of chili was both funny and holy at the same time.

Easter is about renewal. About what gets up again. About what cannot be kept from the light. We felt that here, in this small Welsh cove with the long name and the clear water. If you visit, may the tide be kind and the wind in a good mood. If you stay home, may your room feel like a sanctuary anyway.

Peace be with you and upon you. May your week be full of small rescues, warm bowls, and the quiet certainty that love is near.

Thank you for reading, friend. What are you fasting from these days, and what is the joy that meets you on the other side?

mariakerwin

As a former serial entrepreneur, she turned from a workaholic in the business world to freedom and creativity, living now as a writer, creator and world traveller. Since an early age Maria is close to death and what exists beyond, courageously exploring the dimensions of existence. A Kundalini Awakening guided her into the abyss of fully surrendering to the life force itself, crushing all known aspects of her old life. Finally, it led her to her purpose of bridging both worlds, connecting to what goes beyond the ordinary.

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