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| My first look as I entered the park. |
I had two goals when I woke up on the morning of 16 May:
1) Get to the top of Arthur's Seat.
2) Don't die.
Climbing Arthur's Seat had been a goal of mine ever since an acquaintance posted her own pictures after climbing it. The view of Edinburgh from the top looked far too good to miss, so good that I was willing to travel thousands of miles just to be able to sit atop Arthur's Seat and look out at it for myself. Well, there I was, in Edinburgh, looking at Arthur's Seat from my hotel room window (Masson House offers an excellent view and easy access to the mountain, which is technically a hill, but certainly looks like a mountain), with my boots laced up, my raincoat on, and my camera ready. Nothing was going to stop me from getting to the top. After a short walk and a couple of turnarounds as I encountered locked gates, I finally made it to the park and got my first up-close-and-personal look at the rocky peaks I intended to climb. I looked around, decided that the majority of the other visitors seemed to all be taking the same route, and started up after them.
The first thing that I quickly discovered was that one does not have to get all the way to the top to be rewarded with some stunning views of Edinburgh.
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| I was only about halfway up when I took this. Quite a reward for half the work! |
Given that I didn't have a map (I highly recommend trying to find one if you intend to make the climb), I ended up turning around several times as I hit dead ends on various paths. I began to wonder if I was ever going to make it to the top. I stopped for several breaks and wished that I had thought to bring some water (that really was a stupid idea). I was rained on twice as I searched for a way up to the top. Tired from all the walking and climbing, I even considered being satisfied with the views I'd been able to enjoy and making my way back down, but several bouts of self-pep-talking convinced me that I hadn't come all that way just to turn around halfway up the mountain. Finally, I found a spot where many people were climbing up to the top. It was rocky and uneven; there was no path and certainly no railing to help me up, but I was determined to get to the top, so I followed several other groups and we all began to climb together. A few more breaks were required, but, finally, I was standing at the very top, with a stone marker nearby to reassure me that, yes, I had really made it. Relieved, elated, and probably rather high on endorphins, I asked one of the people who I had been following on the climb up if he would take my picture, happily handing over my prized DSLR for the sake of immortalizing this moment.
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| Victory is mine! Sucks to your ass-mar! |
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| Look carefully and you'll see the castle! |
Despite the fact that I was hailed on twice in the few minutes I was up there (really, don't let that sun fool you), the view from the top was everything I hoped it would be. Here, again, just like in the Highlands a couple of days earlier, was the gorgeous deep green of Scotland, this time dotted with buildings, ranging from office buildings to a castle. There were other mountains as well, and a quick glance down revealed people who looked like ants, as well as thick blankets of the beautiful yellow gorse for which Scotland is renowned. I was so excited to finally be up on top of Arthur's Seat that I called my mother for yet another "Guess where I am right now?" despite the fierce winds buffeting me from every angle. The signal was choppy and the call dropped several times in the face of the strange location and wild winds, but I think my point eventually got across the thousands of miles separating us. Once again, I was struck by just how far away I was from home, and how at home I felt despite that distance. There was something wonderful about the UK that just made me feel welcome and comfortable wherever I went. Maybe it was the English signs, the accents, or that soothing Scottish green.
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| That gorgeous gorse... |
After spending a little while longer resting at the top, I discovered a much easier way down, which involved no rock-climbing and would take me right down to a paved road. I considered it my reward for persevering and fighting my way up, and gladly descended the steep incline, leaving the peak behind me. I was more grateful than ever for the fact that I had made the climb without injuring or completely exhausting myself when an emergency vehicle went screaming up the hill at my side, aiming for a fallen climber who hadn't even made it to the top. As I walked down the winding road to get back to the bottom of the hill and back to my hotel, I paused momentarily on a bench to write a celebratory entry in my journal. I had wanted to write from the peak, but it had simply been too windy to manage, so I had to settle for a slightly lower spot.
Very tired, but pleased with my success, I decided that mountain-climbing was enough of an activity for one day and popped over to the local Tesco, which was only a ten-minute walk or so away from my hotel. For the first time in more than a week, I was able to indulge in a hot meal, because of the microwaves that the hotel Pantry provided. I decided to make it as much of a traditional Scottish supper as I could manage while making sure that I only ate clearly labelled foods, and here is what I ended up with that evening...
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Haggis, tatties, and neeps (haggis, potatoes, and swede, a yellow turnip),
an Irn-Bru (addicted already), and some Scottish shortbread, enjoyed in my hotel room |
It might not have been a high-class meal, or even real pub food, but it was plenty satisfying for a hungry, allergy-afflicted traveller who hadn't tasted a hot meal in so long! I spent the rest of the evening happily watching television (
NCIS: Los Angeles had become a favourite by then) and eating snacks from Tesco in my big, comfy bed--not at all a bad way to finish off a tiring day.
Continue to Day 11
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