The American Who Went Up A Hill And Fell Down A Mountain

We are busting up chronology here in a big way - today's post is about Edinburgh and I've STILL not written about Yorkshire. Or afternoon tea! Or other things! But as I eat my porridge I figured I'd share a TALE. After the jump!

Well, ok, sometimes I DO take selfies. I contain multitudes.

Some days you go to a park to climb to the peak, to Arthur's Seat, but you decide to go up a set of makeshift stairs that aren't on the map. As you climb the stairs give way to a makeshift path, and then the path gives way to rocks and suddenly you realize you took The Difficult Route as you climb hand over fist, scrabbling for footholds as your trip goes vertical. You become increasingly aware of how steep the drop is and how far the fall from here would be. You mutter to yourself "this is a mountain, I don't care if it's technically a mountain or not, it's a MOUNTAIN." (Later you'll look it up and it IS a mountain, chump!) After a while you're only climbing because looking down to retrace your steps is a bit too dizzying. You keep going up because SOMEbody has been here before, and so even though you can't see where this route rejoins the main path, you trust that it will.

You reach the main path just as it opens up onto a plateau one climb short of the peak. The wind buffets you and you think "is this what wuthering means? I think it's something to do with this." It's strong enough to push you off your feet, to blow your skin back like a dog with its head out the window on the highway. You think about not doing that last climb but you've come this far. You could be content with this - you WOULD, but you might as well look.

The last climb is wild. Not as steep as the vertical climb, but with wind that feels like how it looks when people are on the wings of airplanes in The Movies. You reach the top and it's slightly terrifying and slightly terrific. You remind yourself that this is worth it while simultaneously cursing yourself for NEVER REMEMBERING that you have a fear of heights.

You sit at the top, bracing yourself on a rock against the wind. Edinburgh is all around you. The sea is just over there. The wind is howling but the sun is shining. For a minute, you're just there. Nothing in your head. Totally still. A part of the landscape. You feel connected to something ancient and powerful.

And then, on the way back down, you try to follow the map provided and you fall head over heels. TWICE.

THIS IS NOT A METAPHOR BUT IT'S PROBABLY VERY REVEALING OF SOMETHING