After a week of the past, I'm finally starting to update this site with current events and happenings in my life. This morning I trekked up, despite the chilly and overcast weather, to Arthur's Seat, the 800+ ft. tall peak standing at the edge of Holyrood Park. It was a splendidly good time, with the paths being half-existent and the views, despite the clouds, simply stunning.
I had barely reached the base of the Seat when I was sidetracked by the ruins of St. Anthony's Chapel, which stood on a ledge 100 ft or so off the ground. Only part of one side was remaining, but you could easily imagine the breathtaking view that the Chapel must have commanded in the 15th century when most of Edinburgh didn't exist and the eye, on a clear day, could see rolling green hills and small lakes multiplying for miles.
From that point, I could look down at the small lake that was home to dozens of ginormous geese, which I have previously seen hopping on the roofs of parked cars and strutting around. I mean, dear lord, I felt obliged to mouth to myself, "do the geese have large talons?" Because those things, even from a distance, were certainly not as innocent-looking as their American counterparts.
Up until I actually started climbing up the hills leading to the Seat I had been listening to the sheer genius of "Mitch All Together," the second album from comedy genius Mitch Hedberg. This really is a massive digression, but if you havent heard this guy do stand-up, you haven't heard shit (well, you've quite possibly heard a lot of shit, or shite as we say here, but that's beside the point).
From St. Anthony's I began the gradual climb to the top--all the way I could see my destination and the people crawling along the ridge like so many oddly-shaped ants with pets (i'm stretching here, i know). Along the way I often found myself watching my feet so as to avoid any embarrassing spills in the mud or on the rocks that composed parts of the paths. And by paths I often mean places where the grass was trampled down. The joyous part of trekking around Scottish landmarks is that the rules regarding people, at least for the present, are greatly relaxed in comparison to the US's general policies of "STAY ON THE PATH, MOTHERFUCKER!" So the options here are more relaxed, kind of like the Scot's in general: "Oh I say, good chap, here is a nice concrete path. But indeed, if you prefer the road less-traveled, take it by all means! What is that, you want to trample on some nice roses to create your own path? Why, that's simply splendid!"
It took me quite awhile to get to the top, because I stopped to take pictures of every amazing view (i even tried doing a timed photo of myself at St. Anthony's Chapel--you can see how that turned out when i post it. Needless to say, I've never looked so small, off-center, and crooked.
The arrival at the top was rather anticlimactic, seeing as the hike is not designed to kill you, maim you, or eat your first child. It is in general a family-friendly hill/mountain/thingy with a cool name. Arthur's Seat. it rolls off the tongue like "Merlin's Stool" or "Guinevere's Bosom". But the view, oh la la. I felt like an omnipotent being with cataracts, as everything was made cloudy by the overcast weather. But despite the chill of the morning, I stood there and just stared. Eventually I asked two people behind me to take a picture, so my mommy could have a nice picture of her son on a not-so-tall peak. As these sort of requests often do, this one led to a whole series of introductions to these two and their friends, all students from Saginaw Valley College in Michigan who were studying in England for the semester. After a nice chat where one of them used me to prove his point that I don't pronounce my home state "Orygun," I invited them all to join me and all the hundreds of people who pack into The Globe, the local sports pub, for the Super Bowl, that night at 11:30 pm, when we finally had kickoff.
On the way back down, I decided to take the "treacherous" shorter route, which involved picking your way along broken rocks for 20 mins, only to find that path left me on the wrong side of the Seat. All that I could do was circle the Seat again on the "safe" trail that was more like a small road than anything else. So I popped on the soothing words of Mitch Hedberg again and walked till my feet hated me. But the adventure in itself was enjoyable, and the views were amazing. I couldnt help, in my pop culture-addled brain, of thinking about the title of a CD put out by the pop-jazz group The Bad Plus, "These Are The Vistas." They certainly were up there on top of Arthur's Seat.
Cheers!
I had barely reached the base of the Seat when I was sidetracked by the ruins of St. Anthony's Chapel, which stood on a ledge 100 ft or so off the ground. Only part of one side was remaining, but you could easily imagine the breathtaking view that the Chapel must have commanded in the 15th century when most of Edinburgh didn't exist and the eye, on a clear day, could see rolling green hills and small lakes multiplying for miles.
From that point, I could look down at the small lake that was home to dozens of ginormous geese, which I have previously seen hopping on the roofs of parked cars and strutting around. I mean, dear lord, I felt obliged to mouth to myself, "do the geese have large talons?" Because those things, even from a distance, were certainly not as innocent-looking as their American counterparts.
Up until I actually started climbing up the hills leading to the Seat I had been listening to the sheer genius of "Mitch All Together," the second album from comedy genius Mitch Hedberg. This really is a massive digression, but if you havent heard this guy do stand-up, you haven't heard shit (well, you've quite possibly heard a lot of shit, or shite as we say here, but that's beside the point).
From St. Anthony's I began the gradual climb to the top--all the way I could see my destination and the people crawling along the ridge like so many oddly-shaped ants with pets (i'm stretching here, i know). Along the way I often found myself watching my feet so as to avoid any embarrassing spills in the mud or on the rocks that composed parts of the paths. And by paths I often mean places where the grass was trampled down. The joyous part of trekking around Scottish landmarks is that the rules regarding people, at least for the present, are greatly relaxed in comparison to the US's general policies of "STAY ON THE PATH, MOTHERFUCKER!" So the options here are more relaxed, kind of like the Scot's in general: "Oh I say, good chap, here is a nice concrete path. But indeed, if you prefer the road less-traveled, take it by all means! What is that, you want to trample on some nice roses to create your own path? Why, that's simply splendid!"
It took me quite awhile to get to the top, because I stopped to take pictures of every amazing view (i even tried doing a timed photo of myself at St. Anthony's Chapel--you can see how that turned out when i post it. Needless to say, I've never looked so small, off-center, and crooked.
The arrival at the top was rather anticlimactic, seeing as the hike is not designed to kill you, maim you, or eat your first child. It is in general a family-friendly hill/mountain/thingy with a cool name. Arthur's Seat. it rolls off the tongue like "Merlin's Stool" or "Guinevere's Bosom". But the view, oh la la. I felt like an omnipotent being with cataracts, as everything was made cloudy by the overcast weather. But despite the chill of the morning, I stood there and just stared. Eventually I asked two people behind me to take a picture, so my mommy could have a nice picture of her son on a not-so-tall peak. As these sort of requests often do, this one led to a whole series of introductions to these two and their friends, all students from Saginaw Valley College in Michigan who were studying in England for the semester. After a nice chat where one of them used me to prove his point that I don't pronounce my home state "Orygun," I invited them all to join me and all the hundreds of people who pack into The Globe, the local sports pub, for the Super Bowl, that night at 11:30 pm, when we finally had kickoff.
On the way back down, I decided to take the "treacherous" shorter route, which involved picking your way along broken rocks for 20 mins, only to find that path left me on the wrong side of the Seat. All that I could do was circle the Seat again on the "safe" trail that was more like a small road than anything else. So I popped on the soothing words of Mitch Hedberg again and walked till my feet hated me. But the adventure in itself was enjoyable, and the views were amazing. I couldnt help, in my pop culture-addled brain, of thinking about the title of a CD put out by the pop-jazz group The Bad Plus, "These Are The Vistas." They certainly were up there on top of Arthur's Seat.
Cheers!
posted by The Oracles @ 10:11 AM
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