High Places

We took a wrong turn out of Waverly Station and ended up at the base of Caldor Hill, and so, of course, we climbed. To the north, the cranes marked the harbor of Leith and the Forth of Frith. To the west, the North Sea, dressed in a pewter gown, shimmered, under a thinly veiled sun. St. Andrew's house and the towering Gothic spire of the Scott Monument rose to the south west. But Holyrood Park to the southeast held our gaze. The ramparts of Salisbury Crags encircled the higher point of Aurthur's Seat and lured us down from our perch.

This city is old, having been continuously inhabited since the 7th century, but the foundation of the city, extinct volcanoes that created the high fort or "Eidan", is older still. Three hundred and fifty million years ago, two volcanoes vented ash and lava onto the surrounding plain. Through time and the patient work of ice, the land wore away leaving the cooled and hardened cores. Mike and I were not the only ones drawn to these high places. Both hills hold evidence of pre-Roman forts, and a succession of Britons, Romans, Angles and Scots have held it ever since.

As a species we seek out high places, yearning for the commanding view that puts our position in perspective and offers safety through far-seeing. But throughout our travels, though neither lost nor attacked, we climbed. Sitting on the Salisbury Crag with the quilt of city life spread at our feet, we found both the majesty of the high seat, and, at once, felt our own insignificance in the magnitude of all that surrounded us. It was to become a theme of our travel, the quick ascent to higher ground. And upon gaining higher ground, seldom did we find ourselves alone.