Tiny pebbles slid out beneath my feet as my sneakers hammered into the rough terrain of the steep dirt path. My pulse pounded in my stinging ears as I roughly breathed in and out, puffs of air mingling with the chilling breeze of the morning air.
It had taken an hour of wandering the streets of Edinburgh at 5:00 a.m. just to find the damn park; we were four college girls without a smart phone or a GPS—we were completely out of our element. Now, the 4:15 alarm and the mile extra we had walked getting here was all going to be for nothing if I didn’t make it up to the top of this damn hill before the sun rose. I couldn’t hear the steps of the others around me; all I could hear was the sound of my own panting and the thoughts running through my head, what the hell was I thinking?
I am not a hiker. I had never hiked a mountain in my life. Arthur’s Seat is definitely more like a small hill, but to me it could have been the tallest mountain in all of the Scottish Highlands.I paused for a moment to catch my breath; just a few seconds, I told myself. The lights of the city below me twinkled in the dusk of the very early morning hours. I couldn’t see more than 100 yards in front of me in the milky fog that had settled over the higher terrain, but those lights penetrated right through the thin cloud. I felt as though I was standing upside down with the sky at my feet; the lights looked like stars twinkling beneath fog as their light worked to break through and illuminate the landscape below. It was like a very dark postcard, one I probably never would have picked up to send home. The vibrant landscapes drew me in more, but nevertheless it was beautiful. I watched my breath escape in little clouds that mingled with the chilling fog; it must have been 25 degrees but I had no idea because I couldn’t understand the conversion of the Celsius temperature that the weatherman had drowsily read off of the teleprompter on the news last night in my hotel room.
I turned and looked up the path, the hillside growing steeper before it disappeared into the darkness. My group was both ahead of and behind me still, and that made me feel a bit better about the lack of shape I was in at that moment. Early sunlight danced at the edges of the path going down the hill, back in the direction I had come from. It was tempting me—like a siren calling out to a sailor. It called to me to return back to the comfort of my hotel bed that my program providers had graciously provided us for the weekend; no danger of those hostel bed bugs—it was a rarity. Come on, Riley. Think of what a great story it will be. I clutched at the fur on the trim of my hood and braced myself against the chilly breeze as I forced my aching feet to keep climbing.
I had been watching the ground for so long so as not to roll an ankle that I didn’t notice the brightness continuing its advance from behind me. The sky had changed from a dark grey mass to a dull blue, and the lights of the buildings in Edinburgh were now faint against the sunlight that was advancing behind the mountains in the distance. I paused another moment to check my range to the edge of Arthur’s Seat—another ten minutes max; I could do this.It was a race against time to reach that peak before the sunlight splattered its blood-orange rays across the morning sky. After a few more stumbles and some not-anticipated rock climbing, I hoisted myself onto the flat surface of King Arthur’s chair. In that moment, the tip of the sun’s rays pierced through the light blue of the sky and flooded the city below with a beam of light. The Atlantic glistened to the left of the city, its colors matching those of the sky above.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw metal gleaming in the sunlight that was continuing to slowly reveal itself from behind the mountains. I scooted a bit on my bum over the cool rock to what I can only describe as a curved metal handle jutting out of the rock. And surrounding that metal were various locks of all colors and shapes. Some were rusting from years of weathering on the hill, and others looked as though they had recently been added. I picked up one of the rusted locks in my gloved hand and read the faded black marker on its back. “R.M. & K.M. 1987.” Who were R.M. and K.M.? Maybe they were backpackers travelling to as many parts of the world as they could; maybe they were newlyweds on their honeymoon in Scotland; maybe they were weathered hikers whose mission it was to climb to every peak they could (no matter how small); or maybe they were college students, like myself, smart enough to bring a lock to attach to this strange metal handle unnaturally emerging out of the rock. Whoever they were, they had been here; they had sat in this same seat and overlooked a beautiful ancient city which was filled with history. In that moment I felt so incredibly small. I was just one of a multitude of travelers who had climbed to this peak and sat on this same throne watching this very same sunset rise over the Scottish mountains.
Sitting there, another thought occurred to me. I may not ever know who K.M. or R.M. was, but whoever they were, they had stood here in this same place at one point in time because they had had the courage to travel. Even though I was only that one small person, I had found that same courage and was on a journey where I was seeing new corners of this immense world. I was following those footsteps of the backpackers, the honeymooners, the travelers, and the students who had all had this incredible chance to experience a blood-orange sun blind them as it rose over the greenest mountains I had ever seen. Legend has it that this peak in the middle of Scotland’s medieval city was once home to the mythical land where King Arthur ruled and Merlin cast his spells. Edinburgh Castle rose in the distance up the Royal Mile, and fairytale brick buildings lined the streets like little doll houses. I was in a place that held centuries of history and legends that couldn’t be found in the States. I looked over the miniscule city below me and felt larger than life as I saw the first of the many Camelot’s I would come across in my travels. I felt like King Arthur himself leading his Knights of the Round Table while sitting on his throne. No, maybe Camelot wasn’t actually a real place and yes, I know that I was looking at the city of Edinburgh and not a mythical city; but, it’s what Camelot represents to the world that could place its location anywhere on a map. It was every destination I had encountered and all those I plan to travel to. It is that sense of wonder one feels when they find a new destination in a foreign place because it is that novelty that holds all the magic. Camelot was a place fabled to have been filled of majestic beauty and a sense of the surreal. It wasn’t a place, though; Camelot was a feeling.
“Riley stay there I’m taking a picture!” my friend Kayla called out. I stood still, arms out and eyes close as I embraced the magic of Camelot.With numb toes and frostbitten cheeks, my group embarked back down the side of the hill. The sun had now risen fully above the majestic mountains, and warmth entered my aching bones as we trekked down the steep terrain. In the light I could see the beauty of the hill itself—the green grass which deceptively covered everywhere but that rocky path, and the birds who had come out of their slumber to catch breakfast in the crisp morning light. In the distance, Camelot began to wake as another day began. We arrived back on the Royal Mile in less than a half hour, ready for some much needed nourishment. That morning, I even decided to try the Scottish haggis. But, some things are better left in Camelot.
