Fear of heights and love of the sea

For my friend's sake, I did it again, or half-did it rather; I climbed (or half-climbed) Arthur's Seat. At least this time the visibility was very good, and, to make it more interesting, instead of following the well-trodden footpath we scrambled up a steep slope. I was not impressed with how much rubbish I came across on the way up; but rubbish is material for another entry. The point is, we succeeded in making our way up to the top of the smaller of the two peaks, the one that looks like an iceberg in volcanic rock. My heart fluttered as my friend insisted on having a smoke with her feet dangling over a two hundred metre drop. I bravely sat there with her for a few minutes, wind elbowing me towards the edge, and then I remembered a description of the fear of heights I read once – it's not about being afraid of falling, but about being afraid that you're going to jump. Which I was contemplating in a detached, 'I wonder if I could fly' kind of way. So I backed away from the edge, took a few photos, and we started coming down, and the strong wind was making our eyes water.

Arthur's Seat in its cloudy glory.

The view of Edinburgh from over the edge.

Even though it was quite late in the day by then, we boarded the 41 bus to go to Cramond. I've been wanting to go there since I found out there is an island there you can go to when the tide is low, and it is quite cute too, apparently. We chose a bad time, and the bus took ages, picking up uniformed school kids from public schools and then dropping them off at various suburban locations. We did make it finally though, and it was worth it. The smell of the sea was overpowering, and the tide was just coming in. There were lots of birds foraging in the seaweeds, calling and flying low over the water. The beach is a nice spot, and the walkway to the island looked very inviting. Unfortunately we had missed the low tide, so we contented ourselves with watching it eat up the walkway greedily. I've not seen a tide move in so fast before, bubbling like a stream between the rocks.

Sunset over Firth of Forth as seen from Cramond.

It was getting darker, so we called at the friendly-looking pub in the village. To our horror, it turned out to be a Sam Smith pub though, serving electrically pumped mediocre beer which tasted of nothing and left no impression whatsoever. I was not aware of the existence of those pubs, so Linguatoes explained it all to me. They are just like Whetherspoons, but more cunning as they do not advertise their corporate identity on the door and fool you into believing you're entering a nice, homely pub. They are cheap, too, and only carry the approved range of beers and spirits. Perhaps I've become spoilt in Edinburgh, but the beer was truly awful and I left my pint unfinished.