Image

Sunset to Sunrise, Nothing Changes on the Way to Crow Hill, but Pretty Soon, Everything’s Different

I surface here on the blog once in the proverbial great while, after some jaunt to faraway lands where I share giant photos and wax rhapsodic about vistas, views, and visits. Back to Scotland for the first time since 2016, Edinburgh has only grown on me as a place I hope to be: lovely fresh grass scents, cozy bookshops, cheerful profanity in rolling, barely understandable brogues. 5 days of rain for a 7 day trip, the sun comes out on the last full morning, and I hoof it through brick paver streets, wheel my way around the King’s beloved Holyrood Palace, and up the trail on Arthur’s Seat to a glorious sunrise. As I tell my dwindled audience or whomever happens upon my blogposts: find your way there once in your life for a blissful bout of happiness.

Feel The Milky Breath Of The Glacial Beast Stir Your Lactose Intolerance

So this is where it ends. The minibus pulls to an open field of straw yellow encroaching upon shores strewn with ancient lava, and Snaefellsjokull volcano and glacier dominate the horizon.  The turistas all run down the paths at it like some great white Pied Piper, as if they had a shot at reaching its foothills in the 35 minutes we were given. 

They do not reach it.  

I shrug, pull the camera out, make peace with the fact that there are too many garishly bright jacketed foreigners in the field of view.  I take the picture.  Snaefellsjokull is a Mt Shasta wannabe.