Living Life on the Edge [Edinburgh, Scotland]

How a weekend getaway turned into a lifetime experience.

By: Gloria Atanmo

When I booked this trip to Scotland, I didn't know what to expect. Sure I’d run into a couple men in skirts kilts and bagpipes; but I had no idea exactly what type of treat I was in for. Besides being forewarned about their "indecipherable accents", I had to prepare myself and learn some key words from the Scottish language. So I asked my friend Josh (who had gone there the week prior), what the percentage was of Scottish people who spoke English. He gives me the blankest stare and says “About 100%”. Oh ignorance, how cute it can be sometimes. Surely I wasn’t the only ill-advised, misinformed, and culturally-challenged soul out there. Leave it to Google to restore some faith in myself and my shared ignorance :)

So as I’m perusing Princes street, I start hearing scattered chants.  Camera in hand, I walk down the hill to the blue sea of Scottish flags and I’m completely floored by what I see. The people, the skirts kilts, the flags, the passion -- all so empowering! I stayed for a couple hours listening to the speeches, making small talk with the locals, and taking in the fact that I am experiencing history as it’s being made. Who knows what will come of this in the future, I just know I picked a good weekend to visit!

Now, living in a place that's constantly compared to the castle of Hogwarts, I thought I’d drop into the Elephant House cafe, which was the very place J.K. Rowling wrote her first couple Harry Potter novels -- getting inspiration from looking out the window towards Edinburgh Castle. How cool is that? It’s a very cute and quaint coffee shop and I'm glad I spent all of 1.5 hours trying to track down this overpriced notorious place. Worth it!

After I’m all rallied out, I decide to go ahead and make that visit to see Arthur -- or his seat, rather. For those that don’t know, Arthur's Seat is a mountain that was once a volcano, and is currently the highest point of Edinburgh, Scotland. A view to die for (almost literally), as it overlooks the entire city and neighboring seas, on the oh-so-very steep climb to the top. The hour-long hike it takes to get there is absolutely NO joke. And when I titled this Living Life on the Edge, you will soon see why.

Sidenote: I have been deathly afraid of heights for as long as I can remember. So I didn’t have any idea how steep the climb would be, nor how close to the edge I would be for a long, long stretch. I had a large tote back on me, less-than-able boots, and my bulky Canon SLR camera to capture the moments along the way. What I thought would be a cute, little stroll through the park mountain hike wasn't at all what I ended up experiencing...

It wasn’t until I got about a third of the way up there (on the steepest stretch) that I started to panic. That vulnerability of being alone while facing your biggest fear, on a mountain, and two wrong steps to my right from experiencing my last moments on earth... it all kind of hit me at once. Mind you, there was still subsiding mud and residue from the rain the prior days, and I had already slipped a few times on the lower steps. What looked like an amazing venture turned into a death trap. There was nobody out in front of me for a few hundred yards, and if there was anybody behind me, they were nowhere in sight either. I was alone. I was exhausted. I was falling into a deep and dark mental hole of fear and doubt, while my emotions are running rampant at this point. The same emotions I had been trying to bottle up for the past month come rushing through my eyes in their salt-water form.

Most people don't know this, but about a week before I departed for Harlaxton in August, my father passed away in a diabetic coma. But during the time, I had to be strong for my mother as she was in the most pain and I knew my emotions wouldn’t help the situation. So I held it in. I stomached the pain. For her. And Harlaxton served as a great way to occupy my mind ever since. But on this day that I climbed Arthur’s Seat, was the same day as my Dad’s Wake-Keeping ceremony back in the states. I know I should’ve been there. All of a sudden, I feel this big hole inside. I missed my family. And all the people who came to Arizona today to celebrate his life and mourn his death. And here I was -- alone. An emotional wreck. Ready to give up on a seamless hike up a mountain. 

Get it together, Glo! 

You didn't climb this far to let your fear and doubt take over -- you MUST continue! And I did. Not for me. For him. MY DAD. Thirty minutes later, I am feeling the victorious flows of energy throughout my body. I am again overwhelmed with emotions; this time a mix of joy and sorrow. I knew coming to Harlaxton wasn’t a mistake. What I didn’t know, was the personal growth and spiritual journeys I’d be encountering along the way. Not everyone gets a chance to experience a "mountain-top" kind of moment. And I am so thankful I did. It was the exact closure I needed and I hope he looked down and saw the message I made for him. What made it even more special was the connection to the internal mountain I've personally been trying to climb in life, and how I was able to live out the very thing I'm battling inside. The feeling is indescribable. 

After I'm done reflecting, I start making my way down, another thing I underestimated the difficulty of. Fast-forward a couple bad decisions later, and I’m straddled between two rocks on opposite sides (because the genius inside saw a small hole of opportunity in this). A very nice lady calls out to me, asking if I need help. Wondering how God answered my silent prayer so quickly, I respond and toss over my large carry-on bag that easily added 30 pounds to my one hundred and blah-blah pound self that I had been lugging around all morning. I’m able to catch my balance and steady myself from there.

We make small talk on the way down and I decide to just follow her because 1) she clearly knew what she was doing and probably had a better route to the ground and 2) I needed someone on stand-by to call the ambulance if I suddenly operated with two left feet again. I’m not sure what it is about traveling independently that I enjoy, but I would say a part of it is forcing myself to come outside of my comfort zone and experience things on my own. The familiarity with the U.S. is nice and all, but I love a good adventure. I’m getting a great vibe from Laura (life-saver from the mountain); she was super sweet and we continued to converse as she insisted on carrying my heavy bag all the way down with her. What a Godsend! She then invited me over for some home-cooked haggis (a traditional Scottish food I would’ve overpaid a restaurant to cook for me) anyway. YES!!! She was also hosting a foreign exchange student, Charlene from Beijing, who was with us on the climb down as well, so it was cool for two out-of-towners to experience a home-made Scottish meal together. Later on, she invited me to a pub with her and her friends that night to watch a local live band -- they were AMAZING! Not to mention she lived in a flat that was 5 minutes from my hostel! Seriously, who set this up behind the scenes. The friendliness I experienced with her was reflected on all of my other encounters with Scottish people. I love how warm and welcoming they are.

Words fail me when it comes to how much I've fallen in love with the European culture. My friends back home joke around that I better not mess around and end up staying here. And while the sentiment is funny, wouldn't it be something to see that come into fruition? Relying on my less than accurate sense of direction, locals, maps, and wi-fi pubs, is a bit more than just a thrill. It's living life on the edge! I’ve met so many amazing people in the last month from Australia, Poland, Italy, Brazil, Paris, Ireland, Scotland, and Spain. And their cultures, their accents, their lifestyles just fascinate me to the highest extent. I’m aware not everyone in their life will get to experience this -- which is why I take in every single moment and capture every single picture I can. Because it’s not about what I experience personally, it’s about what I can pass on to the next person to inspire them to travel, explore, or take a leap outside of their own comfort zone and do something remarkable in life.

Don’t forget to leave comments and feedback! I love hearing from you all and hope you're enjoying this exciting period of my life. Until next time...

Ciao!

Glo

If This is a Dream... Don't Wake Me Up!

Life on the other side of the pond. 

You know those dreams you have that are so real, you usually end up on the floor of your bedroom? You know, when you're in this mystical land riding your bike and all of a sudden a tree jumps in your path (something like that) and you're swerving out of control, only to in actuality, make a jerking move towards the floor of your bed? No? Yeah, me either. At any rate, if all this has been a dream, don't you DARE wake me up! There's really no simple way to definitively describe what an impact Harlaxton has had on me so far.

Home, Sweet Home :)

Everyday feels like a Friday here, because you never know what adventure awaits you. Not a day goes by that I don't stop in a hall, or look outside a window and think to myself "Wow, this is MY life right now." I REALLY live here!!! So bare with me as I attempt to walk you through a few of the most memorable moments from the last couple weeks!

Let's first talk about how I've never had to wake up earlier than 9AM for, oh let's see, ALL of my college career so far! I have never taken an 8:30AM class, let alone it being the subject of History, as I can't even name dates of anything past last year. And for those that don't know, there is a 6-credit British Studies course that's mandated for all students here. And surprise, surprise, it starts at 8:30AM. Reality check #1. Not to mention, I can't miss my beloved breakfast! So you have to tack on another hour earlier, so I can wake up in time to look somewhat presentable in this beloved facility of grounds I'm far from worthy to walk on. To the right, is an idea of the many alarms I have to set just to get myself up in the morning and ready to function on a day-to-day basis. 

The Conservatory

Speaking of class, you have to check out my favorite rooms in the manor. The Conservatory is by far the most relaxing place to be. You have an amazing view that overlooks the backyard garden and can catch the nice breeze through the openings while still having an indoor feel.

The Gold Room

The Gold Room to the right is where my Contemporary Leadership seminar is held with Professor Dan Harris. Between lectures, I often find myself gaping at the ceiling, hunting down the many intricate details of the artwork and inner architecture. I mean, the chandelier alone is enough to keep a toddler entertained for a couple hours. I'm sitting in a room fit for a king, worth more than Justin Bieber my life's savings will ever accumulate. Remember, I still kinda feel like I'm dreaming.

Now the picture on the left are my new friends Chelsea and Sara doing their best impersonation of a typical "American Tourist". We joked about how easy we are to spot as we carry these life-sized maps with us everywhere, staring at them, trying to interpret the foreign language of tubes and routes. In the middle picture, that's us having dinner at a cute and quaint restaurant off High Street Kensington called BALANS. And even though we were aware that in Europe, service charges are already added to our bills negating the need for gratuity, we thought it'd be nice to tip anyway since our waiter was so fun and accommodating. In the center, we included an American penny for them to either throw away given its uselessness, or cherish forever with the memories of those awesome Americans that came by -- probably the latter.

Oh and here I go again on the left; doing my best statue personification of the 2012 London Olympic Games Mascot. I could spend a good 30 minutes arguing the combination of animals this creature probably represents, but I don't want you to be taken back by my vast knowledge in zoology. So I'll spare you. And of course, one can't simply go to London without taking multiple pictures with the classic RED TELEPHONE BOOTH! I picked this up in Ways To Spot An American 101 ;-). Also, whatever Einstein-decendent decided on these helpful "Look Right" and "Look Left" street signs, you have saved more lives than you know! Everytime I crossed the street, I found myself looking the wrong direction, since their roads are the complete opposite of the U.S. So I started making it a habit to either look both ways, double-check the ground, or get behind a local and follow their lead. Needless to say, I'm alive thanks to those 3 strategies of foreign pedestrian survival. Holla!

Speaking of locals, man are they a pleasant bunch of people! Even as I'm roaming the streets, in my own little world, dazing at the breath-taking architecture, I'm getting honks, waves, a thumbs up, and all types of friendly gestures from random drivers and cars. As creepy as that may sound, it was about 13:00 in the afternoon, which is 7 hours earlier than the prime creeping hours (please do take note and commend my use of a 24 hour clock as the transition has been rough). I don't even remember how many times I stopped a local to make sure I was going the right way, or ask about a local attraction, and they completely dropped what they're doing, answered my question, offered more advice, and then engaged in some small talk. Who does that? Brits apparently! That type of hospitality is a rarity these days; once again restoring my fluctuating hope for humanity. And then I found it hilarious how some pointed out that I had such a strong accent. I thought to myself "actually YOU, SIR, are the one with the accent!" Fascinating how intrigued some people were with the "American dialect", and it was a mutual perspective as I can't get myself to call french fries (CHIPS) to save my life. Despite my mental lapses, I do know that whatever they do to their potatoes to make their fries chips come out so amazing, I. Am. Hooked! YUM.

Another highlight from my weekend in London was getting a chance to attend a Paralympic Event at the North Greenwich Arena -- something I will proudly share with my kids (assuming I don't go the 70 cats route). When you think about a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, it's so surreal until you're actually there. I was so inspired by all the athletes, not only physically, but mentally as well. It takes a certain type of person to pick up a pen and write a new chapter of their life, despite pages being torn or the cover of their book being destroyed (catch my drift here). These athletes didn't let their circumstances define their greatness. I left completely amazed and with a greater appreciation for the Paralympic Games. Now for the sake of your eyes and my fingers (mostly my fingers), we shall come to an end... for now at least. Thanks for reading, be sure to leave some comments so I can connect better with you all! I look forward to sharing more and I can't wait to continue this journey of non-stop excitement, thrill, and adventure. The picture below is pretty self-explanatory and now that I think about it -- you can go ahead and wake me up, because at this point, my reality is better than my dreams anyway ;-)

Cheers!

Glo