Sunday at the sea front

I was going to spend this Sunday working, honestly. I got up reasonably early, had breakfast while watching politics, made myself a tea, sat down in front of a blank wall while the sunshine was streaming in through the windows... There was no wind, even... Damn...

The extent of excitement I was looking forward to - weird-shaped tea stains.

The street outside my flat, with sunshine streaming in.

I lasted three hours, not so bad, considering it was the first proper day of sunshine in which I could actually go outside and enjoy myself. So, I did. There will always be rainy, windy days for working - which is why I could never live in a 'proper' climate, no work would ever, ever get done. To make myself like I have done something useful with the day, I went to town to do some weekly shopping firsts. The streets were sunny and full of people who, in spite of the chilly air, were desperate to pretend it was already summer.

Edinburgh pretending to be 1000 miles further South.

An amazing display of daffodils on Castle Hill.

Over the Forth, a strange mist was brewing as if it were a steaming cauldron; you could nearly imagine the bay has become a mountain valley, and the cloud was just hanging in there as they do in the Alps. I am sure there is a perfectly good scientific explanation, especially as later in the afternoon the cloud had lifted and the air was clear.

I made my way to the sea slowly, via a cafe, a teapot and an hour's reading in the sun, a near-forgotten pleasure. The tea was lovely and amber, the sun warm and pleasant, and the air had an Alpine bite to keep me on my toes. The moment the shade had finished swallowing my table, I got up and went - still much too cold for that.

Tea moments.

To get to the sea, I took a bus to West Granton, the westernmost harbour in Edinburgh. Wiki tells me the area used to be the most deprived in the city, and, indeed, gentrification aside, it had the desolate industrial feel that reminds me so much of Polish cities - rusting steel, inhumanly proportioned buildings, long straight streets with mind-numbing concrete walls running along them, freezing in winter, choking hot in the summer, always completely soul-less. But I knew that West Granton was where the promenade running to Cramond started. In fact, the beginning of it bizzarely fitted the industrial air of Granton - a massive lawn, an artificial lake, a few swans and an metal structure, all made surreally crisp in the cold air and brilliant light.

West Granton, start of the seafront promenade.

I was not the only person to head for the sea today; there were lots of people around, especially parents letting their young ones run around on the mind-bogglingly huge lawns which stretched along the sea front. The panorama was enormous and boundless.

The enormous lawns along the shore.

It was not unifromly nice and friendly - perhaps not the place to hang around in at night.

This walk was quite refreshing really, and made me feel more as if I were in London than in Edinburgh. For the first time, I was in a place where all classess and all ethnicities were, if not mingling, than at least having fun alongside one another. Everyone was there: Polish families, yuppie runners, teenage mums, tweed-wearing bird-gazers, young and old, tourists and locals. It did not feel like a community, it felt, in fact, tense, but at least they were all there, in the same space, perhaps aided by how much space there actually was.

The young.

The fit.

The thirsty (Tea Room, so quaint!)

The foreign.

The happiest.

I was headed for Cramond island; I've had this idea for a long time that, at low tide, I will pursue birds with my new zoom lense around the island. I had it in my mind that the place will be crawling with unique bird-life; I was wrong, but I still had an adventure.

The way to get to the island is over a concrete walkway, which becomes uncovered as the tide recedes. There were more people at it than I imagined, which is perhaps why my attempts at bird-stalking were so unsuccessful ( I have to blame someone).

Not too cold for some!

The walkway, as seen from the island.

I waked around the rocky, Northern side of the island first, pursuing eider ducks and admiring the Forth bridges in the distance.

A gang of eider duck males.

Don't they look just like art-nouveu ergonomic tea pots?Forth Rail Bridge seen from the island.

The leafy (or soon-to-be-leafy) inside of the island.

Strange bunkers, looking quite modern, and facing the Firth.

I did catch a sight of a few oystercatchers, and one lonely sandpiper, but that was it. Every time I attempted to get close enough for a good shot, negotiating my way in knee-deep mud with a devotion of the truly stupid, the moment I got within twenty metres the birds would take off with an alarm call which in the end sounded like mocking laughter in my ears.

Getting stuck.

The elusive, yet extremely common oystercatchers.

A lonely sandpiper.

Caked.

After nearly an hour of slow progress I was so tired I had to give up; I was soaked to the knees, my muscles were aching, and it finally dawned on me that if I stepped into quicksand there would be no-one around to hear my calls; not to mention that, having proved thus my endless stupidity, I would be too embarassed to call out anyway. I went home feeling tired and defeated, but now that I look back at it the day was quite an adventure.

The swampy floor of the Firth of Forth at low tide, covered in mussels and sea-weed.