The tiny place and the great sea, or St Andrews.

St Andrews, or rather, its sea.

When my dad visited me in Scotland, he was amazed how detailed the weather forecast was, how every little cloud was religiously delineated through its various transformations and tracked until it dissipated. Thanks to this British obsession with cloud spotting I was confident that while Edinburgh will be soaking with rain, 50km further North will be just fine. So me and Chattytoes went to St Andrews.

The horison disappears. On the lovers' rock, pairs of seagulls coo and peck one another.

It really had much less to show for itself then I expected; in fact, we had to go back to the High Street twice because I refused to acknowledge the town was actually that tiny. Later in the day we looked back at it from a distance, stretched along the coast, surrounded by hills, and it really is tiny. I expected something more alike to Cambridge, perhaps because of the University's reputation. So it was cute, but tiny, and had a wind-beated, desolate feel to it, possibly because the 7000 students who normally occupy it were all locked in the libraries writing their dissertations (one can hope).

St Andrews in the distance: an perspective from the East and from the North.

The most interesting part was the beach. It stretches for miles between the sea and the river, and the receding tide uncovers a perfect playing ground. Creatures large and small come to enjoy themselves, and the beach becomes many things.

Seagull spa.

Heron hunting ground.

Racing field.

We were content just walking, and taking note. I was jealous of the people with the great big kites though - I was not convinced about the tricycles and skateboards, but I too would love to be lifted off my feet and dragged along the beach by the sheer force of the wind.

Pleasures of the sea: the air, the sun, and the fried fish.