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.

Birthday at the sea

For my birthday I, Skinnytoes and my Polish-toed friends went to Dunbar. I guess there are more exciting places around Edinburgh, but this one a) is near (20 min by train) and b) is at the sea. We arrived at lunchtime, and I herded the cats towards the fish and chips shop I could smell all the way from the station – fish and chips by the sea being an absolute must.

Cute and quaint Dunbar High Str.

The shop was quaint and old fashioned, split in two sections – the takeaway and the café – with a small metal gate with a ‘do not enter’ sign in between the two areas. We took the sign seriously and kept going outside the café and in again through the other door when we wanted to get a better look at the menu, sit down, and go to the bathroom. It must have look like a scene from Benny Hill. In the end cod and chips were purchased and we walked to the harbour to munch and feed seagulls, which were vicious.

Dunbar harbor (courtesy of Polishtoes).

I have never seen a North Sea-facing harbour before. It was high walled against the storms, and full of tiny fishing boats, some hardly bigger than a Mini Cooper. It was hard to believe anyone would want to venture out into the sea on those, especially considering the heavy swell and the sharp-toothed rocks along the shore. And yet later on we saw one of those toy boats brave the waves – we could hardly see it at times, it was so small the tide hid it from our view – approach one of the rocks, plant lobster cages and speed back to the harbour again, all in ten minutes or so. The only apparently stationary thing on the boat was the skipper, who was managing to keep perfectly vertical even when the tiny boat danced underneath him like it was made of cork.

At the beach (courtesy of Polishtoes).

We spent quite a long time observing the tide coming into one of the bays. Collecting mussels and seaweed, we watched the sea inch in slowly, and then quicker, until my friends got soaked by a sneaky wave and we decided to move on. A few hours later, the beach was all swallowed up, and the tide was boiling between the rocks.

The shore (courtesy of Polishtoes).

There were lots of birds I have only rarely or never seen before, and I wished I’d taken binoculars and my bird book. We certainly spotted eider ducks popping happily up and down further away from the shore, out of the reach of the breaking waves. I love their ergonomic design and mad colouring of the males, they look like art-nouveau teapots.

Wind-chilled, we headed back to town for a tea, but there still was time before our return train, and the sea was calling. With Skinnytoes we spent a good half hour watching the waves crash violently against the concrete shore in town. It was better then fireworks! Skinnytoes managed to snap this amazing photograph of the wave just crashing in as I try and escape being soaked, and scream out in glee.

Skinnytoes' amazing shot of the incoming wave.

Some of the houses were right at the sea front, completely exposed to the water and wind, the waves licking their walls and crashing against the windows. Living in such a house must feel like being on a ship, I can’t imagine how they sleep – I would be terrified that at any moment my house will be uprooted and washed away into the depths. Perhaps they have interesting dreams.

The birthday day culminated in a massive bottle of Prosecco, and a chocolate cake – which I put my face into. Aaaah, the satisfaction.