St. Andrews Chronicles: Lost, Found, and Curry Dreams
A town steeped in history, with its old stone architecture, renowned university, and that ever-so-distinct aroma of seafood wafting through the air. That’s St Andrews for you.
So, before I even set foot in Edinburgh, I knew that at least a day trip to this charming coastal gem was a must. Therefore on the third day of my Scottish holiday, I hopped on a train from Edinburgh, this time with no linguistic misunderstandings and no baffled Japanese tourists (see my Windermere post).
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As I arrived, I was greeted by a lively atmosphere, a bustling blend of students, locals, and fellow tourists. The town's stone architecture whispered tales of centuries past, and I couldn't help but imagine the scholars and philosophers who had roamed these very streets. Of course, I didn't consult a map - maps are for the uninspired - I relied on my sense of orientation, which promptly led me to get wonderfully lost.
Wandering the labyrinthine lanes, I stumbled upon the famous University of St. Andrews. To my surprise, the various departments weren't tucked away in a sprawling, soulless campus. Instead, they resided in an array of magnificent old stone houses, each with its own unique charm. It was as if the university buildings had a competition to see which one could appear more Hogwarts-esque, complete with enchanted gargoyles and secret passages to the library (presumably).
Walking through the campus, I couldn't help but feel a newfound appreciation for the importance of the right environment in nurturing a good education. Who needs plain concrete and fluorescent lights when you can study in what appears to be a castle's annex? It was as if the students were on a never-ending quest for knowledge, with the library as their ultimate treasure chest, guarded by the specter of overdue fines. I even brought up my sense of appreciation during a brief chat with a charming lady. While browsing a small shop filled with golf memorabilia, I struck up a conversation with the owner who seemed to know the town's secrets better than anyone. I remarked on how lovely it must be for students to study in such an environment, surrounded by history and picturesque views. – after all, the golf course was nearby, along the sea shore - To this, she replied with a knowing twinkle in her eye, "Oh yes, and to party." It was as if she'd seen generations of students unleash their inner revelers, turning the hallowed halls of academia into epicenters of celebration. No doubt, the ghosts of philosophers past approved, albeit with a discreet ghostly applause. But I digress.
I was a tourist on a mission, albeit a small, non-perilous one: to experience the essence of St. Andrews. And what better way to do that than by sampling the local brews and delicacies? - there he is again, the filthy bastard, one my add - Anyway, first stop, the St. Andrews Brewing Company's pub, where I sampled their craft ales and indulged in some hearty pub grub, expertly crafted to rival even the most elaborate high tea.
Now, allow me to take a moment to regale you with a tale of culinary delight. I ventured to one of the finer restaurants (The Tailend), driven by the promise of local seafood. Friends, I have seen the light, and it shone through a plate of sea food curry. Yes, you heard me right—seafood curry! Imagine plump prawns, tender mussels, and flaky fish, all luxuriating in a fragrant sea of spices. It was an experience that sent my taste buds on an epic journey, to say the least. I wouldn't be surprised if the dish had its own fan club and secret handshake. As I savored each bite, I couldn't help but muse that whoever first decided to combine seafood and curry was a culinary genius. It was a dish so delicious it could inspire even the most stoic Scotsman to break into spontaneous highland fling, right there in the dining room. Guests and waitstaff be damned.
In between these gastronomic adventures, I squeezed in visits to the castle and a leisurely stroll along the legendary Old Course, where golf history has been etched with the finesse of a golfer sinking a birdie putt. I regret to admit that time wasn't on my side, and I merely glimpsed the Cathedral from afar - a distant tower peeking above the rooftops. It whispered promises of a return visit, complete with a chance to ask it the meaning of life, the universe, and the perfect golf swing. But let me briefly talk about the castle: it warrants more than just a few brief notes scaterred here and there. St. Andrew's Castle, that’s how they call it, and it's got more history than a dog's got fleas. Built back when folks still thought chainmail was fashionable and castles were the must-have accessory for every aspiring feudal lord, this stone giant has weathered sieges and Sunday picnics alike. Suffice to say it's seen its share of rumble-tumble. Even a bottle dungeon lurks beneath, where they stashed folks who probably wished they'd taken up knitting instead of crossing swords with the powers that be. If you're wandering about, mind your step (right-hand side as you look at the photo with the ruins below) – those old stones have more stories to tell than a gossip at a quilting bee. And the view of the restless North Sea? Well, it's enough to make a man contemplate life's great mysteries, like why golf balls have dimples and why anyone would want to wear a suit of armor in the Scottish rain.
As I bid farewell to the castle ruins, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of nostalgia. It was as if the ancient stones had shared their tales with me, and now it was time to move on. I resumed my stroll along the town's streets, a sense of contentment settling in. This time, I meandered through the wonderful little souvenir shops that lined the quaint lanes. To my surprise, the shops were nothing short of wonderful and amazing. They were far from the usual tourist traps one would expect, instead offering something unique. Each window provided a glimpse into the world of local craftsmanship; from handmade pottery to intricately woven textiles, it was a treasure trove of artistic wonders. I couldn't resist picking up a few items, knowing that they held a piece of St. Andrews' charm.
I then made my way to the bus station, knowing that in few minutes’ time I had to jump on, ready to go to the next leg of my Scottish trip: Anstruther, a small fishing village along the Fife Coastal Path. But that's a story for another time. As I boarded the bus, I looked back at St. Andrews one last time, knowing that its history, beauty, and, yes, seafood curry dreams, would stay with me until next time.
