Flutterby

I was a little late this year to see the Botanic Gardens in St Andrews at their full-on HEEEEERE'S SUMMER routine, but took the opportunity to have a wander around the late Summer splendour with my brother, at the same time he would have been visiting me in Holland. Had I, yannow, still been living there. :: sigh ::

Anyhoo, there was still plenty of colour to capture in memory and on film, even though many of the flowers were already past. Pff, who needs irises and orchids and early flowerererers when you can still have all this?:

Although, true to say, there were irises and orchids in the massive greenhouses, each of which are regulated for different climates: desert; mountain; tropical; and all varieties in between. This time around, though, there's an extra greenhouse: the butterfly house.

Climate controlled at a ‘balmy' 32° (ie, the temperature is bearable as long as you don't run around. Which is not something to be recommended when there are butterflies everywhere, for who knows what untold chaos we could inflict upon the future by an unfortunate Rhopalocera squishing...) you have to walk through an airlock to get to it, basically something to keep the cool out and the butterflies in, and then something happens. Something wonderful. 

You turn in to a child again!

I defy anyone entering a lush, green palace full of delicately flapping flashes of colour not to be overwhelmed by awe and wonder! I certainly was to the extent that more time was spent staring in delight as they fluttered to and fro than trying to make my phone take decent pictures!

And if one of these exquisite beauties actually landed on your hand and stayed for a while? Well... 

Squeeee!

Sun Dogs

It had been a trying day, beautifully topped off at tea-time when I had lovingly created tuna melts on special gluten-free pitta bread with my favourite Comté cheese for my evening noms and had watched them fall (in painful slow-motion) squidgy-side down on the floor before nary a taste was had.

Solitude called me after that, and beckoned me away for a walk far from frustrations and noise.

By the end of the road (the dead-end leading to next village by means of a muddy public footpath, in oxymoronic style) the sun had started going down, but something weird was going on with the light. I couldn't quite see what it was through the trees, but a man walking his little spaniel passed me going the other way and told me that there was a single sun dog in the sky.

Ah, said I. How wonderful, said I. I must have a proper look, said I, and left him, thinking that I'd somehow time-travelled back to ancient Egypt and was half expecting to see the sun being herded to its far-horizon rest by a particularly brave wingèd border collie.

Yes, yes, I hadn't a clue what he meant, but after finding a break in the trees I saw this, and realised that something special was going on, even if it wasn't solar deity-related.

No, that's really not a fault of my camera, although you'd not be penalised for that assumption. That, my dears, is the atmospheric phenomenon know as a left-hand sun dog. 

From what I understand, they generally come in pairs, one to be see on either side of the sun amongst some kind of halo effect, but this is Scotland, so you're not going to get two for free...*

I walked further east and watched the sun go down hounded by that dog, and have to admit the effect was incredible through the wispery clouds.

And then it was gone. It did, however, leave behind a spectacular sunset in its wake.

*Ah, stereotypes, gotta love 'em!

Early Morning Ruins

I was in St Andrews pretty early, so early, in fact, that I had time to have a wander around the castle and cathedral precincts before I was due to be elsewhere.

The August morning was crisp and clear, and a surprisingly chilly 6° at 8am. Well, surprisingly chilly for me, not yet being used to the generally cooler, more northern climes. Which is strange in a way, born Scot that I am, but it appears that in the last twenty years I've turned into a soft Southerner, even with coming back for four weeks a year to remind me that temperature truth is stranger than fiction. Living in France for so long has obviously done more damage to my inner thermostat than previously thought... That, and having lost so much of my own external central heating, are playing havoc with my ability to keep warm. Havoc, I tell you.

But I digress. (Hah, who am I kidding?! I am well aware that the temperatures of Scotland will be featuring heavily here from now on. And when I say ‘featuring', I mean ‘I shall be complaining'.) 

But I digress again. And now I've forgotten what I was going to say, so instead of more waffle, here are some photos of crumbly ruins that I took on my perambulations.

Crumbly Ruin No. 1: cathedral precinct wall with lookout tower, and the east facade of the cathedral.

Crumbly Ruin No. 2: castle

Crumbly Ruin No. 3: cathedral precinct wall with carvings

Crumbly Ruin No. 4: the castle from the cliffs near the harbour

Crumbly Ruin No. 5: the pier. Which isn't really crumbly, but why let the truth get in the way of a good photo story!

The Establishment Of Epic Walks

There's an ancient right of way that continues from the end of my road (technically a dead-end) to the next village to the west, past the old Bonfield Farm (now a gentrified estate with two ridiculously expensive houses in its place), along a muddy pathway to a copse of trees (under which I attempted to revise for my O grade history exam back in nineteen coughty-cough), which then follows a slight curve between a couple of fields (full of ripening wheat when I passed by). 

The path turns into a farm access track that climbs on up to the top of the hill (during which you can turn back and see beautiful views of the village, St Andrews, and the coast),

and eventually passes Clatto Farm to meet the track on the other side that joins the farm road to the dead-end coming out of the next village, Blebo Craigs. So only dead-ends if you're in a motor vehicle! Huzzah for shanks' pony!

There are options from here to continue on through Blebo and further west, or you can avail yourself of another little right-of-way that works itself north to the Blebo offshoot hamlet of Flisk, and then wends its way further north and east down an old and rocky tractor path with pretty views of the surrounding countryside,

that eventually ends up on the Dura Den/Strathkinness High road, where there are still verges wide enough to jump on to avoid approaching cars! (Yes, I do know my highway code - walk on the side facing traffic!)

Roughly 12,000 steps: Epic Walk No.1 Established!