Last Saturday started off overcast, though the clouds were light grey and white, which usually are not hugely threatening. So I headed off to fill in the relatively short gap I had between walks, so that I could say I have finished the whole distance from Ely to Tentsmuir – East Neuk done! I hoped that the cloud would lighten, though as I rode the bus to Boarhills to pick up where I left off last week, the colours shifted to a bit darker…oh well.
A bit of rain was all I expected to see, and that wouldn’t hurt me – I was feeling determined. We had quite a dramatic week of weather, I should mention, with lots of big grey clouds and thunderstorms, so I hoped that the day would be a bit more settled even if not sunny. I tested fate a bit by bringing my sunglasses and not wearing my raincoat.
I alighted from the good old 95 bus at the Boarhills stop which is incredibly awkwardly placed, at the end of the entrance road to the village. My views were some lazy cows (not a good sign for weather) and the village filling in the gaps between wide green fields.
From the bus stop, it is a short downhill stroll into the village, and I turned right up the farm access road towards where I had broken off my walk last Saturday.
It took me just under ten minutes to make my way back to where the Coastal Path splits from the farm road, though it is almost identical in appearance – a wide farm track with two ruts, accessible by vehicle as well as foot. This path took me across a field with views across the water towards the distant hills behind Dundee. It was a good day for a walk, with a gentle breeze and comfortable temperatures of about 13℃/55℉, and while overcast the air was clear.
After about 5 minutes on this track there is a short section on the road, and then a quick turn off again to the right, behind the doocot above. This is essentially a detour around some large farm buildings, then the path strikes out again across the fields. A sunnier day may have required more pictures, but overcast skies without dramatic clouds just don’t do much for me, and the wind had picked up, so I moved along a bit faster until I reached another signpost. This directed walkers off to the right, towards the coast, along a grassy trail.
There was a short spot of rain as I crossed this section of field, but oddly I only noticed it from the sound of the drops hitting the grass – it was so light I did not feel it on my face, hair or clothing. It made the faintest dots on my coat before stopping again.
Ahead along the coast is a cluster of bushes, and an obvious left turn towards St Andrews – through a gate and down a hill, the path descends almost to beach level. Here is the first of many views looking north, this one at least assuring me that the tide was low enough not to be an issue. Yes, I had again forgotten to check the times.
At beach level, you can see ahead towards Buddo Rock, with cliffs on the horizon that are very familiar to anyone who has walked near and around St Andrews. The sun was trying very hard to fight its way through the clouds, but it was not quite strong enough to win.
The path had narrowed here considerably, so that I was walking through almost waist-deep grass and plants, positively soaking my jeans and boots. This part of the route is clearly not well-used and so I gather is not as well maintained. Hiding in the more harmless plants were plenty of prickly thistles, nettles and other less pleasant flora – I should have gone down to the beach and stayed there instead. I was beginning to wonder if I had in fact taken a wrong turn – the path was barely present enough to be followed – when from within the brush emerged a familiar Coastal Path post. I was not lost, but I was even wetter from knees down than if it had been pouring rain.
Eventually after what felt like miles of bivouacking (was only about ten minutes really), I reached Buddo Rock, which was really quite cool. The cliffs nearby show evidence of once having been connected, and the rock itself is a fascinating piece of geology, the sandstone surface folded and swirling like cloth or liquid.
I spent a few minutes wandering around the outside, getting pictures from all angles, and then backed away a little to a small stretch of rock and sand nearby. This would be an amazing spot on a day with more sun.
The cliff line is really interesting along here, with chunk of stone sticking out from the grass, and a couple indentations that could be the start of caves. It is easy to understand how there are several sets of caves along this coastline.
But, I could not stay here and be fascinated by the rock forever, and so I headed on, over a gate and into a more cared-for portion of the path.
Once past the gate, the trail begins to climb gently, with the cliffs on one side and a stone wall on the other. I knew that at some point I would need to climb back to golf course level, and I suspected at the time that it might be a more gentle climb. I was quite wrong.
In very little time, that supposition that the climb would be easy was dashed by a series of steady ups and downs, some of them with stone steps and others just rough-cut stairs.
This portion of the route was worth it, though, for several reasons. Firstly, the flowers, which vary between wildflowers, sea roses, foxglove or any number of other blossoms – lovely pinks, yellows, purples, and whites.
Secondly, for the view along the coast which was a completely new one I had never appreciated before – this far around the coast, I was looking almost straight down St Andrews pier, which was visible with a zoom lens.
The cliffs are also really fun to watch and see what new thing will emerge – there is a World War II bunker just visible for example, as well as countless hidden spots. This would be a phenomenal spot to come back to on a sunny day.
Moving on, there is a section of path made out of stepping stones to take you over a muddy patch. I could not stop marvelling at how amazing the view of St Andrews was from here, and I had to stop myself from re-taking the same picture over and over. The one above with rocks directly in the view was my final effort.
There is quite a lot of moving up and down the edge of the beach and cliff at this point, and many of the ‘steps’ are not in the best state. While the views are excellent, the almost continuous rise and fall makes this a more strenuous portion of the path, though at least my legs were starting to get warmer as they dried out. I was being followed at this point by a group of walkers less than five minutes behind me, which stressed me out slightly; I considered stopping to let them pass, but decided instead to push on. The weather was becoming a bit more threatening, and I had plenty to do once I had finished my walk.
As mentioned, the stairs here have in some places seen better days, and there were some significant drops particularly for those with shorter legs like mine. But, as long as you take it easy and pay attention to where you are putting your feet, it is certainly manageable.
In time, the path levelled out at beach level, with a large rock ahead. Another post directs walkers towards a flight of stairs and I realised that my earlier supposition was completely wrong: I would in fact have to climb from beach level to the golf course in one long winding go. I won’t lie – particularly with the other walkers behind me, this one was a push.
The steps vary from wooden slats to stone chunks, then closer to the top merge into just a hill. Then, just as you are starting to doubt your sanity on how far you have climbed, the sound of golf balls being whacked drifts into your ears, and the shape of the clubhouse appears on the horizon.
The path meets the green and follows it around to the access road, only steps from the spot where I had started my walk several months ago. I had made the foolish decision to remove my jacket at the beach level, but up on the course the wind was much stronger, and I found I had to pull the extra layer out of my pack again. It was also starting to spit with rain, and I still had a way to go, trudging up towards the road; my main priority was not being hit with an errant golf ball.
Overall, while this was a shorter walk than the previous week – 2 miles on the path and about 4 overall – it was arguably harder to do with a lot more climbing and descending, and of course the monumental climb at the end. The good news is that I definitely stretched out all of my back muscles that were bothering me.
Also, it didn’t really start to rain until the end.
One unpleasant after-effect though was that when I got home and was enjoying removing my boots, I discovered two ticks on my hand – one had bitten, one was still crawling around. The other half swiftly removed the one that had bitten with tweezers, and I squished the other – I do not think it had actually been there long. Compared to a US tick, it was quite small, but still necessitated a few shudders and an immediate shower. Apparently the weather in Scotland this spring has been perfect for ticks, so if you are out, be careful!
Speaking of weather, we are all being told that there is a Super El Niño coming. What exactly this will mean for Scotland is uncertain – more wet or more dry, either way I intend to continue on my walks. Now that the East Neuk is done, it’s time to focus on the south coast again. More in July when I am back!
Finally at it again! Saturday was supposed to be cloudy in the morning with rain coming in the afternoon, but I was determined to get a few more miles under my belt. I was not feeling hugely confident about my stamina, so found a mid-length section that I could do relatively close to home, though it is one of the last that will be so easy to reach: Cambo Estate to Boarhills. One exciting note about this walk, is that in completing I have officially passed the halfway mark on my journey.🎉 Still a long way to go.
Saturday morning started off breezy but mild (16℃/60℉) with an almost cloudless blue sky and bright sun. I had even remembered to check the tide, which was scheduled to be low at about 7.30am, so perfect for me. The actual Coastal Path section of this walk would be 4 miles, but I knew I had about a mile on each end to get to a road, so I spent the short bus journey reminding myself that I did 6 miles easily in Washington, so this should be fine.
The bus trip was pleasant, warm in the sun and the flowers at this time of year are stunning – peony roses, iris, poppies, rhododendron and so many more bursts of colour particularly as we rode through Kingsbarns.
I alighted bus just outside the gate to the Cambo Estate and enjoyed a pleasant walk along the access road through a wooded landscape full of chirping birds. A few purple rhododendron were hiding in amongst the trees, like on so many old Scottish estates. After about ten minutes I reached the cluster of buildings where there is a shop, café and access to the walled garden, though it was not due to open for another hour. I was a bit uncertain how to get past the buildings, but managed to skirt my way around and headed down through the grounds towards the coast.
I couldn’t resist capturing a few garden views on the way…
The spot where I had stopped my walk counter last year was the bridge over the creek, and so I picked up the path here, almost exactly 1 mile from where I had left the bus. The path emerges from the trees – quite welcome due to the prevalence of bugs hovering amongst the foliage – and onto the golf course. I was very happy to discover that the public toilets designed for walkers and golfers were open, so stopped for a moment before properly setting off.
I have done this section of the path several times with friends and it is a really nice walk, parking at Kingsbarns Beach and walking up to the estate and back. It runs along the edge of Kingsbarns Golf Links, offering great views up over the course to the clubhouse. Needless to say, views of the beach are also extraordinary.
The course was already busy at just before 9am on a Saturday, though the beach was quiet. In fact, one could probably walk on the sand at this point in the hike, if you wished. But, I had a feeling there would be required beach walking further up so I stuck to the trail, which is a wide sandy track, gently rolling as it hugs the line between beach and golf course. I did make the decision not to take too many pictures and instead to focus on getting some ground behind me, so powered on for the just over half a mile to the beach car park. As I have observed previously, walking the Fife Coastal Path is probably the best way to see a large number of golf courses without actually picking up a club!
This car park is often busy and you have to reach it early to get a spot, though it is also available for overnight stays with a good number of camper vans parked along one side. It is a popular local spot with a burger van, sauna, picnic tables, public toilets and a drinking water fountain. While he signs are not really clear, the Coastal Path instinct will take you through the car park and around the burger van.
Just beyond the picnic area is a nice spot to detour down to the beach, where there are some interesting rock formations and nice views – the beach here is quite sandy, between larger stretches of rock on either end of the cove.
The path narrows a bit here but is still easy to follow. It was also very quiet; normally I pass numerous dog walkers, hikers and runners but really only came across 3 or so groups; from the edge of Kingsbarns to Boarhills only 2 people total – not sure why, but I didn’t begrudge the quiet.
For about half a mile beyond the beach, the path follows the edge of the golf course, occasionally even crossing the green so that there are signs asking both golfers and walkers to be courteous of one another.
This stretch is very pleasant, mostly flat and not particularly strenuous. The breeze was gentle, and the view familiar but no less beautiful, with green on one side and the beach on the other.
At the edge of the golf course there is a sign warning walkers about the distance to St Andrews, as well as the treacherous nature of the trail in places. Almost immediately the path narrows considerably to the point where groups would need to walk single file, but it is still mostly flat. In little time, there is a large post directing walkers down to the beach until there is another sign (which I never actually saw, though I did work out when the path re-started).
I think you could probably just manage on the beach even at high tide, and while it is alternately sandy, I was able to find a shelf of rock to walk along for a while, and prevent my boots sinking into the soft sand. Ahead on the horizon was a house that I was using as a marker for when I should think about looking for the second sign, to return to the grass. When not sandy, the beach becomes treacherously rocky with those medium-sized rocks that are perfect for turning your ankle if you are not careful.
While you cannot necessarily see the cows from the beach, their scent leaves no doubt that they are just out of sight in the fields above. The runoff from one of the fields created this fascinating mini river delta on the beach, though it smelled awful. The hungry hiker in me also was sure I saw some dark fudge brownies in a pile of rocks…wishful thinking!
In time, the coastline juts outward – where the building is – and at that point you can look back all the way to Crail. Somehow distances on this coast never look as far as they are, and I remember that walk well as one of the best sections of the path.
Just when I was starting to get tired of plodding though sand, a slab of rock firmed up beneath my feet and lo and behold, the path re-appeared up ahead. It is still narrow here and a bit less even, edged with grass and wildflowers. I stopped for a moment to capture these gorgeous red poppies that stood out dramatically against the background.
A jumble of logs marks Babbet Ness, a headland that comprises another sort of ‘corner’, where the coastline turns at an almost right angle due west for a short distance inland, until it meets Boarhills. There are two small trees – really more shrubs – that demonstrate just how strong the wind here can be, and very little other vegetation beyond grass and low brush. Beyond is yet another gorgeous stretch of Fife coastline, the long shelves of rock broken up by small sandy coves, distant trees and grassy fields that stretch from the coast up toward the main road, just over the knoll. Ahead, in the far distance, I could just make out the lump that is Balmullo Law.
For a short time, the path runs very close to a new barbed wire fence that looks lethal, so be careful if you are busy looking at the view. The path is also quite uneven here, narrow with plenty of places for a foot to slip or turn if you are not paying attention to your feet. Sprays of small yellow and purple flowers break up the grass, and the sky was still blue though the large stretches of clouds were rolling in from the west. Fortunately, while they blocked the sun a bit, they did not seem threatening.
Beyond Babbet Ness, I could see the distant unmistakable shape of an abandoned building, a croft or house of some kind. This turned out to be at a spot known as Johnnie Bay, a sandy inlet with what must have been a boat ramp leading from the ruined building down to the water. It’s a charming spot, though there are strict signs on both sides to keep out of the structure as it is not safe.
By this point in the walk – as you can doubtless see in the pictures – the sun was behind a cloud more often than not, and I was able to take off my sunglasses, which I prefer. Not far beyond the house I could see a sign and a stone wall, from which I was distracted temporarily by what I was relatively certain was a gunshot – a rifle of some kind. It could have been something else, as rifle shots are not common, but it stayed in my mind as I approached the signpost.
This spot allows you to make a choice, directing you up a farm track to the main road only .5 miles away, or to Boarhills, 1.5 miles away. I knew from looking at the map that the spot where the farm track emerged was a tricky one: on a blind corner, and potentially nowhere for the other half to pick me up. Fortunately, a happy cocker spaniel trotted towards me from the other direction, and so I paused to give it a good ear rub before pushing on towards Boarhills. The path here follows the edge of an estate wall, and is a wider track that is easy to follow.
In a short distance of only a few minutes’ walking, the path begins to turn inland, where Kenly Water flows out of the farmland to meet the sea. Ahead is the edge of the tree line which surrounds the burn, and there is a hint of roofs and fences indicating homes. The walk through the trees is very pleasant, a lush green tunnel with ivy-covered trunks and the water trickling along beside.
Soon, the trail splits with a farm track to the left and the coastal path marker directing walkers down a smaller trail to the right, descending again into the den. It reminded me very much of Dunino Den, though this makes sense as they are only miles apart; in Scotland, a den is a narrow valley or ravine, usually wooded, with a river or burn running through. They tend to be extremely beautiful and peaceful, and this one was no different. The path winds closer to and then away from the water, sometimes a bit higher on the bank and sometimes lower down, and on Saturday morning was serene, the only noises being the ducks, the birds, the water rushing, and my footsteps.
The burn – Kenly Water – varies between tumbling over rocks and pieces of log and pooling in deeper areas where it slows for a time and allows for reflection. And ducks.
At several points, a joining rivulet requires a stone bridge to cross, in particular just before the path meets another half-ruined house. This one is covered in ivy, like something out of a fairy tale, though there are again strict signs warning against entry.
About a mile on, there is a jog away from the burn and up beside a field – it was a touch buggy, as standard in spring, but offered another view down towards the woods. Soon after this, the path turns into the trees again and passes over a metal bridge that is most definitely a single file affair.
Beyond the bridge is a well-kept old farm with rambling roses growing along the barn, and an old stone farmhouse that seemed to be basking in the morning sun, which had by this time emerged again from cloud.
Just after passing the farmhouse, the path joins a private road that is very narrow and quiet, but not completely unused – it is the access road for the farm, and a post van came zooming along it quite quickly. That said, it is unlikely to be busy as it is marked no access to unauthorised vehicles.
From here the path follows this road, winding up away from the farm and climbing a hill between two fields. The view here was excellent, looking back at the main road through this part of Fife and towards the village. But, I was definitely hitting the end of my endurance, and sometimes knowing the end is close makes it harder.
I finished my walk at a rather random spot, where the private road turns towards the village and the coastal path continues. I have every intention of picking it up here again this weekend, as the next portion of the walk is relatively short and should be easier to manage. From this point to the ‘main’ road through Boarhills was just under half a mile, and there I was collected by the other half as I had just missed a bus.
The access to the coastal path was the biggest challenge for this section, as both ends required at least a mile of extra walking that was not ‘official’. But, like the section from Crail to Cambo, it is a beautiful stretch of coastline with golf course, beach, wooded den and more. I am so happy to be back on track and wish I were not disappearing for most of June!
But I am sure I will have other adventures to share about that trip, in due course.
During my last trip home, I was fortunate enough to experience decent weather, and I had just enough time each day to go out for a walk. I revisited many of my old haunts and walking routes, and was pleased to find many of them not hugely altered.
Steer Swamp was a popular walk location for Mum and I and the dog many years past, as it offers a nice woodland area not too far from where we lived, and enough winding trails that the dog got some exercise. Plus, she was able to wander freely and sniff to her heart’s content (would not let her off the lead now, but that was the 90s). In the autumn it offered bittersweet for cutting to decorate a small wreath, and in the spring and summer was sheltered from the sun. In the winter, as you will see below, it is a touch on the stark side, but on a sunny day even mostly-dead trees and rocks are lovely.
Another advantage to Steer Swamp (or disadvantage, perhaps) is that there are plenty of criss-crossing paths and varied places to enter the conservation area, so it is easy to access. Or, to get lost. Though the Marblehead Conservancy site has a detailed map, which I only found later.
I chose to enter at Norman Street just around the corner from Redd’s Pond, which is a convenient starting point for those not familiar with Marblehead.
As you can see, there is a clear marker here, designating the area as the Joseph Brown Conservation Area. As I have discussed in other posts, the names here have changed in the last 20 years, moving away (very appropriately) from the terms used since Joe’s lifetime in the late 1700s. The pond still seems to be known primarily as ‘Black Joe’s Pond’, and the Tavern by the same name, though anyone digging into Marblehead history will find plenty of issues with both. The Marblehead Museum has a fantastic page on Joe and his wife, Lucretia, should anyone be curious about the history.
The path heads straight away from the road, skirting around a muddy area before heading up the side of a rise on a rocky, uneven path. My sneakers were in danger of becoming a bit sodden and muddy, but they were the only shoes I had with me.
As you move further into the forest, houses are still visible – and audible – through the trees, and the path rises and falls over hillocks with a few side-trails to other entrances. I kept moving, relatively straight away from the road as best I could, with a few glimpses through the branches of the pond to the right. Finally, after only a few minutes, there are several off-shoots leading to the right, and you can cut over to the edge of the pond, which on the day I visited still boasted a coating of slushy ice. Redd’s Pond, very close by, had lost its ice completely, and it was interesting to see how a small change in geography could alter it. Redd’s Pond is a touch lower, open (not surrounded by trees), and I think a touch shallower though I’m not certain on that.
The view across the water towards the red of Joe’s Tavern is a stunning one.
Once you have had your fill of the view, continue back towards the path, and in a short time you will reach a junction. I chose to go left here, though I think right would have eventually circled around to the same place. My direction took me quite quickly down a steep hill.
By the time I reached the bottom, the road noise was gone and though homes were still visible in glimpses through the trees, it began to feel a lot more like a woodland. In fact, this walk took me quickly back to all winter walks I had taken in New England – the same smells, sights, muddy patches and enormous boulders that rise from the forest floor seemingly randomly.
I crossed a small creek on some stepping stones, and continued straight through an almost bower of winter trees, bending over the path so that in the summer I imagine it is a tunnel. By this point, the woods were blocking most of the day’s bitter wind, and so the walk was quite pleasant, just warmed by the sun. The ground was a touch squishier than I might have liked, but most of the worst bits included rocks to cross.
In perhaps ten minutes, I reached a five-way junction, with paths stretching out in all directions. I decided to follow a loop and not turn back on myself, thereby adding in a visit to Grace Oliver’s Beach. I hadn’t really started the walk with a plan, rather it evolved as I walked, which was quite nice. I was not certain at the time how long the loop would take, but I figured it could not be too long – the conservation area here is not particularly large.
Soon after selecting my route, I crossed a lovely wooden bridge bathed in sunlight, though the ground beyond was still covered with an icy coating of snow. This required a bit of careful negotiation, particularly in sneakers, but I managed to get across while passing another walker who looked at me strangely – he was wearing proper boots. I slipped and slid a few times but never fell, so I call it a win.
After crossing this bridge, I soon came across another turn, and this one I knew should be the start of the loop around to the right – I was in theory making a circuit around the marshiest bit of Flag Pond. In very little time, the houses ahead were again visible, so the illusion of being deep in the forest vanished. But, the walk was still more than pleasant, crossing a small brook and around a hillock, following the trail. There were some loud voices carrying through the trees – dog walkers I think – that I hoped would not be following me, but with luck they turned the way I had come, and the quiet returned. It was enormously peaceful, with the occasional birdsong or trees rustling. The ground under foot was layered with oak leaves and pine needles, meaning my steps were quiet, and the scents of fresh cold woods were like a time machine back to my childhood. They say scent is one of the most evocative triggers for memory, and this was most definitely one of those occasions. (Another is any time I set foot outside Haymarket Station in Edinburgh and catch the nearby distillery’s yeasty scent. I inevitably freeze while being carried back to my university years)
As I have mentioned, woods in the winter were my playground as a child – these woods, those in New Hampshire, the Audubon land in Ipswich were we went on many winter outings – all make me want immediately to scale a rock face to establish a fort, or create a lean-to against fallen logs.
I could happily have walked for much longer in this flashback, but in relatively little time it becomes evident that the residential area is springing up quickly at the edge of the conservation land. More houses appeared through the trees, and the road noise began to invade once again – infrequent though it was.
Here, the path takes walkers directly to the junction with Beacon Street as it winds around the wild area, but there is really nowhere at the edge of the street to walk safely. With luck, there is also an option to cut down to the right along a path set back slightly from the road – there are good views here looking over the swamp lands, which I had circled around. There were plenty of paths to take me back the way I had come, but I had already decided I wanted to walk up Gingerbread Hill.
In little time, I emerged on Beacon Street but a bit closer to the beach, and hurried along the edge of the road which is, like many Scottish roads, not really wide enough for two cars to pass. I am not sure why I had never noticed the small creek running at the side of the road, which empties onto the beach, but it also separates the main road from the land beyond (Peach’s Point) which seems quite appropriate.
Fortunately this part of the road is not particularly busy, as there is also really nowhere to walk, so I was pleased to be able to quickly reach the wider road that runs along the beach and turns up to enter Peach’s Point. This area, identified by brick columns that mark the entrance, is a private grouping of homes, most of which are enormous and beautiful. Originally a Native American (Naumkeag tribe) summer camp, it was settled by one of Marblehead’s early families, the Peaches, and eventually became an almost mini version of the neck, in that large summer residences were built for wealthy families.
view from the road of Dolliber;s Cove and the houses on Peach’s Point
Peach’s Point creates one side of Dolliber’s Cove, with the rest created by the public beach named after Grace Oliver, a 19th century writer and women’s rights advocate who lived nearby.
Because of our close access to Gas House beach, I rarely swam here as a child, though it is arguably a more pleasant beach, with a bit more sand and less seaweed. Like Gas House though, it is not particularly large, with a plot of land jutting out into the water here upon which is built a beautiful old house – Grace Oliver House – with a dock and long drive.
I will fully admit to always coveting this house, or at least a visit to it – though my New Englander brain also imagines in must be damaged by storms. Unless of course it is protected, which it must be, by Brown’s Island (as I knew it), which is accessible only at the lowest tide, and sits just off-shore. The right-hand photo above shows it best. Apparently this island was originally owned by Edward Diamond, a local man who was credited with mystical powers and was often seen on Old Burial Hill, known as a wizard (my friends and I were certain he haunted my house, and were obsessed with trying to see his ghost on the hill). The island was re-named Crowninshield Island in the early 1900s, apparently, though I have always heard it referred to as Brown’s.
Just opposite the driveway for Grace Oliver’s House is the easily-missed turn up Gingerbread Hill, an old road that – of course – winds its way up a hill to Black Joe’s Pond and Tavern, before cutting back down to Norman Street. It’s a relatively short walk, but passes some beautiful old homes. There are a few places where you can see through to the pond, and work out which clump of trees you may have been hiding in to look this way. There is also a footpath down the hill to the street, but I chose to stay on the pavement which – as you can see – is narrow. While cars are not regular, walkers should be aware that they may not be visible with the foliage and twisting road.
the late-17th century tavern known as Black Joe’s
Descending onto Norman Street, I found myself only a few hundred feet from the entrance to the Conservation land where I started – a loop of just under two miles. Not particularly strenuous, this is a lovely loop that both allows for some woodland walking but also some real Marblehead history and passes some of the older neighbourhoods. Plus, if inspired, you can continue your walk around nearby Redd’s Pond and up through Old Burial Hill. This is one of my favourite things about Marblehead – there are so many loops you can take, all a bit different, and all showing you a new part of town or a new piece of history you may not have known about.
To finish with, a view of Redd’s Pond and the loop I took, screen captured from Footpath, the app I use to plan walks.
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Work has taken me back to southern California this month, and after a week of travel starting in Pasadena, heading out to Riverside and then finally down to Santa Ana, I was able to settle into one place for the rest of my time here. And so lucky I am, that the place is Orange County!
On Valentine’s Day – not because it was, but because it was a lovely day and my most likely day of rest during this trip – I decided to explore a new part of the coast. Recent rainfall meant that I could not hike in the hills as I hoped and so I did some investigation and eventually decide upon a parking spot along the coast, ten or so minutes from Laguna Beach, which I had so enjoyed visiting last year.
Fortunately the drive was only about 20 minutes, and so I got going relatively early in the day and was happy to find that there were plenty of spots available. The parking is run by the state, and so was even more pricey than my visit to Laguna Beach – $15, though this was for a day pass. The pay system is a very simple QR code scan and pay – much better than the cash boxes I’ve seen elsewhere (*cough* New England).
And, after all, this is Orange County.
My first dilemma, after payment, was which way to go. My breath had been stolen while I drove by the day before by the stunning Abalone Point, but I was really curious to explore the area that was called ‘Historic’ Crystal Cove, which popped up top of my Google for short walks in Orange County. So, after a touch of meandering, I found myself at the top of the cliffs with a long flight of steps before me, leading down to the beach. The view behind me was hazy as it looked directly into the sun, but ahead of me was the stunning blue water and sky I had come to expect from this area.
I imagine that we were at about mid-tide, perhaps on the high side, but there was plenty of firm wet sand to walk on, and the waves were constant but not too threatening. As always, I struggled against the urge to just sit and record the crashing surf, the stunning colours and shapes, the dramatic splash when a bigger wave hit the rocks.
I did pause briefly when I met a few very brave sea birds, who were so unbothered by me that I could get quite close.
Like in parts of Fife, the sandy beach was broken in places by impressive rock formations, slicing upwards.
The towering cliffs above the beach were dotted with green but also showed layers of rock and sand – a geologist’s dream, I am sure. As I approached the Crystal Cove area, there was a larger formation of rocks where a few fishermen had parked themselves, accompanied by always-bold gulls. The sun had finally risen far enough that a picture back the way I had come was a touch clearer.
I did not really know what to expect of Crystal Cove, and as I approached it reminded me both of a Caribbean pirate’s lair and a coastal village on Cape Cod. The more I explored, the more the houses reminded me of lakeside ‘cottages’ built on Lake Sunapee in New Hampshire: thin wood, no insulation, designed as a shelter in warm and comfortable weather. Upon reading more, I learned that the Crystal Cove Historic District is a federally listed gathering of 46 vintage coastal cottages built in the 1930s and 40s. One of the last remaining examples of early 20th century coastal development, it has been preserved and the cottages transformed into rental properties. They are nestled around Los Trancos Creek, which is what made me think of the pirate hideout – aren’t there always creeks emptying into the ocean in a lair?
There is a boardwalk in front of the line of houses, so I walked all the way to the end and then back again, enjoying the haphazard, ramshackle nature of some of the cottages. Most were neat, simple constructions with plenty of window and balcony space, but one or two looked like a child had constructed them out of blocks – dormers, gables, windows, extra rooms tacked on in random places. These were, of course, my favourite (in particular the mint green one visible in the collage below).
I walked past the Beachcomber restaurant, which seemed to be very busy, and found a clean public restroom just over the pedestrian bridge. From here, my route took me up a flight of steps back to the top of the cliff, where I could look down over the cove and out to sea.
As I moved away from the cluster of houses and past the very busy Shake Shack (this is when I recalled that it was Valentine’s Day, as they had all sorts of offers on), I realised that the cliff-top walk was not entirely dissimilar to parts of the Fife Coastal Path. The trail was paved and well-used by joggers and walkers, and the scrub-like flora dropped abruptly away to a view of the open sea.
really, this could almost be Fife
In time I reached the edge of the parking lot, but I really wanted to explore the other direction so I pushed on, passing the useful map you can see at the start of this post. There was also another clean restroom and a spot to fill up your water bottle.
Beyond this hut was another car park, but finally at the end I reached a branch in the path. One direction led to a viewpoint over Muddy Canyon, where there were several benches to enjoy the view.
The other direction led to this winding downward ramp – quite steep and a bit slippery with sand. This portion of the path hugs the edge of the canyon, which has been sliced into the cliff by a creek down below. I began to question whether this was a good idea – I really did not want to climb back up the ramp. But, when I reached the bottom, I was greeted by a beautiful fresh breeze, a touch cool and the type that refreshes and rejuvenates. Perhaps it is my childhood by the sea, but I find few things smell better than this type of breeze, pinching your nostrils with a touch of salt.
Immediately to my left was a pond where the creek backed up a bit before emptying into the ocean. Fortunately, the outflow was narrow enough at one spot to leap over, and I managed to do so without falling or injuring myself. The seagulls were watching closely.
On the far side of the creek, the beach stretches out towards a headland, which is the edge of the town of Laguna Beach (I think). This part of the coast was quieter, so I walked along for a while, enjoying the dramatic cliffs and the wind. I considered a few times how far I wanted to walk, and realised in the end that I was setting myself up for a good long hike if I kept going. So, I turned around and leapt over the creek again. It then occurred to me that I did not need to go back up the ramp – my car was quite a bit further along and there was a set of steps between it and me. So, I stayed down on the beach for a bit longer before finding myself at the bottom of the stairs I had descended at the start of my walk.
They were a touch more daunting looking up than down. That said, they were mostly quite shallow so not too strenuous, and they switched back a few times, allowing for a pause and quick look at the view while I caught my breath.
Once back at the top-of-cliff level, I found it to be a relatively short walk back to the car – about five minutes. Along the way I was able to capture a picture of hills I might have been hiking in, as well as this wee ground squirrel who posed very kindly for me. Or possibly froze in fear. Either way, he stayed still for quite some time. While I was heading home, increasing numbers of other people were appearing, particularly couples clearly visiting the beach for a Valentine’s Day picnic. I certainly saw more red mylar balloons that one might expect on a coastal walk, and girls slightly awkwardly clutching bouquets while they headed toward the sand.
In all my hike ended up being about 4 miles with two relatively steep climbs to get the blood pumping a bit. As seems to be the case with much of this area, the beach was stunning and I enjoyed exploring another new spot. The weather has tracked me from Scotland now, as this was the last bright sunny day, and rain has closed in on LA. It looks like I am not likely to get a chance to try another walk on this trip. Perhaps next time!
One last side note about adventuring in this part of Orange County: if you get a chance, stop in at a Pavilions supermarket. The fruit is phenomenal, the packaged salads and breads are delicious and in all it probably comes in around the same cost as a Whole Foods. A really pleasant shopping experience. I am a big fan.
As I have alluded to in my past few posts, January weather has been consistently rubbish. This Saturday really wasn’t much different, except that the rain was more a gentle mist than a downpour. I knew I wasn’t up for a long walk, and I had plenty to do on my last weekend before my next work trip, so this stretch of the coastal path – some of which I have done before but ran into a serious detour – seemed a good idea.
I was also excited to do a proper inaugural hike in my new boots, so I was all ready with my hiking socks and some new insoles that keep my ankles from rolling in. I wrapped up with several layers, and boarded the bus to Leuchars, where I got off at the Olde Hotel. While I can’t say that I was quite as enthused as I have been some mornings – it is hard to be energetic when it’s chilly and damp – I was looking forward to making a tiny bit of progress on my goal. But then I noticed, as I walked along Main Street, that my left foot – the larger one, according to the man who measured them at L.L. Bean – began to rub, quite quickly and painfully. So, I ducked into a bus shelter and found the one Compeed left from my summer walking kit, and plastered it on. I only made it a few more hundred feet before I realised I was in trouble – despite the cushioned plaster, the rubbing was getting worse, and I began to fear that I would have to give up. Also, I was walking unevenly to favour that foot, and I knew that would cause pain in the long run.
Frustration was an understatement – how could these amazing new boots have turned on me?! How could I miss the one opportunity to check off a few more miles? Then it dawned on me – the insole. It was pushing my foot up just enough that it hit a part of the boot it shouldn’t. Despite mud and rain, I managed to get my boot off – again – and pull the insole out. Immediately, the boot felt better and my stubbornness determined that I would manage the walk even with a bit of discomfort. And so I headed on, along the muddy playing fields that abut the castle grounds. My good mood was quickly restored upon meeting a roly-poly black cocker spaniel who ambled up to me and deposited itself on my feet. After a few good ear scratches and a smile, he toddled off again to meet his master. As always, an encounter with a dog improved everything.
Finally, after a bit more drama than I expected, I reached the castle grounds and started my official walk recording. I cannot recall now if I mentioned much about the castle itself last time I did this walk; it is a relatively ‘new’ castle as Scottish castles go, built in 1546 by a Sir William Bruce, a survivor of the devastating Battle of Flodden. This battle is infamous for the death of King James IV of Scotland, who is the last monarch in Great Britain to die in battle (surpassing Richard III by about 30 years). More a mansion than a castle, Earlshall was built in the ‘courtyard’ style, and is still in good shape. It is also, apparently, for sale; if only I had £8 million to spare.
The gated entrance is graced on both sides by carvings of a lord and lady; I stopped for a moment for the below pictures before continuing on my way.
The path at this point leads along a single track road with the estate wall on one side and open fields on the other. One concern on days like this is that with a hood up, it can be difficult to hear approaching vehicles, so it can be a touch treacherous on a narrow stretch like this. Fortunately, I did not encounter a single car.
Ahead on the left as I approached the edge of the army base is a beautiful old Tudor-style barn which I would love to know more about, but can’t seem to find any information about.
Just beyond the barn, the first sign of the actual Coastal Path route leads through a gate and along a track that runs between the base fence on one side and the farm on the other. The fields beyond are the home of several horses and I think a pony or two. In this short section without trees, the weather issue for the day quickly became not the rain but the wind, whipping across the open land of the army base. Once safely inside the treeline it calmed a bit, but I could hear it in the treetops, and they were dancing about a touch violently whenever I looked up.
The excessive rain of the last few weeks was evident along the path, with large puddles in the fields and under the trees, areas that might normally be a bit boggy but now are flooded.
Fortunately the trail was in relatively good shape, not too muddy – at least at this point. As I emerged from the trees, I was hit immediately from one side by the wind, but surprisingly it was less bitter than I expected. I was quickly reaching the point of no return, after which going back would be more work that pushing on, and despite the discomfort of my boot, I was determined not to give up – after all, it didn’t seem to be getting any worse (or so I thought). I could tell that my body wasn’t really into the walk – it was complaining more than I expected and I’m not sure if it was the wind or the cold, but the endorphin rush never really hit. It had very evidently been a while since I’d done exercise like this, with the shorter walks I did over Christmas not really measuring up.
Just under a mile after leaving the castle, I reached the gate where, on my last attempt, I had been forced to take a detour. Fortunately, this time I knew I would be able to take the standard path, as I had seen the update on Facebook that the boardwalk was fully repaired. The sign directing walkers had suffered a bit of wind damage, but the path was clear nonetheless. I passed through two sets of gates and struck out across the field between two fences; the trail rises and falls over hillocks and grass clumps, much more uneven than the farm track.
After a short straight bit that leads at an odd angle away from the farm track, there is a sharp right through another gate. Here you find a warning to walkers to stay on the boardwalk, the first section of which stretches out ahead of you. The wind is much stronger here in the open, and I while I was never cool, I was pleased to have a windbreaker. Sure enough, the boards are very new and well-kept with stripes of raised rough bits that prevent them from becoming slippery, and they pass over some very boggy areas that would be completely impassable at most times of year.
The path alternates on boardwalk sections and uneven muddy ground, following the edge of a fence and meandering through stands of trees. The direct path made me appreciate just how long the detour was that I took last year – the tree line of the forest I walked through is a good half mile or so away.
I have to say despite the weather, this is a quite pleasant stretch of path, and I had it completely to myself – I had seen a few joggers closer to Leuchars, but did not see another soul until I reached the Tentsmuir road. As I crossed the last stretch of bridge, a sign appeared in the distance, surrounded by a huge gorse bush that was just starting to bloom. Here I swung left, and ahead through the treeline I caught just the slightest hint of open sky that indicated the beach. I could also hear the distant crashing of waves, though this came and went for the next mile or so.
Shortly after this left turn, the quality of the new bridges was made clear when I approached an older wooden bridge, this one slippery and grimy from the weather and moss. Nevertheless, the small burn it crossed was lined with trees absolutely dripping in beautiful lichen, coating the branches in a light seafoam green. Up close, the lichen reminds me of types of coral.
Across the bridge, the path passes into a hilly field, mostly empty but dotted with large, dead trees that created all sorts of creepy patterns reminiscent of a Tim Burton movie. There were a few lone pines with needles still on them which must have very deep strong roots, as so many of the larger trees here were blown down in the wind storms we have had in the last few years. Forest lines this field on both sides, with most trees just ghostly outlines with chunks of lichen on them.
My primary observation of this section of the trail is that it is not particularly coastal. Other than the distant waves – which might not be audible in calmer weather – you do not get any hint of sand or beach at all, and could as easily be in inner Fife or Perthshire as less than a mile from the ocean. This is necessitated by the army base as well as the nature reserve, but I am looking forward to getting back to the seaside views.
Eventually the trail passes out of the field and through another gate – very muddy here for a short while – and onto a forest track with clear vehicle ruts. The forest here is quite pleasant, a mix of pine and birch, and it blocks most of the wind so that it is also very quiet. The rain had completely stopped by and it was a nice stretch of path. That said, it went on quite a bit longer than I expected, and I found myself wishing for one of the first times on the Fife Coastal Path that I had some music to listen to.
Several times on this stretch I thought I could see the end in sight, as the trees seemed to close in over the trail a bit or indicate a change in pattern. However, on at least two examples I was disappointed to discover that I had been a touch premature in my hopes. I was not particularly tired, but the pain in my left foot was growing steadily worse and my right foot was starting to rub slightly as well, so the last 15 minutes or so really seemed to drag – not something I find happens often on this path. I was so relieved to finally see, in the distance, the very man-made shape of a horizontal bar, dividing the path from the road beyond. Here I knew it was just a short distance along the road to the stables, where the other half was to meet me.
Unfortunately, this last short section was the least pleasant, as the road is narrow and the path alongside it even narrower and, on occasion, not present. It was muddy, started raining again, and the cars were regular enough that I was not confident venturing onto the tarmac at all; I even found myself switching sides of the road a few times in search of a better patch to walk on. But I did not have far to go.
Overall, then, not my favourite part of the Fife Coastal Path, though it had some pleasant sections and would probably have been even more pleasant without the enormous blister I was causing on my heel. (as I discovered when I reached home, it really was impressive, covering most of the back of my foot – oops).
I am still in love with my hiking boots though, particularly since the blisters were really my own fault for having put in new insoles and not tested them. Overall, they did a fantastic job and were very sturdy, keeping my ankles from rolling even on quite uneven ground. They dealt well with the mud and puddles, and my feet were bone dry
I’m not sure when I’ll get back out onto the path as work is taking over life for the month of February (and early March), but fingers crossed I’ll get out in March before the next round of travel.
Somehow, it is mid-January. It feels like we just got back from our Christmas trip to New England, and I’m deep into planning my next trip to the US, in just about three weeks. At this time of year time can pass quickly, and we have been adjusting to the time change, getting back to work, and dealing with some truly January Scottish weather – cold, wet, windy, dark. Not great for hiking, but great for duvet days and planning.
So rather than tear myself apart over my inability to get back onto my hike, I thought it might be time for some reflection.
Firstly, I am excited to share a preview of my new hiking boots, a birthday gift from my father. I’m delighted to have found exactly what I need at L.L. Bean (I never doubted), assisted by a delightfully chatty salesman who measured my feet and demanded to know all about my plans before allowing me to make a purchase. I’ve already done an inaugural walk in them (not far, just my normal morning jaunt) and they already feel amazing – nice and light, sturdy, no rolling ankles or rubbing.
But I’m getting carried away. It has been a year since I walked my first section of the Fife Coastal Path and determined that it would be my goal – partly to have a goal, and partly to assist with getting fitter.
In order to write this post, I have had a read through all of the posts I’ve written, and have started to plan this coming year’s activity. There are a few definite spanners in the works, potentially, in that I do not know how much time I will actually be able to spend in Fife over the next few months. But even if I only manage another ten miles before summer, never doubt that it is in my mind, and I still intend to finish this damn trail. Eventually.
So, what did I learn in reading my posts?
I’ve definitely become a bit more thoughtful as the posts go on, giving more background on what I am passing. I’ve done my best to describe the trail but not get into too much detail, which I did early on, rather providing pictures of what you might expect to see. I’ve been incredibly lucky with weather for the most part. I’ve challenged myself physically a few times and usually been delighted to discover that I can push harder than I thought and not been in too much pain. Towards the end of the summer I was the fittest I have been in years and it felt fantastic – I hope I can get back there. Certainly summer in Scotland with long light and enticing late evening sunsets is a better time to force yourself out of doors than January, but I’ll still give it a go.
I’ve worn through a pair of hiking boots, though they may not have been as good quality as I hoped. And, I’ve put together a pretty comprehensive pack of materials that I bring on each trip, including: a map, sunscreen, bug spray (not yet needed), chapstick, water, a snack, my camera, tissues, and a power bank for if/when my phone starts to die. Layers as appropriate as well, of course. I’ve even got a designated hiking backpack, so I don’t have to think too hard about what to get together.
I’m also getting good at reading the signs as to where the path will go even when the markers aren’t the clearest – or there at all. That said, I have also once or twice forgotten to check the tides before setting out – so far I’ve gotten away with it, but I could pay eventually, and of course came close on my recent walk from the Fairmont to St Andrews.
Above all, I’ve discovered parts of Fife that I’d never known were there, and been able to really enjoy the towns and countryside of the East Neuk in particular, in a way I would not have done just by touring by car or bus.
Another thing I’ve learned – I can only do what I can do. There is plenty going on in life which means that sometimes, I just can’t get away for most of a Saturday to make a dent in the miles. I travel for work, meaning I see exciting places but am often jet-lagged and sometimes unwell, and I spend a lot of time not at home.
So I have had to allow myself, on occasion, to put life before the walking. And that’s ok. As ok as it is to put walking ahead of other things, especially as I use it as self-care. I set this goal for myself, not others – I am the only judge of how and when it is fulfilled. So I haven’t quite made it halfway, but I’ve lost more than 20lbs (over 2 stone to you Brits – and in all fairness not just through walking but also in cutting most added sugar from my diet) and I’m fitter and happier, having completed these mini-goals:
Despite the occasional setback, I’ve never given up on a walk once started; I’ve taken some great pictures, produced more content for my blog, and I’ve enjoyed every minute (well, almost).
Favourite walk
So which walk was my favourite? This is a tough one, as I really enjoyed the section from Aberdour to Kinghorn. I liked being out of the East Neuk for a change of scenery, the views were excellent and I proved to myself that I could do a longer walk and not be exhausted. I also really loved the Tayport to Newport stretch, as it brought back many fond memories of living there.
That said, I think I have to select my absolute favourite as the walk from Crail to Cambo Estate, rounding the ‘corner’ of Fife, crossing some beautiful beaches and experiencing lots of different types of coastline. It was a challenge physically but I managed, and several of my favourite pictures of the FCP journey were taken on this walk:
Favourite picture
This was also a tough decision, as I absolutely love the long, jagged lines of the Fife coastline, like those caught from the above-mentioned Crail to Cambo walk:
But for the red poppies and the stunning view of Crail, I think this is my favourite of all the pictures I have taken, while on this route:
Crail itself is perhaps even more like my hometown than St Andrews, stunning and quaint and historic, and it presents a beautiful view when approached from the south-west while on the Fife Coastal Path. I was fortunate to have chosen this section while the poppies were still blooming, and on one of those gorgeous sunny days we had this summer with endless blue sky. Just perfect.
A close runner-up though is the view back over Wormit on a rainy day, in a very different part of Fife, with the Tay in the distance and the Rail Bridge stretching out towards Dundee. I do love bridges.
It never ceases to amaze me how varied the coastline can be, how surprising, and how the trail can show me viewpoints I have never seen before, even in places I know so well as St Andrews.
I’ve made it just less than half way, and in case you can’t picture it, here is a visual of the walks I have already done:
So, what next?
I have a lot of work travel planned for this semester and I’ve finished most of the sections of the trail that are relatively easy to reach. So, from now on, most of my walks will require considerably more planning and effort to complete. The far end of the walk, from Kincardine to Inverkeithing, is a solid 90 minutes away by car or longer on public transport, meaning a full day is likely needed to get these sections done. That said, the most challenging part may be Balmerino to Newburgh, which if done in one go is 13 miles. So more likely, I will need to split it in two, and I will need someone else with a second car to help. I’ve had plenty of offers from kind friends, so hopefully this summer the coordination will be possible. (I do, of course, have it planned out. This is me, after all).
So I’m not sure if I’ll manage the rest of the path by the end of July, or if I’ll need to extend by a few more months, but one way or another, I intend to keep walking, keep photographing, and keep writing about my experience.
The business of the season has meant that it has taken me a bit more time than I hoped to pull together all of the pictures I took on my last international adventure, but I have finally managed it! The trip, as the title of this post makes clear, was to Mexico – a new country for me, and one I did not really know what to expect in visiting. Fortunately, I was taking part in a tour of schools that was mostly organised by someone else, and I was able to enjoy my few days in Mexico City with relatively little stress. (Ciudad de México, or CDMX as the city is also known)
The weather was beautiful and a touch cooler than I expected, particularly in the morning. In fact, many Mexicans were wearing coats and scarves while I was still out in my short-sleeved shirt. The food was excellent and while the city was slightly overwhelming in its size, it was full of charm and history. I did plenty of Googling and blog-reading in the week before my trip, and so I set off armed with some tips for safe travel as well as a list of places to visit if I had the time.
After two long flights stopping over in Newark, I arrived in Mexico City at about 8pm (for those of you doing the math, that is 2am UK time). I had read that Uber was not permitted to pick up passengers in the airport, and so it was strongly recommended that visitors use one of the – as it turned out – many ‘authorized taxi’ companies inside the terminal. I was looking out for a pink one in particular, but must have walked past it and, in my exhaustion, ended up outside the terminal where I was immediately harangued by drivers asking if I needed a taxi. Finally I returned inside and found a kiosk where I could pay for my taxi to the hotel. I should note that I studied Spanish in high school to quite a high level, but that was more than 20 years ago and my skill has…rusted a bit since then. I’ve been using Duolingo to re-familiarise myself with the language as best I can; I can read relatively well and usually speak a bit, but when I am spoken back to, it is usually far too fast. Nevertheless I muddled on and found in general that the Mexicans were very happy for me to give it a go, then often spoke back in English or were willing to slow down a bit for me to work it all out.
I arrived at my hotel after a rather chaotic drive, not in part because I had arrived on 1 November, a day of massive celebrations in Mexico City. Though as I was to learn, driving there is always a bit chaotic. I hardly had time to notice my room before having a quick shower and falling into bed.
It was early the next morning when I awoke that I was able to really enjoy the fantastic view over the city – my hotel was in a modern area, World Trade Center, but I could see through the hazy air to the distant mountains. Mexico City sits in a kind of bowl almost one mile above sea level, surrounded by a ring of peaks.
After a lovely breakfast and leisurely morning confirming my schedule for the week, I set off on my first adventure: an open-top bus tour around the city center. I am a big fan of bus tours, especially if you can sit upstairs and enjoy the feeling of winding through a city and seeing everything with very little effort. They can be a great way to orient yourself and learn a bit about what you are seeing. (side note, I had brought my own headphones for the trip which turned out to be the right choice, as none were provided)
My bus tour required an Uber trip up to the Auditorio Nacional, and I had learned that there was an English dub to the tour dialogue. The tour cost was reasonable, and the bus was clean and not too busy so that I was able to change sides a few times as we drove through the city – most likely slower than normal due to it being both a Sunday and a holiday. I opted for the Historic City Centre route, and while I gave up on the recording about halfway through, I got to see a lot of the city and learned a few choice tidbits. One recommendation – while you can purchase your ticket easily online, there were vendors that came onto the bus selling souvenirs who only accepted cash, so it might be worth having a few hundred pesos at the ready.
Mexico City has a metro bus system that is almost like a tram in that the busses have their own lanes and traffic signals. The parts of the city I saw were also filled with green spaces – parks, tree-lined street divisions, and much more.
Bus tour sights
Palacio de Bellas Artes – Palace of Fine Arts, a stunning building at the edge of Mexico City’s historic centre, declared an artistic monument by UNESCO in 1987. Home to murals and other art by some of Mexico’s most important artists.
Benito Juárez Hemicycle – commemorating the Mexican stateman who was the first Indigenous president of Mexico, and who became a symbol of nationalism and resistance to foreign intervention.
El Angel de la Independencia and the Plaza Madrid. The Fountain of Cibeles (mother of Jupiter) in the plaza is a direct copy of the one in Madrid and symbolizes Spanish-Mexican brotherhood. The Angel was built in 1910 to commemorate the beginning of Mexico’s War of Independence.
Monumento de la Revolución, in the Plaza de la República, the tallest memorial arch in the world. I was particularly struck by the carvings of people on each corner.
We passed numerous churches on the bus tour, and I do not have the names for all of them, but they were a beautiful combination of European influence and Mexican flavour. Mexico is still a majority Roman Catholic country, and like the European cities before it, has countless options for worship.
Also striking were the many city intersections and rotaries with dramatic statement pieces in the centre. Below is the the Monument to Cuauhtémoc, the last Mexica ruler of Tenochtitlan, the ancient city at the heart of where Mexico City now stands.
One monument that really stuck with me is the Glorieta de las mujeres que luchan (Roundabout of the Women who Fight), a purple statue of a woman with her fist raised, and the with the word ‘Justicia‘ carved into the cross-support. On the panels at the base are inscribed numerous names (of those who have fought injustice, female and male) and messages of strength and support. It took me a bit of digging to find out more about the display, and discovered it is now a center for many feminist cultural events and activities. It was incredibly moving to see such a strong monument to women supporting one another, to women’s rights. At a roundabout close by, Glorieta de las y los Desaparecidos, families of missing people have covered walls in pictures and search cards, to honour and remember the lost.
As the bus wound through the city, I was delighted to see display after display of brightly-coloured street art, most for the recent Día de los Muertos holiday, which gives Mexico its famous skull art.
The architecture was also fascinating, both from the bus and as we walked through the historic centre later in the week. I’ve decided it was easier just to pull all the pictures into a collage:
The bus tour was a great way to get a feel for the city and not be stuck at street level, but it was a long route and I was happy to jump off one stop before the Auditorio Nacional. I was just outside of the Museo Nacional de Antropología, which I would have loved to explore but was ready to return to my hotel for a bit. So, I enjoyed a relatively gentle and shaded walk along Ave. Plaza de la Reforma. It was a glorious sunny afternoon, the temperature was pleasant – probably about 75℉ – and there were people out everywhere, some dressed for the holiday with masks or painted faces.
This section of the road is divided and I realised quickly that I would not be able to pick up an Uber, so I did in the end return to the Auditorio to find that there was a portion of road specifically for taxi pick-ups and drop-offs – a sign with a very obvious taxi letting a person out of the car. Upon my return to the hotel I spent a quiet hour catching up on emails while looking out over the city.
For the next few days I had work events, including a 22-hour trip up to the nearby city of Querétaro, where there were international schools to visit. Slightly frustratingly, my suitcase was the only one of eight (all checked at the same time) not to make it onto the flight. Fortunately, the hotel we stayed at was a Japanese chain with excellent toiletries and facilities. I did not get to see much of the city, but some research indicates it would be fun to spend time in should I have the opportunity.
Exploring Mexico City – part 2
The day after our return to Mexico City, a few others who were in the same hotel joined me in an adventure up to the Plaza de la Constitución and the cathedral. We took an Uber and stopped first for lunch at a local restaurant where my Spanish was just enough to get us a table and pay for our meal with almost all the cash I had left. The food was excellent, though we did have to do a little surreptitious Googling to make sure we knew what we were ordering. After lunch we wandered up to the plaza, which is the second-largest square in the world after Tiananmen Square in Beijing. I knew it had set a record but standing at the edge of the plaza it is really impressive, with the cathedral on one side and stunning monumental buildings on all others, including the Palacio Nacional – the seat of the executive government. On the day we visited the square was largely fenced off for a major event taking place later in the day, with thousands of chairs set up facing a stage.
So, we started at one corner of the Catedral Metropolitano and took a long slow walk around theedges of the square, including one detour off along a shopping street. Some of the buildings were still decorated for the holiday, and even on a Wednesday afternoon, there were people everywhere – locals, tourists, families, teenagers, groups and people wandering on their own.
As we walked up the far side, along the front of the Palacio – and the historic centre – I realised that ahead of us was the spot in Mexico City I had most wanted to see: the Templo Mayor. This site was the main temple of the Mexica people in their capital of Tenochtitlan, and dates from the mid-fifteenth century. One of my lectures to the summer school students is about the impact of disease on the native populations of the Americas, and so I had done a great deal of reading about Tenochtitlan and its history. It was fascinating and incredibly exciting to see this evidence in person.
We hoped to go into the museum but they were not willing to let us in with bags and water bottles; fortunately there is a large terrace looking over the site which includes models both of the temples and the city as it would have looked pre-conquest.
Immediately opposite the temple, around which buildings of several generations have been constructed, is the massive Catedral Metropolitano, built over the former Aztec sacred precinct. The sections range in age of construction from 1573 to 1813, around the original church build after the Spanish conquest of the city. Each face of the cathedral is slightly different, and it felt like we could be looking at three or four separate buildings, depending on which side we viewed it from. We were starting to run out of time – several of us had work calls to get back to – so could not venture inside, but I hope I might manage on a subsequent trip.
The journey back to our hotel took considerably longer than expected, and was my longest Uber journey in the city – more than an hour to go 3.5 miles. I think next time we would probably just walk! But then, that is Mexico traffic, and something one has to be prepared for in most major cities around the world.
Later that evening, a colleague and I walked about a block or two away from our hotel to find El Bajío, one of an excellent chain offering authentic Mexican cuisine. I had a traditional slow-cooked barbeque lamb which was phenomenal, especially with fresh pico de gallo. The accompanying grilled cactus was not to my taste. The margarita, which they made at the table on a small cart similar to a pastry or carvery cart, was second to none, and I was given a list of over 100 tequilas to choose.
I thought here it might be fun to show off some of the excellent food I had while in Mexico including a loaded baked potato with guacamole, a Mexican pastry from a jaw-dropping local bakery, pork tacos, a chicken burrito with dark bean sauce, and a berry-tequila cocktail to celebrate the (eventual) return of my luggage.
There is no question you can eat very well in Mexico – breakfast each day was excellent with many different types of bread (including a mouth-watering plaintain bread), eggs with peppers, fried potatoes, and piles of fresh fruit including the best pineapple I have ever had. I did miss the occasional salad, however – something best to be avoided, along with anything washed in local water.
We had two more days of intense work, then after what felt like a very short week, I was packing again to head home. On my last morning in the hotel, I enjoyed a beautiful sunrise with the distant mountains outlined in orange and yellow.
I had reserved an Uber for my return to the airport – this direction was permitted – and despite flying during the government shutdown, found my connection through Newark quite straight-forward. I am lucky enough to have paid for TSA Pre-check as well as Global Entry, so was able to miss many of the longest queues. The last trip of the semester is always the one you’re ready to get done with so that you can breathe a bit and enjoy your time at home. This trip was no exception, though I really enjoyed my time in Mexico and look forward to taking a bit longer when I (hopefully) return to visit the nearby ruins of Teotihuacan and get inside some of the monuments.
As we took off, we had views of the city – showing its size and hazy air – as well as the nearby hills and the mountains that stuck out in darker green against inhabited valleys.
The US and then subsequently Scotland welcomed me with equally impressive plane views – quickly becoming a favourite and making me reluctant to give up my always-requested window seat.
So, before I close, a few top tips for those planning a trip to Mexico either for work or fun:
Make sure you use ‘authorised’ taxis in the airport; you tell the kiosk where you are going and they quote you a price. They then take payment, and bring you to a car; no money changes hands with the driver unless you wish to tip.
I reserved an Uber several times and it was excellent. Ubers in Mexico City are frequent and easy to use. But give yourself LOTS of time, and expect to be stuck in traffic.
It seems inevitable that walking around in the heat and sun would require a water bottle, but my reusable bottle was what caused issues getting into the Templo Mayor and possibly would have been an issue for the Cathedral. Staff were also searching all bags, and not happy about backpacks. So, be aware if you are planning to go inside a monument, you may need to give up your water bottle and may be subject to a search.
You can probably get around the city easily without ever taking any cash out, but I’d recommend having a few hundred pesos with you to buy souvenirs, tip (if you wish) and perhaps just to be on the safe side. I managed to use any leftovers I had in the airport before leaving, and I got some really cute souvenirs by the cathedral that were cash only (there are 100s of small stalls around).
In terms of safety, I never felt unsafe in the least, though I was mostly in the touristy areas with lots of people around, and I was careful to have my phone, hotel key, etc. in a cross-body bag that clearly identifies you as a tourist but is also safe from easy snatching. I didn’t carry or use a lot of cash, and the one time I went out in the evening on my own, I was in a busy and well-lit area.
Like any city, CDMX has neighbourhoods that are best avoided, and others that are very popular. I think that as long as you use your common sense and aware of your surroundings, there is no reason not to enjoy a fantastic week there, or probably more!
It’s been a while since I posted about something purely medieval, and so today seemed a good opportunity to do so, talking about one of my favourite English towns.
Romsey is a charming, well-to-do town about 7 miles from Southampton Airport, in the south of England. The town centre offers a mix of lovely shops, restaurants and pubs on winding streets and lined with Tudor-style frontages. The River Test flows through the community and some stunning parks, and past a picturesque old mill. The history in the town is more than evident; founded as far back as the 8th century, Romsey was a medieval market town that grew around the founding of the first church by King Edward the Elder in 907 CE.
Our connection to Romsey comes through some close friends who settled there some time ago, and who we try to visit at least once a year. The abbey is a required detour on our walks through the town, and I recall one relaxing morning in particular sitting under the trees with a cinnamon bun and coffee, enjoying the view.
I also have fond memories of visiting the nearby pub the Cocky Anchor in summer 2021 – my first holiday after the end of lockdown – where the back beer garden offered great views of the abbey church.
The pub is just off the nearby market square, from which you have easy access to the abbey, along Church Street and down Church place.
A visit to the abbey does not take particularly long, as you can walk around the outside in less than 5 minutes, unless like me you enjoy a much slower wander to take in the view. We always start off heading down Church Place, where the first view you see is this one, the east end of the church.
To the right of the path is the churchyard, which was the burial ground attached to the abbey. There are several memorials including a large cross and a Waterloo memorial, though the majority of the monuments were removed when the yard was cleared and levelled in the 1940s. The reasons for this appears to be safety-related, as the area had become very uneven and dangerous to traverse, and many of the stones were re-purposed to create a path.
North side of the abbey church
Ahead at the edge of the churchyard is Folly House, the former vicarage, now a beautiful residence. From here you could go in either direction down Church Lane or a street creatively called ‘the Abbey’ to enjoy more of the stunning houses and gardens of Romsey’s town centre.
Folly House, former vicarage
Continuing counter-clockwise around the church takes you to one of my favourite views, looking along the outside wall and up to the central tower – in all fairness, this diagonal view looking from the base of a church up to the tower is my favourite view of any ecclesiastical building. We come this way almost every time we visit Romsey, yet I find it impossible not to get another version, in different light of course…
On this south side of the church is a small park with shady trees, where we enjoyed the breakfast mentioned above.
This seems a good time to go into a bit more detail about the history of the abbey. As mentioned above, it was founded in 907 and Elflaeda, the daughter of the king, was put in charge of the community, beginning a long line of royal abbesses and nuns. In 967, the abbey was re-founded in the Benedictine order by King Edgar, also known as Edgar the Peacemaker or Peaceable. The first stone nunnery and church were built around the turn of the millennium, and the abbey flourished as a place of education and safety particularly for noble and royal daughters.
The abbey was sacked in 1003 by the Danes, likely in retaliation for the St Brice’s Day Massacre. This massacre had taken place on 13 November 1002, when King Æthelred (often referred to as the Unready) had ordered the killing of all the Danes living in England at the time. The chronicles of the time indicate that it was retaliation for an assassination attempt, though it may also have been retaliation for the years of raids by Danish forces.
Following the sacking of the abbey, in the 1120s work began on the current building. This was during the reign of King Henry I and work continued under the supervision of Henry of Blois. Blois was the brother of Henry I’s successor, Stephen, whose daughter Marie was elected abbess in 1155.
Marie’s story is one of those tragic female tales of the Middle Ages that make one realise that royal women had it just as hard – if not sometimes harder – than others.
Her father King Stephen died in 1154 and then her last living brother, William, passed in 1159. On his death, she became suo jure Countess of Boulogne (essentially, countess in her own right, meaning the title was hers by birth and not marriage). Despite her position as abbess, Marie was abducted by the son of the Count of Flanders and forced into marriage. Eventually, after giving birth to several daughters, she found her marriage annulled and was permitted to return to the cloister for the last years of her life – though not to Romsey. I wish this was an unusual tale to find in the Middle Ages, but it goes without saying that it was a difficult time to be a woman, at any level of society.
Back to the abbey. The last three arches of the church, designed in an early English style, were added in the 1230s, by which time over 100 nuns were part of the community. The abbey would continue to prosper until the decimation of the population by the Black Death in the late 1340s; 80% of the nuns are reported to have died, including the Abbess, and from this point on the number of nuns remained much smaller – less than 30. Nevertheless, the abbey remained an important part of local life, functioning as a center of prayer and charity.
Unlike some less fortunate establishments, the abbey survived the dissolution of the monasteries under Henry VIII due to the petition of four Guardians, who purchased the abbey for £100. The nuns were dispersed, but the community continued to worship in the surviving buildings.
It is still a working church to this day, with Sunday services.
On our last visit, we were finally able to get inside of the church, which has several fine examples of medieval art as well as Norman carving that echoes that seen in Durham Cathedral.
Visiting an abbey like that at Romsey is a unique opportunity to experience an ecclesiastic community that has existed for hundreds of years, both changing and evolving with the times as well as maintaining its medieval roots. The protection Romsey enjoyed after the creation of the Church of England means that it allows the full immersive experience that you cannot get at ruined abbeys like those at Jedburgh, Dryburgh, and so many more that did not survive the dissolution of monasteries in the sixteenth century. It’s also just a beautiful building, set in a lovely English town that provides the best of what the countryside has to offer. I highly recommend a journey!
Finally after a long break, I determined last week that I would return to my Fife Coastal Path endeavour. The last month or so of travel has meant that my efforts to maintain fitness levels dragged a bit, and so I selected a portion of the walk that was not too long but still tested me a bit: starting at the Fairmont Hotel and walking through St Andrews to the Old Course Hotel, where I started my walk to Guardbridge many months ago. The first two miles are traditional Fife Coastal Path: rising and falling along the edge of the coastline with dramatic stretches of rocky shore and beaches. Then, the last mile and a bit is in St Andrews, along East Sands, up the Scores, and past the famous Old Course. This is a really pleasant walk, but the out of town section does require some stamina and sturdy shoes.
As would be expected in November, the morning was cool (8℃/46℉) with a cold wind and mostly cloudy with patches of blue sky. I wore my raincoat mostly as a windbreaker but also to guarantee against any stray rain showers – fortunately only needed for the wind. The bus trip was a short one – about 10 minutes – on the trusty 95 from St Andrews, and the stop is right on the road outside the entrance to the Fairmont estate. Fortunately there is a well-kept path running from the bus stop and along the access road up to the hotel. It is a gentle decline, allowing for a view over the North Sea as well as up to the hotel building, across the golf course.
I wasn’t 100% confident as to the route to actually get to the Coastal Path, but I knew that the walk from the hotel into town was done by guests, and so I figured it must be possible. There was no question that I was not there for the golf, as most others were – my attire was a bit different from the slick sporting outfits.
It took me about fifteen minutes from the road to wind towards the hotel the past, and down to the clubhouse for the Torrance. The views across the courses are beautiful even on an overcast day, and the outline of St Andrews is very clear; I really must come back here in the sun! This is clear evidence as to why the Fairmont used to be called the St Andrews Bay Hotel.
Distant St Andrews – with a powerful zoom lens
To get my bearings, I chose to walk down below the clubhouse and past the delivery parking, where I realised that I needed to backtrack slightly to an access road onto the course. From there, I turned right through a break in a stone wall and it was an easy walk to the second wall, dividing the course from the Coastal Path. I used a wooden ladder to scale the wall, though I think there was a break a bit further up for anyone less inclined to climb.
Finally at the starting point, I set my Fitbit to record and started on my way, enjoying immediately the return to a cliffside muddy track, along a stone wall, with waves crashing below. There were a few occasions where my eyes filled with water due to the wind, and I did have to wear my hideous winter hat, but I was warm enough once I got moving.
From here, the path eventually goes down some stone steps and across a bridge over a burn, after which it curves to the right and descends quite sharply towards the beach level. While my boots were not as comfortable as they once were, I was glad to have them here where the recent rain has made the small rivulets into rushing burns and even the grassy areas into mud.
The coastal views are great here in both directions, though the wind is definitely a force to be reckoned with – as ever in Scotland, layers are key. I spend a great deal of time at work explaining that it seldom gets as cold in Scotland as it does in parts of the US, but the wind is biting so it can feel much colder than it is. This was one of those days.
As the path descends it essentially passes through a hedgerow, and you can see the cliffs above you, mostly covered with plants though there are the occasional dramatic rocky outcroppings and circling birds. On the beach level, you can enjoy crashing waves, and ahead is the shape of the Rock and Spindle.
It was about here that I passed a couple who were clearly familiar with the path, and who observed that I had about 45 minutes until high tide, with a gentle warning in their tone.
Yes, I had once again forgotten to check the tide, though to be honest it was because I did not think it was an issue on this section. My error, clearly, and while I assured the couple that I would be fine, I decided that it was time to hustle a bit. So rather than pausing and taking many wave pictures (as I was tempted to do), I crossed the rocky beach and identified relatively quickly where my potential problem lay.
Specifically, it lay right about here, where the waves stretched inland along a rocky edge, threatening to very quickly cut me off from the path ahead. Like many of these small beaches, this cove was backed by a rock cliff and, as the sign clearly told me, if the tide was too high I would have no choice but to wait – there was no high tide route.
So, onwards I scrambled, and found myself looking at a rock face about 4 feet high with one foothold that was a bit higher than I thought my right leg might go. There is no picture, as I realised I did not have time to waste. So it wasn’t graceful or smooth, but I managed to get up the rocks and keep my feet dry – just barely. I probably had another 5 minutes before I would have had to stop. Good timing, then.
Beyond this pinch point, the rocky shore continued for another few minutes before I was able to rejoin the smoother path, and pass the sign in the photo above. I swear next time I will check more carefully.
Side note, I can see why Geology and Earth Science classes from the University would come out here for outings – there is a huge range of fascinating rock formations even for someone who knows nothing about them, and excellent examples of the ocean carving through stone over time.
Ahead, in particular, is the Rock and Spindle, a famous formation that has been widely studied and photographed. According to some brief reading I did, the three stacks are made primarily of solidified volcanic ash, the remains of an ancient submarine volcano.
As I approached I was feeling uncertain that the sun would be helpful and actually break through the clouds, then as the path curved around to follow the shoreline, spectacularly the sun prevailed and provided some excellent contrast for my pictures.
A few words of caution if you are approaching from the direction I did – don’t get too caught up looking at the view, as the path here is crossed several times by burns. The rocks and grass are slippery and often wet, so it would be all too easy to fall.
There is also, I should note, a route above the rock formation which offers great views across the golf course and of the Castle Course clubhouse; Dad and I took this path when we walked out here many years ago (and of course I cannot find those pictures for reference). Alternatively, walkers can get down to the beach here to get closer to the rocks, but I was ready to make some progress and so passed through a wonky gate and continued on my way.
The path here becomes the more standard grassy path, and as I approached St Andrews I started to doubt whether the predicted sunshine would overcome what seemed to be pretty steady clouds. The overcast sky did not prevent me from taking plenty of different views of the town as I approached, of course – here are a few. Do I have sunny versions of these? Almost certainly. But there is something about this view of town that is impossible to resist.
After ambling along at a good pace, enjoying being at the water level and the crashing waves, I realised that the cove I was in was quickly reaching its end, and there ahead of me was one of the Fife Coastal Path’s infamous – in my mind – stone staircases. The steps themselves are generally flat-ish rocks that have been layered into the hillside, and often wind back and forth as they climb steadily upwards. This is one of the longer sets that I have come across, and it definitely tested my endurance, which has declined since the summer. The view is of course excellent particularly if you have to stop and catch your breath.
Once you make it to the top, however, the path is relatively level for some time, with only gentle ups and downs. The crest of the next hill provides a spectacular view over the bay and town – it is THE view, the one photographers will climb up here to capture. Even without sun, it is impressive. That said, as I made my way along the clifftop, the sun did make an appearance, highlighting the lighter stone of the cathedral ruins and harbour, bright against the turbulent waters of the bay.
The path here is wider and more regularly-used, with joggers and weekend walkers more common. It is easy to get distracted by the view on one side, while on the other the golf course rolls into the distance until it comes to an end at a line of tall pine trees. This marks the boundary between the Castle Course and St Andrews Holiday park, a large caravan site at the edge of town. Passing through a metal gate, you will notice a narrow path heading up to the road, so in theory you could begin a walk here as well, or do a loop up from town and back along the coast.
St Andrews and the bay
The view is just incredible, as gradually you move closer and closer to East Sands. Then in no time at all you are descending once more, along the edge of the caravan estate on a relatively steep set of stairs. There is a viewpoint off to the right, and then the path continues towards the beach.
One last gentle hill leads down off of the Coastal Path proper and onto the walk along East Sands, the wide open beach of St Andrews edged by the cliff on one end and the pier on the other.
just because…
Those of us who have lived in St Andrews for any length of time will tell you that the weather there is different, golden in a way that cannot be matched anywhere in Scotland. It might be a blizzard in Cupar, raining in Guardbridge, but it is sunny in St Andrews. Not always, of course, but more often than not the town enjoys its own pocket of good weather, and this day was no exception.
As I passed this slightly tattered Saltire at the end of the beach, the sun fought its way through the last of the clouds, and the day opened up into beautiful sunshine. Was it sunny at the Fairmont? Who was to say.
East Sands is always busy with walkers, dogs, swimmers, surfers, and sailors depending on the weather, and today was no different. Even in the cold weather and even colder water there were people out in wetsuits. And, some brave souls just in bathing suits, though I learned later that they were dashing up the beach to the newly-built sauna. This is the beach where students take part in the famous May Dip, and is a spectacular place for sunrise, as well as to catch the Northern Lights if you are lucky. The East Sands walk takes you past the University nursery, the East Sands Leisure Centre (town pool), the Scottish Oceans Institute and the famous Toastie Shack, perfect for a beach snack.
The edge of East Sands marks the start of the portion of the Coastal Path that I know like the back of my hand, have walked 100s of times over the years and love. But oddly, I was not confident as to the actual route of the path. My map told me to turn left at the Toastie shack, but the signs told me to continue strait.
As the straight-ahead route was arguably prettier, leading along the beach and over the harbour gate, I chose to follow the signs. Here, the path goes through the play park and along the edge of the beach, allowing for a great vista across the water and up to the Fairmont.
On the other side is a wide grassy bank that leads over to where the Kinness Burn enters the harbour. I wandered over to take a quick picture, but it is worth warning that this stretch of grass is full of holes, dips and – annoyingly – the occasional dog dropping, so best to keep looking down. Soon the path curves around to the left and down a short hill towards the harbour. Cross at the harbour gates and then swing right either in front of or behind the line of buildings. Officially, the path goes behind, but I don’t think it matters greatly. This is one of the most photographed parts of St Andrews, with the colourful buildings and the old harbour, and the entrance to the famous St Andrews pier.
If you have the time, I recommend a detour out to the end of the pier, as the view back is phenomenal. The pier had been closed for some time due to damage sustained during a storm in November 2023 – it is great to see it back open and so many people enjoying the walk. As often happens on a sunny day after a few of rain, the town was busy with students, visitors and locals all out enjoying the day.
Side note, I have several times on these walks had the weather improve as the day goes on, and wonder if I shouldn’t wait until later in the day to get going. But instead, I just keep heading out as early on a Saturday as I can manage. Maybe that will change as the winter closes in, but probably not.
Whether you detour out the pier or not, you have two choices for climbing back up to cliff-top level; the first is a set of stairs, and the second is a hill so steep that cyclists are required to walk their bikes up or down. I opted for the hill, and either way you arrive at a great viewpoint over the town. There are the ruins here of St Mary on the Rock – a church outline – and several cannon aimed out to sea. The highlight is of course the view of the cathedral wall and remaining towers straight ahead.
The path is wide, with a stone wall along the edge of the cliff, though if you look down you will see familiar rocky coastline and birds nesting or bobbing in the water. Ahead there are two options, and neither is marked though I think the obvious choice is to hug the coastline and take the right-hand fork. The left leads you along the cathedral wall and towards North Street.
The fork I recommend is also the one that takes walkers along one of my most favourite stretches of path in St Andrews, and possibly all of Scotland: up a gentle hill between the cathedral and the castle, one of the best viewpoints in the area. You can see into the cathedral grounds, down to the pier, out to sea, and of course along the coast to the castle and distant West Sands. It is a place that is almost meditative for me – I have walked it more times than I would hope to count, even now seldom stopping to take pictures and only enjoying the view. A scattering of sea roses makes it the perfect spot in summer, and there are two benches ideally placed to rest and enjoy. Definitely take a few moments to do so, if you can.
St Andrews Castle is of course directly ahead, its outline something I imagine I could draw with my eyes closed. I cannot pass without a picture, so on this occasion I included the Coastal Path sign – in one of them.
Once past the castle, the route continues along the Scores, one of the most beautiful streets in St Andrews and one of the most expensive in Scotland. The University owns a good portion of the buildings and you will pass, amongst others: the Schools of English, Economics, Philosophy, Classics, International Relations and History, the University Museum, St Salvator’s Hall and the back of St Salvator’s Quad, the Principal’s House, and the Admissions office. The buildings in between which are privately owned are large, some very old and some very new, all with phenomenal views. The Scores is lined at varying points by stone walls, and you can choose to walk on either side, though I always feel that the left going away from the castle is ever so slightly nicer. It is wider, and you do have to look out that you do not wander into the cycle lane.
About half way along on the left, Butts Wynd cuts up towards North Street, offering a stunning view of St Salvator’s Chapel.
It may be tempting to nip up to the quad and take a few pictures, so by all means do so here if this is your one trip through St Andrews. For golf enthusiasts, the best is yet to come.
Continuing along the Scores, you will pass the Catholic Church, and ahead on the corner of Murray Park is what used to be the Russell Hotel, which was one of our favourite spots in town for excellent Scottish food. The couple who owned it eventually retired and the majority of the structure was torn down, so that all that remained was the listed frontispiece. As of writing, it is enshrouded in scaffolding and being rebuilt into what I understand will be flats.
At this point I recommend crossing the street and continuing roughly straight ahead. Along the cliff you will find a tall wrought iron fence with warning signs as to the sheer drop on the other side – this is due at least in part to the unfortunate tendency for students to wish to climb the fence, which has devastatingly led to fatal injury in the past.
Avoid the temptation to turn right down the steps toward the Aquarium, and while there is no clear signage continue straight towards the towering Martyrs’ Monument, which was put in place to commemorate those killed during the Reformation. Beyond the Monument is the Royal and Ancient Golf Club of St Andrews and the famous Old Course. To the left, the buildings of the Scores including what used to be the Scores Hotel but is now Seton House, and the towering red Hamilton Grand, that incredible framing building to all pictures of the 18th hole. When I was a student it was still student housing, though has in intervening years been re-build into luxury condos.
Continue down the hill and cross the road, continuing up Golf Place towards North Street – do not head toward the beach, though there are public toilets in that direction should they be needed.
Continue to follow the golf course by turning right along the Links, which is a narrow road that runs between the Old Course and the buildings that include the famous Auchterlonies Golf Shop, the Rusacks Hotel, and the New Golf Club. There are regular signs reminding you of this, but golf is being played year-round, so pay attention for stray shots!
As you walk along the course, you will get some great views towards the Swilcan Bridge – where all golf competition winners have their pictures taken, as do many tourists.
Follow the white fence when it curves around the end of the buildings and keep moving towards the hotel, straight ahead through the car park. In only a few minutes, you arrive at the entrance to the hotel grounds, where there is a clear sign to mark the end of this section.
Overall, a comfortable walk with a few spots to challenge you and a few spots to just enjoy the view. The section through St Andrews is beautiful, but I still think I prefer the out in the wild paths such as the one from Crail to Cambo – for hiking, in any case.
A small calamity of this walk was the realisation that my walking boots, purchased in the spring, just aren’t cutting it anymore. They have worn down and are encouraging my ankles to roll in even more than they do naturally, so I am on the lookout for a replacement. Good thing Christmas is coming, as I hope I can request a new pair! Any recommendations on brand would be welcome.
Autumn and winter compete as my favourite seasons of the year, both for photography and life in general. There are few things that make me happier than a snowstorm and snow scape (see my post about Marblehead in snow). That said, the colours of autumn are just stunning, be they orange, red, gold, or anything in between. This year in particular, I had two trips that reminded me of the spectacular nature of autumn on both sides of the Atlantic; and I am lucky enough to call both regions home – or very close to it.
As I have written about before, Pitlochry is a special place for us, and one to which we return regularly. Our first weekend away in November many years ago allowed us to catch the very end of the autumn colour, but this year we chose to take a day trip on my weekend at home, and we caught some gorgeous golds and yellows (despite the often overcast weather). My favourite point on the drive, which I have mentioned before, is just as you turn a corner on the A9, and on this trip we could see just the start of the colour.
In Pitlochry, we parked at the edge of town and meandered our way through the crowds (yes, even a small town in Perthshire has crowds), then down to Loch Faskally and the famous Pitlochry dam, where there is a fish ladder and excellent views in both directions. We crossed the dam and walked a short way around the loch, where we could look back on the trees still in sunshine.
The standard walking loop in Pitlochry goes across the dam and then down the far side of the river, past the Festival Theatre. This theatre reminds me very much of the North Shore Music Theatre which I visited frequently while growing up, for its eclectic shows and unique nature. I have never actually attended a show here, but some day soon…
Not far beyond the theatre, the street passes by some stone cottages on one side and an inn on the other, then walkers must pay close attention not to miss the narrow entrance to the turn-off across the pedestrian suspension bridge. From this bridge, the view looking back towards the dam and the river is fantastic.
Once across the bridge, walkers can continue up through the town or take a sharp left to follow the riverbank back towards the dam and its visitor centre. We chose this route as there were several families ahead of us moving at the pace of the accompanying toddlers, and we wished to go back up to the overlook of the loch, below. Side note, the visitor center is relatively new (opened less than 10 years ago), and offers a great café, small gift shop, and clean restrooms.
The sun on this day just would not cooperate and show off the yellows and oranges the way I wanted, but I think you can get a hint of what we saw.
After a quick lunch in Pitlochry, we headed back to the car to drive up to Killiecrankie, which is only a few miles north.
The walk here is famous for stunning colour, but apparently everyone else had heard that too – there was not a place to park, and so we drove a bit further north to Blair Atholl. Immediately upon crossing the bridge into the town, there is a small car park where we stopped and found a walk along the riverbank.
Finally, here the sun came out in honest and I was able to capture a bit more of what we saw in person, brightness that really isn’t as visible in the above, overcast pictures.
We thought very briefly about going all the way to House of Bruar, but decided it would likely be even busier than Pitlochry, so not appealing. The drive home boasted one more impressive view, looking up at Kinnoull Hill near Perth, from the A9. There was a hint of what once had been (or may be on a less dry autumn).
The rumour on TV was that this year had been so dry, that all of the famous New England colour would be muted. It may be that further north this was the case, but on my drive from Boston to Greenwich, CT and back again, I saw some of the most amazing colour I can remember in many years. Now, granted, this was only my second autumn visit to New England in 20 years, but I found myself in awe over the beauty and vivacity of the leaves. There was one colour, which I do not seem to have managed to capture, that was an almost fluorescent pink-orange that you would not be blamed for thinking could not appear in nature – I was desperate to capture this colour, but it seemed only to exist on the side of the highway, where I could not stop. Nonetheless, I managed a few lovely views and took some short breaks while driving to stretch out my back and enjoy the scenery.
My first stop was at a rest area heading south, about halfway between Sturbridge, Massachusetts and Hartford, Connecticut. I did not expect it, but the small information cabin included a back porch looking over the river below, lined by some stunning maples.
The next morning I found myself favoured by traffic and so 40 minutes early for an appointment, making it possible for me to take a short detour down a tree-lined road to a pond. The reflection of the trees on the calm water was stunning, and there was a small brook meandering past the road.
My final day in Connecticut was dominated by the long drive from New Canaan to Marblehead, through downtown Boston as going through Salem is not an option in October (as I was reminded frequently). This was looking to be around 4 hours, so I planned to stop twice along the way – my back was starting to show the wear and tear of a busy few weeks in the car.
My second and final stop was just outside Sturbridge, Massachusetts, where there was a short mile-long walk around a pond – the perfect opportunity to stretch legs/back, and take a walk in the woods. Sure enough, while once again I was stymied in finding many bright colours, I found the golden hues everywhere, and it was a beautiful afternoon.
The light shining through the yellow trees against white birch bark reminded me of a scene in House of Flying Daggers, a film known for its imagery perhaps more than its story.
I am forever grateful to myself for taking this interlude, as what should have been two more hours in the car turned into three as I hit the Friday afternoon traffic through Boston. That was a long drive.
I am forever grateful, though, for a job that allows me to experience this kind of journey at a time of year when I could not visit for so long. I hope that I may be back next year.
Finally, while this visit to Dunkeld did not take place this year, I have been wanting to post these pictures for some time and was looking for the right time. Several years ago, as I recovered from my second bout of Covid, the other half suggested a day trip as I was no longer testing positive and had been confined to the house for two weeks. Dunkeld is a beautiful village in Perthshire – one of many – even closer than Pitlochry, boasting a medieval cathedral and some lovely homes.
On the day in question, we arrived just after lunch and walked through the village to the cathedral, then down to the river where you can walk along the bank back towards the main bridge.
While it was later in the season, there was still a touch of yellow and gold, particularly in what I think are beech trees. As we approached the bridge, the sun was glinting off the river between the mostly-empty branches of the trees, and I took about 10 pictures of the leaves. These are the better ones.
The day was growing clearer, and so we climbed up to the bridge and across, to take in the view from both sides. In one direction is the village, spread along the riverbank and the hills.
In the other direction is the river and – just visible through the trees – the tower of the cathedral. Covid exhaustion meant that I was not really up for a long walk, and so we headed back towards the car via a coffee shop on the main street.
On the day we visited, there was a perfect Scottish mist hanging on the treetops, though the hints of red and orange are still visible between the green pines.
This is one of my favourite pictures of Dunkeld, and the grassy area you can just see on the left side is where the cathedral grounds meet the river.
There is nothing particularly thought-inducing about this post, but I wanted to share my appreciation for autumn in both of the places I have lived. New England colour is world-famous, and deservedly so, but Scotland – along with many other countries – produces its own autumnal glory. It may not be as dramatic, but it is beautiful.
The Wandering Medievalist 