Accordions enhance every aspect of daily life

I think I've danced every single night since I've arrived at St. Andrews. It's been fabulous.

Two nights ago, I was spending time over at Juliana's flat with John, Michael (we've decided to call him by his real name. He doesn't deserve a mean-spirited nickname), Daniel (Michael's flatmate), and Aaron, the Amherst guy. The evening took a turn for the better (best) when Michael decided to grab his accordion from his flat and play waltzes and polka for us. He said he only knew a few chords, and he could pick out Scarborough Fair, but he managed to play quite well, and Juliana and I were soon teaching Aaron and John how to waltz. We also made an attempt to choreograph a good ceilidh. The night ended out with a frightful rendition of the Doors' "House of the Rising Sun," sung by myself, John, and Aaron, accompanied by Michael. The cacophony was wonderful to behold! Aaron and I rounded out the evening by putting his new skills to the test, waltzing down the path from DRA, buffeted about by the wind that was picking up that evening.

The following day, Saturday, John, Juliana and I had planned an excursion out to Falkland Palace, the country home of the Stuarts. I would tell you all about its Renaissance architecture, teeming gardens, and charming countryside, but unfortunately, we never made it. We managed to miss the bus twice (once because we were late. Twice when we didn't think to wave down the correct bus), then we decided to abandon the whole enterprise and catch a bus out to Anstruther to find the Kellye Castle. Returning to town, we were waylaid by the farmers' market. A farmers' market! On the first Saturday of every month! I bought a bag of cheese scones and some chocolate. It was also a great opportunity to meet some locals, which is a little difficult to do in a college town. I talked for awhile with a middle-aged couple who sold preserves and cheeses, and they advised me on places to see and asked me about myself and my studies. They were so friendly! Really more pleasant and welcoming than a lot of the Scottish students I've met. So, now the proud owner of some delicious scones, we set out to find a bus that would take us to Anstruther, and beyond.

The bus ride was very enjoyable. We sat right on the prow of the upper-deck, zipping through the countryside and being tossed about well above the bus' center of gravity. The route we chose took us right down the coast, passing through tiny fishing villages and windswept villages. Right, the wind. Remember how I mentioned that it was picking up the night before? It reached gale-force by Saturday. Chicago doesn't have anything on the Central Lowlands. When we got off the bus in Anstruther, the intensity of the wind was drawing up the North Sea into whitecaps and seaspray. Walking about Anstruther, we were a bit at a loss as to how we get to the Castle, and after inquiring at a Bed and Breakfast, found out that it was at least a 5 mile walk away. Stumped, we trotted around the town looking for diversion. That came in the Anstruther Fish Bar, which advertised itself as the top-rated fish and chips establishment in the UK. This place had come highly recommended by the Butler staff, so we gave it a try. We weren't disappointed. I've never had fish and chips before, but I enjoyed it immensely. All the while a video played in the corner of the restaurant, no sound, showing clips from fishing expeditions dating back to the fifties. My mouth being stuffed with fried haddock, it was... enriching... to watch the circle of life unfold on television. No, really, it was quite nice! Just a little strange.

We walked out on the stone pier after lunch. I don't think I've ever been so close to a sea so angry. The wind was positively wild, and the waves were actually cresting level to the pier. Seagulls flapped fruitlessly against the air current, buffeted each way with every gust. Finally, when one of the waves actually crashed over the pier, we retreated, Juliana's and John's shoes and pantlegs soaked. I avoided the worst of it. We returned to the shore slightly shocked, and very windswept.

And so begins our real adventure. We had been intrigued by the little villages we had passed through on the way to Anstruther, and decided to walk along the roadway for a while, back to St. Andrews, and eventually pick up a bus at our convenience. This worked out quite well for awhile; we passed through the village of Kilrenny, which contained about 2 major intersections and sported a very classic chapel at its center. The churchyard drew us in, and we spent some time examining the centuries-old headstones and meandering through the trees and gravel paths. It was late afternoon, the sky a shameless shade of blue, and the stone walls offered some respite from the intense winds, creating a pocket of calm. The yard abutted a field of sheep grazing, and it was incredibly peaceful just to watch them munch away.

Moving on from Kilrenny, we found a dirt road that said it led to the "Fife Coastal Trail." We were in a "why not?" mood, so again we set off, against all prudence. It was nearing dusk, but I think we were all drawn to the ocean. We passed by a pig farm (not at all dirty. The pigs seemed to have very satisfactory living conditions, with plenty of room to roam) before beholding the coast, which became our constant companion for about 5 hours. The coastal path parallels the coastal road, so at any point, one could walk about .5 mile to the west and find the road, and potentially a bus stop. In any case, whether we follow the path or the road, we would make it back to St. Andrews. So off we went! Over 11 miles of beautiful Scottish countryside, fields and rocky escarpments to our right, the North Sea and the "prison island" to our right. Dusk was settling in earnest, the full moon rising to the east. It was startling how ineffably beautiful it was. And all by the seat of our pants! None of us had planned this, and it was our good luck that we had all worn good shoes and packed sufficient lunches, and that the moon was full enough to light our way in the last two hours or so of our trek. We kept spirits up by singing songs, notably "The Mariner's Revenge Song" by the Decemberists that John and I knew by heart. We climbed over stone walls, got up close and personal with a dozen head of cattle, and passed by gutted houses, unroofed and empty. All the while the omnipresent wind tangled our hair and groped beneath our jackets.

We pursued the path bravely, but when, after 5 hours of hiking, we saw a sign that read, "St. Andrews - 7 1/2 miles. Rocky and difficult terrain," we decided to head for the nearest town and pick up a bus. It was after 9, we were cold, and John's shoes were still wet from the Anstruther pier. Turning off the path was a little sad, but considering our lack of prep and time, we were happy to have made it so far. We found a bus stop in the town of Kingsbarnes, and waited for about 45 minutes for the next bus heading for St. Andrews. We ate our sandwiches, Juliana recited 18 lines from the Canterbury Tales, and then we danced polka to try to keep warm. Getting onto the bus, finally, was a relief. Even if it was full of wild clubbers, already pre-seasoned for a night on the town in Dundee. They were pretty funny, in retrospect.

Now, the start of another week. We leave for Inverness on Friday, so more traveling and hiking for me. I can't wait!