The waves
The sea at St. Andrews today was magnificent. It was rougher than I've ever seen it. I went down to the pier with Konrad (whose idea the excursion was (that man knows everything about beauty; sublime weather could never escape him)), Josh, Brendan, Martin and, of particular note, Svenja (
svenjaliv). Svenja is a friend from Maynooth who came over for three days or so to meet some of her other friends who happen also to live in St. Andrews. It was great to see her after so long. We all met for coffee in Taste (a great Bohemian coffee shop) and then went to the pier, which is a short coastal walk from the town. It was amazing to see, on this walk, the seagulls sitting on the water only to jump up every time a wave threatened to break over their heads. Once, I saw a good two dozen of them in a group, all flying and landing again in a wave, somehow like a sheet being aired. Others were perched on the cliff, gliding just above the surface of the water, or doing various aerial acrobatics. For the millionth time in my life I wished I could fly.
The waves were so rough we were ambivalent spending too much time on the pier. It's rare that a wave is powerful enough (and breaks at the right time) that it can wet you while walking along this very high stone jetty, but when a wave does make it to the top, it often does so with plenty of energy to spare, and we feared it could expend it knocking us down, or at least getting us very wet. But as the end of the pier juts far out into the sea, it's very hard to resist the call to go all the way long. The very end of the pier has some railings, so you can lean over the edge and look down at the waves crashing against the stone wall beneath you. We spent a small amount of time there, getting wet, tempting the waves, and saying "wow" a lot, before going back, blissfully happy and covered in salt.
All my friends are awesome, because none of them baulked at the idea of getting slightly wet. (Even Svenja! And she's a girl!) Also, meeting Svenja was great because, to my surprise, it transpires that I'm slightly missing the Irish accent. I'm really looking forward to going home on Sunday, even though it means leaving this blessed town. (I'm going to play obscene amounts of Gran Turismo.)
svenjaliv). Svenja is a friend from Maynooth who came over for three days or so to meet some of her other friends who happen also to live in St. Andrews. It was great to see her after so long. We all met for coffee in Taste (a great Bohemian coffee shop) and then went to the pier, which is a short coastal walk from the town. It was amazing to see, on this walk, the seagulls sitting on the water only to jump up every time a wave threatened to break over their heads. Once, I saw a good two dozen of them in a group, all flying and landing again in a wave, somehow like a sheet being aired. Others were perched on the cliff, gliding just above the surface of the water, or doing various aerial acrobatics. For the millionth time in my life I wished I could fly.The waves were so rough we were ambivalent spending too much time on the pier. It's rare that a wave is powerful enough (and breaks at the right time) that it can wet you while walking along this very high stone jetty, but when a wave does make it to the top, it often does so with plenty of energy to spare, and we feared it could expend it knocking us down, or at least getting us very wet. But as the end of the pier juts far out into the sea, it's very hard to resist the call to go all the way long. The very end of the pier has some railings, so you can lean over the edge and look down at the waves crashing against the stone wall beneath you. We spent a small amount of time there, getting wet, tempting the waves, and saying "wow" a lot, before going back, blissfully happy and covered in salt.
All my friends are awesome, because none of them baulked at the idea of getting slightly wet. (Even Svenja! And she's a girl!) Also, meeting Svenja was great because, to my surprise, it transpires that I'm slightly missing the Irish accent. I'm really looking forward to going home on Sunday, even though it means leaving this blessed town. (I'm going to play obscene amounts of Gran Turismo.)