It’s funny how weather can completely alter your view of a city. The only time I’d been to St. Andrews before prior to two weeks ago was with my former roommate Zoe in 2003 when we visited her then-boyfriend Roger at the nearby RAF base. It was drizzly and cold and downright dreary. We had a good time, mind you—there are rarely times I’m not having a good time, no matter the weather—it just wasn’t the idyllic picture I had in my mind of St. Andrews.
This time was the opposite of that.
Originally, St. Andrews wasn’t on the eight-day itinerary I had lain out, but I added in a stop in the 11th hour as I knew Mom and Sis would want to make Dad green with envy that they got to visit the Old Course (spoiler alert: subject of a future Photo Friday) and he didn’t.
As you likely know due to that flying-under-the-radar prince, Willy, having attended there in the early-2000s, St. Andrews lays claim to Scotland’s oldest university, which was founded in 1413 (more than 300 years older than my entire country! how’s that for a comparison?).
When I studied abroad in Edinburgh, I was actually enrolled at the University of St. Andrews originally, then switched schools once I found out it was 70 percent female and in such a tiny town. It’s a lovely place, but seeing as I grew up in a “city” of 18,000 and then went to a liberal arts college of 1,400, I wanted to go somewhere bigger. Edinburgh wound up being the perfect fit for me.
We mainly did a lot of wandering and a bit of shopping (OK, a lot of shopping)—the downtown area has a really great pedestrian drag chock full of shops, both of trinkets and of clothing—and my mom told Kari she should buy a hat to go with her nice dresses. Sometimes I fear like my mom has read a bit too much Victorian lit and watched one too many episodes of Upstairs, Downstairs.
(Kari would like you to know did not buy this one. Or any hat for that matter.)
While Scotland doesn’t scream “beach destination”—any Scottish readers out there: is there any time throughout the year when you can honestly go outdoors in a bathing suit, excuse me, swim costume?—the weather was just too perfect not to head out to the beach just beyond the downtown.
And I finally shared a page out of the SVV School for Jumping Photography and taught my mom how to take a proper jumping shot.
It took a few tries, but I’d say she mastered it.
Also, I’d say this photo is visual proof that rabbit genes run in my family. Meet my sister, stunt woman for The Matrix (at least she should have been, wouldn’t you say?).