Escape to Gullane (part one)

The more time I spend in East Lothian, the more I love it. There is a gentle grandeur to that part of the east coast that keeps drawing me back, and no matter where I start, I like nothing more than to end up in Gullane.

For many people, Gullane conjures up images of rolling green golf courses flung inward from the edges of the sea and dotted heavily at the borders with expansive villas. Like St. Andrews, this is a place golfers take seriously, as the old Muirfield Course is home to the rather posh sounding Honourable Company of Edinburgh Golfers.

I have never golfed and I don’t know if I ever will. Yet I take incredible enjoyment in this quaint old village, for it holds a number of well placed pleasures. The things I love are tucked in close around the long and simple main street, starting with the dilapidated ruins of the old church of St. Andrew.

The church lies across the street from a rather nice deli (ask about the treacle oat biscuits). A mop of dead vines hunches over the broken walls and a wooden door is propped open, an ongoing invitation to the parishioners who abandoned this building hundreds of years ago when the newer Dirleton Kirk was opened. The rusted lock is draped with cobwebs, the cover to the keyhole barely parted as if in the hope its companion key might still exist somewhere.

The road that runs past the church away from the high street is the one that leads to the shore of a long, beautiful beach. Oh, how easy it would be to walk to the beach, if only the magnetic tug of exquisite cake wasn’t hauling us back down the pavement and into Falko, a bustling German bakery and coffeehouse. If we just could tear ourselves away from the promise of three-layered torte or meringues that hover like clouds behind the glass display case, then we could go to the beach.

There is nothing to be done. We should eat.

And? Which did you choose?

Now we can go to the beach, following the trail that is lined with sea berries, which are rust red on one side and bleached white on the other. We can dodge the tide and look up at the dunes, where the wind pushes at the stalks of grass and makes them bend like an army of old men that refuse to fall.

The waves chop placidly at the shore, but this doesn’t stop one suspicious dog from chasing them up and down, biting down on the white furls just as they break and disappear, thwarting him yet again. We count seashells and see the fanned remains of seabird wings, lost to some unknown tragedy. A little further down the beach a stick rises up from the shoreline like a frozen cobra.

There is something else on this beach that I want to show you, but I loved the place so much I was unable to scale down the photos enough to include them here. Instead I will post them tomorrow, so they can stand alone in all their glory.

All that remains is to offer a big friendly greeting to any newcomers to this blog. I’ve rarely been so delightfully shocked in all my life.

Pure. Dead. Brilliant.

I'm feeling a bit aff ma heid. Each day I can expect about 20-40 visits to this wee patch of Internet. Tonight I arrived home to find that more than 250 have wandered through. It would seem the folks at Blogger have pinned me with the cyber ribbon Blog of Note.

Since I don't have a post planned until tomorrow I shall say a bloody big thank you to Blogger and to everyone who has paid a visit today. I present to you a small gift of two photos to mark the slow transition from deep winter to early spring: snowdrops and sea berries.

Small place, big temptations

When it is grey and rainy and your trip to the beach has been cancelled, and the entire day lies before you like a long shadowless frown, remember that Scotland is a small country, thereby making it possible to easily take a bus or train somewhere new. If the purpose of your amended journey is food based, then you could do worse than finding yourself on the tiny main street of Bridge of Allan.

Following the closure of a long-running copper mine to the east of the village in the early 1800s, the big change came a few years later when the water in the area was found to be rich in minerals. Thus began Bridge of Allan’s boom as spa town. The Victorian era saw thousands of people travelling there each year in order to soak and steam their way back to health and vitality.

Today Bridge of Allan is known more as a haunt for food lovers. For a tiny place it boasts five entries in one of my favourite guidebooks, Scotland Recommends. Four of the five entries are to do with food, while the fifth notes the town’s history as a Victorian spa town.

The first place on the list is filed under the heading “delicatessens not to be missed." The Clive Ramsay deli is a long, narrow shop packed with meats, cheeses, chocolates, breads, jams, wines, (deep breath) chutneys, biscuits, meats, olives… you get the idea. I scooped up a jar of lime curd and two little potted desserts before we went next door to the café for lunch.

It was difficult to forgo the haggis cooked with a measure of Drambuie, wrapped in a filo pastry. Even harder was saying no to Scottish wild venison sausage with parsnip mash and port wine gravy. However, my choices of goats' cheese over Stornoway black pudding on a bed of Scottish beetroot and crunchy salad, followed by a warm salad of king scallops and Scottish bacon with a hollandaise dressing, did not disappoint. Unfortunately the prawn and bacon salad photo did not turn out, but behold this goats' cheese marvel and the hand-cut chips.

Dessert was but steps away across the street, where The Allanwater Café (founded 1902) holds two listings in this particular guidebook. The first is for its fish and chips, which we had to pass up if we had any wish of enjoying the second claim to fame: ice cream.

I launched myself towards the chocolate sundae, while my friend had the alcohol-laced Boozy Baba. While the vanilla ice cream was rich and delicious, the small mountain of little marshmallows cheapened the flavours for me, and I wish sorely that I had chosen the Boozy Baba as well (I did have a taste and it was splendid).

Walking slowly now, there was one stop left on this, the foodies tour of Bridge of Allan, which was Woodwinters Wines and Whiskies, listed as one of the best independent wine shops in the country. Not being a drinker, I bought my beloved a bottle of Deanston 1993 Highland Single Malt, which owes its deep red colour to spending 18 months in a port cask. Apparently it promises a nose of soft milk chocolate with red berry fruits, a palate with some “pretty violet notes with some spice and fresh red berry fruits” and a crème Brulee and gentle floral finish.

There you have it. So if its raining and you just don’t know what to do, head to Bridge of Allan and let your nose and taste buds lead you in a pinball game back and forth across the street until you stumble to the train station smiling a glorious, gluttonous smile.

A+ for Sense-smart students

Awhile ago some of you wrote to me about your favourite sensual Scottish experiences. Not long after, I received an email from a teacher who asked me if she could share your suggestions with her RME (religious and moral education) class. Yesterday she sent me a list of just a few of the hundreds of additional ideas the children came up with. I was so thrilled and just had to share them. Three cheers for this insightful class of 12-year-olds from Aberdeen’s Hazelhead Academy! Do you think they should start work on their own guidebook to Scotland (or at least go into mass production of "Gran's toffee and porridge"...)?

-The chipper when you are walking past and you are having something boring for tea
-My Gran baking a cake
-Edinburgh Dungeons - I enjoy being scared and not knowing what's going to happen - I like the room of mirrors best!
-The sight of Glenshee covered in snow
-Getting my tongue stuck in the snow and forcing my hands into the cold snow to get my tongue out!
-Standing listening to utter silence at Loch Lomond
-The taste of Irn Bru
-The massive bang of the one o'clock gun going off
-Salt and vinegar on sausage and chips
-Hearing the sound of Pittodrie Stadium when Aberdeen score (which they never) (*note - I didn‘t add that part!)
-The friendly Scottish Accent
-The loud bangs of rain on my Velux window as I snuggle up in my covers on a winter night
-Breakfast
-The sound of a herd of deer
-The wet sand on the beach
-My Grandas toffee and porridge
-Snowflakes landing on your tongue
-Haggis
-Ham toastie from Ballater (some of the kids quite liked the look of the seriously good toastie and offered this recommendation)
-The bagpipes piping at a wedding
-The waves on the harbour wall
-My house after I've been on holiday
-Wood burning on bonfire night
-My Dad when he comes home
-The morning when you get out of your tent in Aviemore
-Mr Chipper macaroni pie supper