It goes without saying then that I was relishing being in the presence of so many of my favourite types of people: Americans and the intellectually gifted. The place was awash with boys who looked like they should be competing in exclusive rowing races in Amsterdam: right from their Arian blonde hair and blue eyes to their evenly cuffed bone coloured chinos and embroided navy blue, tan and burgundy loafers, with the inevitable indetectable sock. It was a Green Card hunter's fantasy. I of course wanted to climb just about every boy like a tree; although I'm not too sure that they were too keen on an obnoxiously drunk Australian, slut-dropping more than she actually stood up.
Aside from my embarrassing behaviour which undeniably caused a temporary spectacle; St Andrews is also a history fanatic's dream come true: with dilapidated ruins of a castle and St Andrews Cathedral; once the biggest in all of Scotland adorning the coastline.
Ruins of St Andrews Castle.
Ruins of St Andrews Cathedral.
St Andrews University.
On the Thursday night my cousins and I ventured just two doors down from The Saint Andrews Tourist Hostel - the cheapest accommodation in town! To what probably was the only youth hub in town: Vic. The place was ingenious really; one half pub/restaurant, one half nightclub. We ate dinner there (two bowls of potato and leek soup for me accompanied with thick, rustic bread and butter... I don't think I was hungry), bought £11 vodka at Tesco, drank up in the comfort of our £14 a night hostel, squeezed our asses (well I squeezed, they slipped into with thin person ease) into some tight clothing, tamed our manes, applied a game face, strapped on some '90s chunky shoes (okay again, just me #fashun #individual) and walked/crawled to the metropolis of St Andrews... At 11:30, we were the first three there. What does that mean? Double vodkas all round! We were "ready to paaaaaarrrrtaaaayyyy! Yeeeoooow".
Eventually, a few students rocked up. I say a few, but to the conservative St Andreians it probably was a rager. I made friends with a guy from Georgia, one from Holland, and two from France. Party gal me convinced poor old Georgia and Holland to buy beers and host an 'afterparty'; once again, probably an actual party by uber-nerd standards. The party consisted of the two boys, me, two unimpressed girls (from North Carolina and Manchester - represent!) and an exuberant girl from Chicago, who witnessed me minus all signs of dignity, tumbling all around town, landing on my ass and shoulder bone more than once. I would like to take a moment here to publicly announce that I patted myself on the back for my antics that fine evening. I would also like to slip in the fact that I fell backwards into the bath (twice!) when I went to the 'toilet' in the boys' apartment. Really I slunk away just for a tiny sec to recompose myself and also to rethink my life and decisions.
Me being a doll.
Ashley, Nicole and I.
Considering my Thursday night behaviour, I scrubbed up semi okay on the Friday to visit a Scottish wartime necessity: Scotland's Secret Underground Bunker in Crail. A 137 meter long tunnel leads to two enormous blast proof doors which encase 24,000 square feet of underground accommodation. I know that might sound less exciting than a big old fart from Grandad, but it actually was incredible: both the logistics of building such a mammoth structure and the fact that the British Government was willing to be so callous and brutal in the event of a Cold War attack: saving positions for the nation's most important politicians, bureaucrats and wealthy aristocrats: paying upwards of £50,000 per adult for a lucrative spot in the bunker. Having studied modern history in my final two years of high school I had some prior knowledge of the Cold War but still was fascinated by the human, civilian side; every day people were entrenched in fear, right up until just years before my birth. Having bomb shelters in the back yard and school time drills which instruct students to hide underneath desks in the event of an impending attack seems like a set of values that should be more than just thirty years old. It just went to prove that we still have a long way to go as humanity. I was probably even further shocked however by the amount of nuclear weapons allegedly stored in the United Kingdom alone. I left the place wanting to become a toe ring toting, medicinal marajuana smoking and mid-driff exposing hippy. Part of me is enchanted by the illustrious idea of hippy life, but then the other half of me wants to be a rich, high heel strutting, Haute Couture collecting woman of the Upper East Side. The struggle is real my friends.
We ended the Friday with a trip to Anstruther; a small fishing village and home to the UK's number one chippy (supposedly). I'm just going to put it out there and say that 'the best fish and chips in the UK' ain't got shit on the gourmet fish and chips that you can get down at good 'ol Rocko foreshore. By the end of the night we were far too destroyed to even think about gracing Vic with our presence - and ended our short St Andrews soirée by playing a mid-90s version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire: the board game. I won.
Cold War headlines.
Terrifying propaganda.
Anstruther.
The 'best fish and chips' my ass!
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