Painted skies, friendly locals, trying not to slip, and a flat feeling like a time capsule is what four nights and three days in St Andrews had to offer. The main takeaway is that next time, it will need to be longer. Solo trips haven't been my first choice in the past; however, the luxury of deciding where you want to go and at what time has provided me with a new perspective. Jumping on a train to an entirely new place, yet feeling it so familiar, was exactly what I had been craving; nobody waiting or demanding anything from me. Welcomed by the cosiest flat in the centre of town, its decor as dated as its functionality, I was able to escape reality completely. The armchairs in the large bay windows offered the perfect spot for people-watching, and floor-to-ceiling windows in the kitchen let light beam in each morning, waking me up while I brewed my cup of coffee.

Tuesday morning, cameras loaded with Portra 400 (35mm and 120), and the sun casting over the sea, a walk to start the day was imperative. Although I do have a fondness for exploring towns and their quirks, living in London meant that having multiple coastal walks on my doorstep felt more enticing. Piling on my shearling hat, wool coat and gloves, ready to brace myself for the infamous wind, I headed down to West Sands beach. Contrary to my expectations, the landscape maintained a sense of stillness. Something I hadn't considered was the beauty of the morning light during winter up north. It was 10 am, and the strokes of the sunrise were still in the sky, complementing the purple tone of the sand. With the tide far out, it was possible to cross Eden's Mouth. The clean morning light reflected in the divots of the sand left behind by the retreated sea. Deciding not to enter Eden’s Mouth and avoiding the Air Force, I climbed up into the grass banks. The speckled greens once again perfectly complemented the landscape.

Into the evening, a stroll down to East Sands, past St Andrews Castle, to perch on the pier was essential to see the evening's display of colour. It was refreshing to see others with their cameras, exchanging a smile or a nod with each other.

Wednesday was not quite as bright as the previous day; however, the colour on the coast just below St Andrews Castle caught my eye. Clambering over rocks and seaweed, failing to avoid slipping over, I soon realised I couldn't quite reach the pier from this side of the coast. Wandering back to the path, I decided to continue beyond the pier from the previous evening, having noticed some lobster nets the evening before when my film had already been used. All of this happened for a reason, as it gave me a fresh perspective of the spot, with the colours presented in new ways. A heron perched on the edge caught my attention. Although herons are not new to me, having grown up with them around my area, this one had a different presence. Proudly scanning the harbour for its breakfast, taking ownership of the land, it was its confidence and unbotherness of my presence that surprised me. My day was rounded off by a cheeky pick up of Patti Smith's new book and a glass of red wine in the local pub, accompanied by my book, feeling like our generation's “pick me boy.”

On my final full day, I decided to venture a little further by hopping on a bus to Crail. Stepping off the bus, I admired the jagged edges of the roofs in the town and soon found myself in a café overlooking the sea. Heading down to the harbour, the rain grew a little stronger, and I found myself asking a kind gentleman if I could take his portrait. Although approachable, there is still something nerve-racking about asking to take a local's portrait, ensuring focus, settings and that I am efficient with my timing. Giving a gentle note that I shoot on film, I find buys me a little more time to compose my images.

Heading up and anti-clockwise around the town to meet the coastal path, avoiding slipping in the mud like yesterday's walk, I was captivated by the light on a collection of rocks in a pool below and pressed my heels into the path to secure myself as I descended. I soon discovered that I was not alone. After this gentleman finished foraging for mussels, a warm greeting led into perhaps my favourite interaction during my time here. Robert and I, after guessing each other's age and sharing some small talk, dove into a conversation about the local area, sharing his wisdom on where I should explore next. If I am being completely transparent, his soft Fife accent meant I missed quite a chunk of the names he was telling me, but his directions were clear. Both of us concluded that I must allow two weeks next time, bring my car, and discover more about the history of the land. If there is any reason to come back, which there already was from the start, this would be it. So, thank you, Robert.

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