tour de east neuk

Today's soundtrack:
Mass in Eb+ by Hummel

As part of a rather belated New Year's resolution, I've taken up cycling a few days a week.  I see this as a clever plan on my part as it allows me to traipse around countryside for 60-90 minutes at a time whilst getting enough exercise to warrant the celebratory eating of an entire Toblerone.  See?  Clever, no matter what that damned scale in the bathroom says.

My first tentative ride out into the country took me only a few miles.  I've been meaning to visit Kilrenny and their lovely church since we moved here.

While most of the church is an early-19th century, it was first consecrated in 1243 (around the same time as St. Nicholas Church in Anstruther Wester).  Like most churches along the East Neuk, the steeple serves as a guide for fishermen.

All my time was spent, somewhat predictably, in the graveyard.  Call it a morbid fascination, but the various styles of tombstones are intriguing.

Although, for me, these momento mori pieces are the real attraction.

Even though this crypt is really dedicated to General John Scott of Balcomie, the S in the ironwork works well enough for me.

After the Kilrenny Church, I cycled out north.  On the way I saw both flora

Gorse, or broom, used as hedgerows.  See, Mom, they do have some sort of purpose.

and fauna.

Slightly intimidating sheep

A few days later, once some of the pain had worn off, I set out with a more ambitious goal - a 12 mile/19 km circuit looping around Kellie Castle.  I also wanted to see the interestingly named Kittlenaked Wood.

Canadians, be forewarned.  When Scots say "wood", do not mistakenly read "forest".  Instead, read "small acre of trees, most of which are not first but rather hundredth growth".

The road up to Carnbee is picturesque, but it is up to Carnbee.

Not pictured: the wind that pushed me back downhill

All the uphill slogs paid off once I left Carnbee for Arncroach, passing by the appropriately gloomy Kellie Castle, first built (in part) in 1360, with subsequent additions and restorations.  I've been assured that in the spring and summer, when the gardens are in bloom, that the prospect is slightly less Udolpho-esque.

Can you spot the madwoman in the attic?

Isn't this the kind of day in which all castles in Scotland should be viewed?  Sir Walter Scott wouldn't have been unhappy with such a gothic prospect.  Something about the overcast sky, the barren farmland, the moss and mould on the grey stone that makes me want to reread The Bride of Lammermoor while snacking on yet another Toblerone...