“You’re having your birthday night out in… Anstruther? Seriously?”
This was the incredulous reaction of the woman propping up the pool table when myself and a crowd of mates piled into the pub.
It was, a hungover Google search revealed, The Royal Bar. And with its unfussy decor, single pool table and fairly empty selection of tables, I can see in hindsight why she was bemused.
I don’t think a lot of out of towners would beeline for the Royal on their birthday.
At least, going off this regular’s reaction, it doesn’t seem to be a popular pick for parties.
But with my partner’s pals plucked from all corners of the isle and plopped into the East Neuk town for his celebratory birthday staycation, there was no better place for our little crew to end up.
We’re Dundee people, so even though it’s less than an hour away in the car, Anstruther’s coastal quaintness feels like a different wee world.
And after we’d done the compulsory fish and chips (Fish Bar freshness on day one, Waterfront to nurse the drink demons on day two), and walked along the pier, there was nothing for it but to hit the town.
Attracted first to the swanky New Ship Tavern, we soon found it stappit and opted to find somewhere where, in our incredibly youthful words, “we can actually sit down and hear one another”.
Ageing sure comes at you fast, folks.
But we found exactly what we were looking for in the Royal – a seat, a swally, and several competitive games of pool.
It was a brilliant night, and by kicking out time, we’d unravelled the tight knit of regulars and got everyone chatting.
Standing staring out at the sea lapping at the sandstone as the sun came up, the birthday boy insisted it was the best birthday night out he’d ever had.
And coming from someone who’s played the tables in Vegas and sat on beaches in the Sunshine State on his big days before, that’s no small feat.
As I remembered the disbelief on the pool playing woman’s face, I couldn’t help but laugh. I feel the same way every time someone from Europe says they’re holidaying in Scotland.
Why on Earth would you do that?
But it got me thinking about how many places we dismiss as “nothing special” because they feel too close to home.
When we live in a place, we don’t just take it for granted – we know it too well.
We see all of its problems, and the charm starts to wear away as the relentless grind of life keeps on.
To me, as someone who grew up with the occasional family day out to Anstruther and who regularly finds herself bobbing about Fife for work, booking an Airbnb just 40 minutes over the bridge felt like a bit of a cop out.
If we’d had all the money in the world, I’d have been insisting we go somewhere more far flung, more unusual, more… special.
But we didn’t, so off to Anstruther we went for a nearby staycation. Better than nothing, I thought.
Yet for my boyfriend and his friends, none of whom had ever visited the town, Anstruther was a hidden gem of coastal wonder.
They were thrilled to be in a sparse wee pub in the arse end of nowhere, with just each other and the sea for company. It was oddly moving.
I’ve said before that looking at your own hometown through someone else’s fresh eyes can be a wake up call, but I’ve still always been a bit of a snob about staycations, especially close by ones.
I’m usually of the view that to escape the humdrum of your day-to-day, you need to get far away.
It never made sense to me to spend money staying overnight somewhere when you could just drive home and sleep in your own bed.
But I’ve been looking at it all wrong.
Staycations – especially ones in our local area – give us the time to appreciate the beautiful part of the world we work so hard to making a living in.
Holidaying in your own patch means you keep your emissions low, your fuel costs lower and your money going into local businesses.
It allows you to soak up the atmosphere of a place fully, instead of bundling back into cars and buses and wishing you had a bit more time to explore.
And ‘just 40 minutes over the bridge’ might sound a little lame on the way out on your grand adventure – but it sure does sound sweet the morning after the night before.
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