Identifying Shells from Scotland, Spain and Massachusetts

I’ve always loved walking along the beach collecting shells, and just for the thrill of it I decided to identify these shells from three different beaches I’ve visited recently. I was struck by the differences and just wondered what the animals these shells came from looked like. The top row is from Portobello beach in Edinburgh, Scotland, the second row is from Sitges, Spain, and the bottom row is from Cape Cod, Massachusetts.

Most of them appear to be bivalves, which are sedentary animals that extend their siphons up to the surface of the sand for feeding and respiration during high tide, and then when the tide goes out they use their muscular “foot” to burrow into the sand in the intertidal zone. By hiding in the sand on shore they are protected from predators and dessication. So when you’re walking on a beach there are likely millions of these guys living below your feet!

Another strategy that some bivalves use (such as mussels and the common limpet) is to cement themselves to a hard surface or another shell permanently. These bivalves are more exposed to animals like lightning whelks, who drill through their shell, extend their proboscus and suck out their prey!

The top row from Edinburgh turned out to be Patella vulgata, or the “common limpet”, a common edible european sea snail. Apparently they grow on rocks and you can pry them off with a knife, and are supposedly delicious with butter and black pepper.

     

I believe the three shells in the very middle of the photo (from Spain) are Cerastoderma edule or the “common cockle”, which is found commonly on European beaches. These are the ones that burrow down into the sand below your feet. This species is also eaten widely and even farmed commercially in the UK.

Back in the neolithic age (6000 B.C.) primitive humans used these shells to create pottery decorations, the raised lines of the shell causing imprints on the clay. This type of pottery is known as “Cardial” because the old latin name for  Cerastoderma edule was Cardium edulis.

The three shells in the bottom left of the photo (from Cape Cod) appear to be in the family Pectinidae, which are also known as scallops. These guys don’t have a siphon like other bivalves, and actually catch plankton in their mouths. They have 100 bright blue eyes all around the edge of their shells that can distinguish from light and dark, and they can actually swim in short bursts by shooting water through their shells!

I believe the bottom right, spiraled shell (another from Cape Cod) is a Lightning Whelk (Busycon perversum) which is by far the coolest name. These are the predator sea snails mentioned earlier that extend their proboscis into the bivalves and suck them out like soup! The lightning whelk is so named because it’s the fastest draw’ in the west. Their sinistral (left) spiral was thought to be sacred by the Native Americans and it’s pretty unique to North America.

Here’s a video that shows you how big these snails can get, usually up to a foot long!

Istanbul, a city of cats and coffee

Istanbul is a city I never really thought I would visit. After being there, I can’t imagine not seeing such a cornerstone of the modern world. It’s called the gateway between East and West, and it certainly feels that way today. Religion, culture, food, and language meet at this crossroads of tastes, smells, sights and sounds. It’s a city of millions of inhabitants from all over the world, all living under one roof.

Mornings begin with cheese, fruit and strong tea, followed by coffee. The word for ‘breakfast’ in Turkish, kahvaltı, actually means ‘before coffee’. Turkish coffee is a sandy, gritty affair, essentially unfiltered, strong espresso. Delicious but I wouldn’t drink the dregs. Honey and creamy butter on toast makes a perfect start to the day.

Water is a must in the summer heat, though everyone from adults to enterprising young children sell bottles wherever you go. One should always check the seal of the bottle is intact, to avoid slumdog millionaire water hustlers. In a city of 15 million, it’s staggering to think of how many plastic water bottles are discarded each day.

   

Street cats and dogs are in abundance, though they all seem very well taken care of. These animals walk the streets, turning corners and brushing past you like they’re late for an appointment. They’re welcome in about any establishment, from a streetside restaurant to Topkapi Palace, and lay in the shade without a care in the world.

  

There are about 150,000 strays in Istanbul. These street dogs and cats are widely accepted and fed by residents, and in the spirit of this the company Pudgeon has invented vending machines that take used plastic bottles and provide food for stray dogs.

While not solving over-population it’s certainly an original idea for improving animal welfare and perhaps for changing perspectives about these animals. The materials of the bottles make up for the cost of the dog food. Other ‘solutions’ have included a proposal to send a majority of the dogs to nearby forests, which was widely protested by animal rights activists because the animals wouldn’t likely survive outside the city.

   

Touristing is exhausting in this place. People constantly dodging in front of you, yelling their wares and inviting you into their restaurant. Exactly the opposite of strict British sensibility. The fish sandwiches are amazing and though filter feeding mussels are in abundance one risks a daily dose of mercury and/or lead toxicity with every delicious mouthful. Men line the streets and back alleys, sitting on stools and playing backgammon, while women herd the children around town.

Turkish delights, circular rolls, cigarettes and corn-on-a-stick are omnipresent as you wander between ancient mosques and palaces. The call to prayer pleasantly interrupts your evening, each singer taking their turn between nearby mosques. Before the advent of loudspeakers, the singers would climb hundreds of feet up the minarets and sing their hearts out.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a0E6FJxNi7I

A short ferry ride from the city, Prince’s Islands is a peaceful respite away from madness. Automobiles are banned on the islands, bicycles, horses and carriages taking their place. If you take your time and wander you might find a ‘secret’ beach to relax, passing small houses with cows, goats and sheep next to decaying Ottoman-era mansions. This was a place of monasteries and royal exiles, Byzantine empresses and Leon Trotsky, and is now a popular escape for locals.

   

A quick, early morning taxi takes you shooting through narrow, winding streets. A glimpse of a mosque and back to the midlothians. Exhausted, but a city vibrant, beautiful and very alive upon reflection.

Fontainebleu, France, and a whirlwind of underground Paris

The forest is full of pines, sun filtering through sand at your feet and sandstone boulders exist just off the trail, like huge animals biding their time, watching. There’s nothing malicious about it though, there’s a stillness, a tranquility of nature. The boulders watch as a rabbit stops as you approach, taking you in, acknowledging your presence. You feel there is something very alive about the Fontainebleu forest. You’ve become a part of the scene, instead of just observing.

A group of French children perch on a nearby rock, and ask a question without pretense or introduction. You respond “Je ne parle pas francais”. “Oh! How are you! Hello! Good job!” All at once in return, not in any specific order. 

The routes are marked in what seems like ancient paint, color-coded circuits that have been developed over more than a century of alpinists enjoying an afternoon in the forest. Wipe the sand off your feet, and pull on the sandstone worn smooth by generations. Initial kid in a candy store turns old man, oh my back! Lunch breaks of baguettes and cheese, long summer days. 

The French countryside seems remarkably at peace in the surrounding crazy world. The news tells of middle eastern violence, and it seems a lifetime away. Enjoying the sunsets, sleeping somewhat soundly as the brain catalogs and lays down foundation. 

To Paris by train, a well-worn, often used vehicle shoots past sleepy villages. You get to the station, and narrowly realise you have to get off before it goes the other way. This continues to happen. A never ending maze of underground stairs, colored letters and people hurrying. 

You really wish you had paid more attention in middle school. On a train off a train, too many Charles de Gaulles, who was that guy anyways? Normally reserved, asking French strangers for help. Literally sardined, uncomfortably intimate and surprised the smell isn’t that bad. Maybe it’s the perfume. 

Crowds thin, an accordion plays and a child dances. You give the player some change. Peace. You emerge, walk for ages along chic, long hangers of Nespresso and baggage carts. Collapse, back to Scotland.