Bob Dylan’s heart was in the Scottish Highlands; Robert Burns’ was too. There’s something magical about this place that a million people visit every year. Words flow as easily as the rain.
Yesterday, stuffed into our Ghostbuster’s rain gear disguise, Rebecca and I climbed into Stuart’s coach in Portree for an 11-hour mosy around the most popular of Scotland’s 900 islands.
Stu-ART was one of those inestimable guides who knew precisely the line between talking too much and talking too little, with a perfect blend of history and humor. Our 15 van mates ranged from 30 to 77, with a mixture of Americans, Canadians, English and Japanese.
At our lunch stop at a busy cafe, with a cheese scone itself worthy of a Dylan song and Burns poem, our guide helped serve the meal and seemed to know everyone in the cafe.
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